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Nineteen
Still in The South Pennines hunting lodge
EVENING THAT SAME DAY
Sitting on the horse blankets and propped up against the fireplace hearth, Beatrice sipped her fourth cup of tepid stinging nettle tea and tried not to notice the plump spider perched on a corner web. She couldn’t say she enjoyed the earthy, grassy taste, but the brew contained a faint, unexpected sweetness, making it slightly more palatable.
The tea seemed to help her symptoms too.
Cassius had extinguished the tiny fire immediately after heating water for her tea, explaining they couldn’t risk someone seeing the smoke.
Throughout the day, she’d gradually improved to the point she’d finally convinced Cassius that she would not cock up her toes any minute. Frowning in disapproval, he’d allowed her to sit up and don her borrowed gown, though her bare toes peeked at her from beneath the hem.
Her stomach growled, but she tried to ignore the gnawing hunger.
They had no food left.
He’d given each dog a piece of bread and a handful of blackberries.
Teddy and Nala gobbled the small fare as if starving, and Beatrice’s heart ached for them. Both had known deprivation before, and she had promised they never would again. She’d failed them in that regard.
If Cassius hadn’t watched her like a hawk, she would’ve sneaked her piece of bread, slice of cheese, and handful of blackberries to the dogs, but he’d made certain she’d eaten every crumb and every juicy berry. She was grateful, for the small meal had fortified her, and though far from well, she felt markedly better. Enough to experience chagrin for hurling herself into his arms, wearing nothing but a thin, cotton shift.
Teddy’s tummy growled and guilt pierced her.
She ought to have considered what her flight from Brighton would cost her beloved pets. Had she planned better, they might not be in these dire circumstances. But how could she have planned something that came about on the spur of the moment? And how could she have predicted she’d fall ill?
Beatrice’s ruminating brought her train of thought to her other pets. She had every confidence that Hans would care for them. Still, Uncle Cedric might question the lad. Of course, Hans knew nothing, but Uncle Cedric could be unpredictable.
She shifted, laying her left ankle across her right. Though she’d folded the blankets into quarters, the floor proved uncomfortable.
Cassius stood at the entrance, one arm raised and resting against the rough wood frame. Exhaustion fairly radiated from him, detectable in his slightly slumped shoulders and bowed neck.
He’s exhausted because of me.
To Beatrice’s knowledge, he hadn’t slept for more than a few minutes at a time since they hightailed it from Brighton. How he stayed awake, let alone stood, was beyond her.
Remorse castigated her.
She’d put him in danger, much more so with her inability to travel.
With his back to her, Beatrice studied Cassius as she examined the feelings, trying to take root in her heart. Sentiments she couldn’t allow to grow and flourish.
Heat swept her cheeks, and the warmth wasn’t from her fever returning.
She’d practically climbed into his lap that morning.
A songbird trilled outside. She did not know what type it might be, but the sound blended perfectly with the evening’s tranquility.
God, she’d been terrified when she’d woken and found herself alone, petrified that the Westbrook brothers had left her in these mountains. She could no more find her way to civilization than a crawling infant could.
She ought to have known Cassius wouldn’t abandon her, and her only excuse was that her illness-befuddled mind had made it hard to think logically.
This morning, he had held her for several long minutes as she’d sobbed into his shoulder, drenching his shirt until her panic subsided. He smelled of soap, starch, cedarwood, and a pleasant musky aroma that was his unique scent.
He’d removed his neckcloth and unbuttoned the top of his shirt.
His rolled-up shirtsleeves exposed raven black hair on his forearms and peeked from the tantalizing vee below his collarbone. Something she ought not to have noticed in her distressed state and which she refused to contemplate when she’d recovered her equanimity.
