To Catch a Lady (26 page)

Two hours later she was sitting in a carriage, her husband's valet dozing in the corner and Meggie beside her, watching the landscape slip by as they plodded along. Caro was glad that no one was much in the mood for conversation. She already missed her baby terribly, but the deep ache of Ash's absence went right to her marrow.

Closing her eyes, she did the best she could to keep from worrying over him. All this time, why hadn't he told her of how he'd felt? Of course, he had been the one to leave her, on the very night of their son's birth.

Well, to be true, he was right. She had left him first, the day she'd gone to London to tend to her mother. But she'd left a note, after all.

A note she'd given to Meggie to set out where Ash would find it.

But he hadn't acted as if he'd even known her mother was sick!

Suddenly, a thought occurred to her. Had Ash even received that letter?

“Oh, it can't be. It just can't be.” She placed her head in her hands.

“Your Grace? What's wrong?” Meggie asked, her wide brown eyes staring at Caro.

“I need to ask you a question and I need you to think very carefully. Do you remember the day we left for London?”

“Oh, yes, Your Grace, I do. Quite clearly.”

“Good. When I gave you that note telling the duke that we were leaving and why, where did you put it?”

“Oh, I've no problem remembering that, Your Grace. I put it on the table.”

“Which table? In the dining room?”

“In the foyer, beside the door. Why?”

“Dear heavens,” Caro moaned. “How is it possible?”

“What's wrong?”

“My husband never received the note I left for him. He must have thought that I had left him, that I was only following that ridiculous contract. No wonder he can't stand to be around me anymore.”

“Why wouldn't he have gotten it?” Meggie asked.

Caro shrugged. “I don't know. Perhaps someone else picked it up by mistake. Whatever the reason, that would explain a lot.”

Although they had to stop twice on the way for fresh horses, Caro insisted they ride straight through to Slyddon. When they pulled past the castle's outer wall and up the drive to the main building, it was clear that the place hadn't seen any care in months. The front gate was hanging askew, and the fence was broken in two places. From the drive she saw that two windows had been broken, and the front door was open as well.

“Ash?” Caro called out as they walked up the steps and stepped into the foyer.

“Let me go first, Your Grace,” Weatherby said, and she gave him the lead.

“There's no need to be concerned. I am his wife, after all,” she said, as much for her own ears as theirs.

“No, ma'am. It's not His Grace I'm worried about. 'Tis the four-legged beasts that we have to watch out for. I chased a family of foxes out of here before I left.”

“Oh,” she said. Hearing a noise from the behind, she spun around to see Meggie stepping up behind her.

“Stay close,” Caro ordered her.

The main courtyard was empty, and gazing up, she could see that the drapes were drawn and no light peeked through them. As they entered the great hall, all sorts of eerie shadows hung on the walls. The place had a closed-up odor to it; dust and mildew hung in the air. Even at its worst, Slyddon Castle had never been this bad. When she'd called it a ruin, it was clear she had had no idea of what that was.

She did now.

“Where did you see His Grace last?” she asked the valet.

“In his study, ma'am. He had me move a settee in there and he sleeps on it—when he sleeps, that is.”

Just then they heard a loud moan. The sound echoed throughout the hall and down into the cavernous great room.

“This way.” The servant pointed.

Caro said nothing, but followed his lead. Climbing the stairs to the second floor, a new smell assaulted her senses.

“Brandy,” she muttered. Indeed, the place reeked of stale alcohol.

Just then they reached the door to Ash's study. At first, she didn't see him. The room was so dark that she could barely make out the outline of the furniture.

“I'll get a lamp,” Weatherby said.

“Yes, please do.” A wave of fear washed over Caro. “And, Meggie, we'll need some water and plenty of clean linen. Also, see if there is anything to eat in the kitchen. We'll need to get him some nourishment, somehow.”

When the two of them had gone, she approached her husband. He was curled on his side, reeking of liquor and moaning quietly.

“Ash,” she called out, but he didn't stir.

