Page 43 of Their Wildest Dreams

“I beg your pardon. The next time you disappear into a field, I will endeavor to locate you more promptly.” His gaze settled upon the blood in her hair, and the brief humor vanished. “Where are you hurt?”

“My head. The rest of me aches, but I do not think anything is broken.” Harriet started to turn toward the road. The movement brought another wave of nausea, and she closed her eyes. “Selby stopped the carriage. He knows about our arrangement, Benedict. He meant to⁠—”

“You can tell me when you are home.” Benedict removed his coat and wrapped it about her shoulders. “For now, I need to get you warm. Can you bear being moved?”

“I do not believe I can bear remaining here,” Harriet admitted, attempting to shift nearer to him without moving her head.

He slipped one arm behind her and the other beneath her knees. Harriet caught at his shoulders as he lifted her. The movement made the world shift again, but she pressed her face against his neck and held on until the dizziness passed.

Benedict’s arms tightened around her. She had been held by him once before, when he caught her upon the library ladder. Then, every part of her had become painfully aware of every part of him. She was aware of him now, but not in the same way. The warmth of his body and the strength of his arms did not rouse curiosity. They offered comfort.

“I have you,” he said against her hair. “You are safe now.”

Harriet believed him. Men were approaching across the field, their lanterns bobbing in the darkness, but she paid them little attention. There would be questions, a painful journey home and a physician waiting at the end of it. She would face all of it in time.

For the moment, she rested against Benedict and allowed him to hold her.

Chapter

Twenty-Two

The physician left shortly before dawn after ordering Harriet to remain in bed. She was not to be left alone, permitted to exert herself or subjected to anything which might excite or distress her.

Benedict had agreed to all of it while knowing perfectly well that Harriet would reject at least half the instructions as soon as she was awake enough to understand them.

For the moment, she slept. Mrs. Mercer and a maid had removed her wet clothes, washed the blood from her face and as much as was possible from the mass of her dark hair. Then they cleaned the wound at her temple. The swelling appeared to be subsiding, but the large and ugly bruise was only growing darker by the minute. Her face was pale against the pillow, but her breathing was steady.

Benedict remained in the chair beside her bed. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw her lying in the field or imagined what might have happened if the coachman had not freed himself. They might not have known Harriet was missing until someone went to Alderley in search of her and was informed she’d departed.

The door opened, and Mrs. Mercer entered with a folded paper in her hand. Her expression warned Benedict that whatever she carried was not another instruction from the physician.

He rose and met her near the hearth. “What is it?”

“I shouldn’t have done it, my lord. But I don’t trust the man. Haven’t from the moment he stepped foot in this house… So I searched Crandell’s room.” Mrs. Mercer spoke without apology. “Lady Everton told the household where she meant to go yesterday. Selby knew the road she would take and when she would be upon it. I could think of only one explanation.”

She handed him the paper. It was a brief set of instructions from Selby. Crandell was to inform him whenever Harriet left Everton, where she meant to go and when she was expected to return.

Benedict read it twice before looking up. “Where is Crandell?”

“Belowstairs,” Mrs. Mercer replied. “I have two footmen keeping him occupied.”

“Send someone for the magistrate. Crandell is to be confined until he arrives.” Benedict folded the letter, though his first impulse had been to tear it apart. “He delivered Harriet into Selby’s hands. I want him out of this house before she wakes.”

Mrs. Mercer did not move. “You should speak to Lady Everton first.”

“There is nothing to discuss. He aided an attempt to abduct her.”

“And involving the magistrate will require her to explain why Selby abducted her. Whatever he intended, it was not ordinary robbery.” The housekeeper glanced toward the bed. “There may be details her ladyship would prefer not to offer to a local magistrate and, through him, every household in the county.”

Benedict disliked the argument because it was sensible. “Crandell cannot remain free to send another message.”

“He will not. But how this is handled should be decided by the person who suffered for it.”

“No magistrate,” Harriet said from the bed. Benedict turned. Her eyes were open, though the effort of keeping them so was evident. He crossed to her while Mrs. Mercer poured water from the pitcher.

“You should be asleep,” he said, lowering his voice as if that might somehow return her to it.

“I have been asleep. It did not prevent either of you from discussing me as though I were not present.” Harriet accepted the glass from Mrs. Mercer and drank before looking at the paper in Benedict’s hand. “What did you find?”