Kneeling beside him, she gingerly grasped his arm. Gently shaking him, she tried calling his name again.

“Ash. Please, wake up. It's me, Caroline.”

She held her breath, praying for him to say something. He could curse her, he could shake his fist at her, anything, but she needed to know he was all right.

He answered her only with another moan. Turning on his back, he opened his eyes and looked at her, though no expression of recognition lit his face. At that moment Weatherby returned with a brightly lit candle.

“Gaaahhh!” Ash quickly covered his eyes. “Put out the light, damn you! Put it out, I say.”

“No, you need to get accustomed to the light, Ash. Please. Try to open your eyes.”

But he didn't, instead turning away from her, one arm over his face, the other across his middle.

“I told you to get out, foul spirit. You can't fool me. I know what sort of demon you are.”

Caro crossed her arms. She didn't know whether he was drunk or delusional, but either way, he was too far from reality to even know she was there.

“Ashton. Turn over this instant and look at me. If you don't, I swear I shall box your ears.”

“I said go away.”

“I will not!”

“Here you go, Your Grace,” Meggie said. “I brought a pitcher of water and some fresh towels.”

“Thank you.”

Meggie knelt beside Caro. “I'm off to the kitchen then. I'm not nearly as good a cook as Mrs. Hughes, but my mama taught me enough to keep me from starving.”

“Good girl. Now, Mr. Weatherby, if you wouldn't mind helping me. We have to get His Grace cleaned up. Hopefully, after he's had a chance to get better, we can move him to his bed.”

An hour later Ash had been washed and changed into clean clothes, and though he'd cursed at them, Caro knew he wasn't in his right mind. He had a terrible fever, his skin was dry and hot, and he was as weak as a babe. During her ministrations, he did try to push her away, but Caro had no problem resisting his efforts.

“Come, now, Ash. You need to drink. Please take this.”

“I don't want water. Leave me alone.”

He tried to roll over again, but Caro nodded to Weatherby who then held him up so Caro could drop water into his mouth. Half the time it ran down his chin; the other half he spit out. Somehow, during the course of the night, they got enough fluids into him so that by morning his fever had eased and he was resting better.

“Here now, Your Grace,” Weatherby said beside her. “I told Meggie to fix your bed. Go on and get some rest. I'll watch over him.”

“Thank you.” Caro was exhausted, true enough. But the heaviness in her heart far outweighed the fatigue that coursed through her body. What if she couldn't bring him back from whatever dark place he'd descended to? Would he truly be lost to her forever?

“Your Grace,” Meggie said beside her. “Let me help you to your room.”

“I should stay with him,” she muttered again.

“Begging your pardon, ma'am, but you'll do him no good if you make yourself sick.”

“Oh. Of course. You are right.” Turning to her husband, she bent over and kissed him gently on the forehead. “Sleep well, my love.”

Ash drifted across the landscape of his dreams. He knew his time was near, that he would likely die before much longer. Even his stalwart valet had left him some days before. That was no matter. He knew he'd be doing everyone a favor if he just let nature run its course.

Besides, he was out of brandy.

Then, just when he thought he was close to breathing his last, his delusions started to change. It was strange, but one moment he was on fire, getting ready to walk through the gates of Hell, and the next there was this irritating woman at his side, torturing him with cold water and rough linens and then talking, talking, talking to him.

Didn't she know that her voice was scraping across his nerves like a sword across glass?

“Leave me be,” he told her again.

“There, there, Your Grace,” his valet's voice muttered beside him. “Your wife has gone to rest for a while.”

“Don't toy with me, you devil. I know she's not here. She's in London, with our son.”

“I'm sorry to argue with you, Your Grace,” Weatherby said, “but Her Grace is in your bedroom, sleeping. She'll be down in a few hours.”

Ash drifted in and out of consciousness for quite some time. Deep in his heart, he knew there was nothing he would love more than to have his Caroline beside him again. To feel her soft and warm in his arms, to smell the sweet scent of her. That was Heaven, for sure, but he'd already descended far too deep into Hell to ever have hope of her return. And even if she did, the idea of her seeing him like this was abhorrent to him.

No. Best that she stay away and let him die in peace. Even though he was sure a peaceful death was more than he deserved.

The only thing left that gave him hope was his certainty that Caroline would stay in London, with Amelia, and that the two of them would raise his son, giving him the same sort of life that Ash had once known, but without the pain of his parents' tragedy. No one deserved that.

Ash was glad that Caro had come into his life. He thanked God for her presence and for the wonderful weeks they had spent together.

“Come on, lad. You need some breakfast.” It was that damned Weatherby again, nagging him like a wife.

“I don't want it,” he said. But then his servant held the spoon to his lips, and the taste of eggs touched his tongue. He couldn't help himself. He swallowed the whole spoonful.

And the next one.

And the one after that.

Then, after he'd finished the last bite, his stomach did a nasty twist and tossed it all back out.

“Damn!” He let Weatherby hold up a cup to rinse his mouth out when he'd finished retching.

“Don't let it bother you, Your Grace. I think you held on to at least half of it.”

“A true comforter, you are.”

“Ah, Your Grace, you're getting your sense of humor back.”

Ash looked up into his valet's expression. “You would think that, you devil. As it is, I find little to laugh about at the moment. I have a beast of a headache, and I think I left half of my stomach in that dish.”

“Not to worry, Your Grace. You're doing much better than you were a week ago.”

“A week ago? What are you talking about?”

“You've been very ill, sir. We've been giving you water and broth for days. Finally, two days ago, your fever broke completely. This is the first real meal you've had in a long while.”

“Really. Well, you should have left me alone. As soon as I'm strong enough, I'll just order more brandy.”

Weatherby's face remained impassive. “I doubt that, sir.”

His temper piqued, Ash crossed his arms. “Oh, you do, do you?”

The valet bowed formally and started to leave.

Ash was confused. Looking around, he realized he wasn't in the study any longer. He was in his bed. In his own bedroom. More curious than that, the drapes were open, the shutters flung wide, and a fresh breeze floated in. “How did I get in here? Who gave you the order to do this?”

“Oh, you'll find out soon enough, Your Grace.”

His valet bowed and left the room, gently closing the door behind him, leaving Ash alone with his thoughts. His servants weren't allowed to carry out duties he'd not ordered them to do. And yet here was his valet, acting as if he'd been overruled by someone with more say-so than Ash.

“Amelia,” he muttered. His aunt had come all the way from London to save his miserable life. Well, he had a thing or two to say to her about that.

Throwing back the quilts, Ash managed to scoot to the edge of the bed. Getting up was a struggle. His days of drunkenness had left him weak. His body felt like bread soaked in milk, and by the time he reached the door, a fine sheen of sweat had broken out on his brow. Well, if he could make it to the stairs, he could just push himself down. In his current condition, that's likely the only way he would manage getting downstairs.

“What in blazes do you think you're doing?”

That voice! Ash would have fallen over, had he not had a tight grip on the door frame.

“Caroline?”

“Well, it isn't the Prince Regent, that's for sure. What are you doing out of bed?”

“I should be asking what you're doing at my lodge.”

“Don't pick a fight with me, husband. I've been on my knees scrubbing the floor in the parlor all morning.”

“No one asked you to come here. Certainly not me.”

She placed her hands on her hips, her chin in the air. “Well, then, if you want me to leave, just say so.”

“I want you to leave,” he said without hesitating.

The damned woman smiled. “You do, do you? Well, too bad. You're not strong enough to throw me out, so you'll just have to mind your manners and put up with me until I'm ready to leave.”

She turned to walk away, but Ash lunged at her. His legs were barely able to support him, and they both tumbled to the floor.

“What in blazes are you doing?” she asked again, flat on her back with him on top of her.

Ash, furious but seconds before, only gazed at her. She felt so damn good beneath him. She was so soft, so full of life, and she'd been so willing to be with him, to love him.