Unveiled (Undone by Love Book 3) (20 page)

“Please do not leave on my account.”  Jane gestured to the chair at the end of the table
. “Sit, my lord. I’m finished here. I’ll return to Madeline at once.”

“No,” Emily cried
. “You’ve barely touched your meal. Sit, Lord Westfield,” she commanded. “I will have some food brought out at once. In the meantime, may I fetch you a bottle of Cecil’s brandy? Or would you prefer tea?”

“Tea will suffice for now
. Thank you, Mrs. Tolland. Don’t trouble yourself, I can pour.”  He waved her away and reached for the teapot.

“Very well
. Let me find Mrs. Smythe and arrange for your meal. Miss Rosemoor will keep you company in my absence.”

Jane looked up in surprise as Emily bustled out
. After a pause, she cleared her throat. “What news has Mr. Allan of Madeline’s condition?”

“Her condition remains grave at best
. The fever is holding fast and weakening her considerably. I fear for the worst.”  He took a sip of steaming tea, hoping to ease the ache in his throat.

“She’s a strong girl
–a fighter, else she’d long been taken. I’m sure your presence brings her great comfort, even if she cannot acknowledge it. I choose to hope for the best.”  Jane stubbornly tipped her chin in the air.

He set down his cup, his chest uncomfortably tight
. “Thank you, Miss Rosemoor. Mr. Allan tells me that she would not be with us still if you had not found her when you did.”

“No, the credit belongs entirely to that magnificent animal of yours
. Vlad appeared suddenly on the edge of the wood and barked furiously for our attention. I knew somehow that he wanted me to follow him, and I’m glad I followed my instincts. Your steward had to come and forcibly remove him from Madeline’s room, else he’d still remain, lying patiently in the corner.”  Jane’s mouth curved into a gentle smile.

“I’ll reward him greatly when next I see him, you may count on that.”  Yes, Jane had saved Madeline’s life, but Vlad had played an important role
. “But I’m deeply indebted to you. How can I ever thank you?”

“Madeline’s full recovery will be thanks enough, my lord
. I know it sounds silly considering she’s been unconscious most of the time, but I’ve grown quite fond of her these past few days.”

Inexplicably, his heart felt a measure lighter
. The women in this house were remarkable, the finest in all of Derbyshire, he thought with a smile. Perhaps in all of England.

***

Jane knocked tentatively on the door. “Lord Westfield?”

“Come in,” he called out, and Jane pushed the door open and peered inside
. Hayden sat slumped in the chair by the bed, his long legs stretched out before him. Mr. Allan remained in his usual corner, snoring softly.

“It grows late, my lord,” she whispered
. “Won’t you go to bed?”

He looked up at her, his face drawn with exhaustion
. She shivered, physically feeling the whisper of his gaze as it swept across her face and down her body, to her slippers, and back up again. She clutched the book she carried tightly to her breast, hoping he could not hear the furious pounding of her heart. Crossing to the window, she pulled aside the heavy drapes, revealing the hazy crescent moon that hung amidst the stars, casting a faint glow upon the lawn.

He stood and joined her at the window, his arm barely brushing hers, yet she felt it with exquisite keenness
. They stood side by side for several minutes, silently watching the clouds that drifted across the moon, deepening the night, cloaking the proud oaks and yew in eerie shadows.

Jane turned to face him, closely studying his noble profile in the warm candlelight that bathed the room
. His eyes stared straight ahead, unblinking under drawn brows. How she longed to smooth his creased brow with her lips, to press his shadowed face, deeply in wont of a shave, against her breast and stroke his hair as Emily had! Her traitorous hands itched at the very thought, and she clutched her book tightly in restraint, her nails digging viciously into the leather spine.

As if drawn by her gaze, his head slowly swung toward hers, his mesmerizing eyes questioning hers
. She dared not speak. As if spellbound, their gazes searched wordlessly for answers, speaking phrases that must remain unspoken.

He held out one hand to her, in invitation
. She bit her lower lip in indecision, till she tasted the faint, salty tang of blood. Tremulously, she reached out her hand to meet his, and he clasped it firmly in his grasp, his hand warm and strong. She could think of nothing save the scent of him, warm and powerful beside her.

A tremor ran through her and the book she grasped in one hand clattered to the ground
.

They both turned toward the surgeon, who snuffled loudly and then resumed his regular snoring
. With a bitter reluctance, she pulled her hand from his grasp, unable to meet his eyes, and knelt to the ground to retrieve her book. At the same time, he fell to one knee beside her and his hands found the thin volume before she could.

He stood and turned it over in his hands, a slow smile spreading across his face
. “Mary Shelley?” he asked. “I’m astonished. You do not strike me as the type to enjoy horror stories.”

Jane smiled wryly as she rose to face him
. “
Frankenstein
is far more than a horror story, my lord. I find that Shelley does a fine job of exploring the duality of human nature. Besides, I find Victor Frankenstein a fascinating character.”

“Indeed.”  He held out the book to her, and she quickly snatched it from his grasp
. “Do you have a great love of reading? You speak with such passion.”

“I suppose one might say I’m a passionate reader
. It is indeed my most beloved pastime, as it gives me much pleasure. What of you, Lord Westfield? Where lies your passion?”

She moved to Madeline’s bedside and brushed one golden lock from the child’s forehead
.

“The people of Richmond Park are my passion
. Heavy toil has made the estate what it is today, and I take great pride in it. I believe that the satisfaction and happiness of my tenants is vital to the estate’s well being. No one at Richmond goes without a soft bed to sleep upon, without adequate wood for fires or food for their cupboard. Any child who wishes for an education will get one. I do not credit the myth that education creates discontent; Richmond is proof otherwise. Lord Mandeville and I have worked stridently to change public opinion about education for all, but still, many refuse to listen to reason. The road ahead is long and hard, but I will not give up so easily. There, I suppose, is your answer.”

“And a fine one, at that
. I’m much impressed by your convictions.” 

He shrugged, and Jane noticed again the lines of exhaustion that marred his face.

Nodding toward the still sleeping Mr. Allan, he grimaced. “Why does he bother to remain here, if he sleeps so soundly? What is his purpose? Someone should wake him and send him to his own room.” 

Jane looked to the man with a fond smile
. “No, leave him be. He feels it’s his duty. Mr. Allan is quite devoted to your family, it seems. But you, Lord Westfield, must get some rest. Please. I’ll stay right here with her, till the sun rises.”

“I cannot ask that of you, Miss Rosemoor
. You’ve done enough.”

“Come now, you’ve been awake for hours
. I slept at length this morning and am now fully awake, eager to read.”  She held up her book. “Leave me. I’ll send for you if there’s any change.”

“You’re certain?”

“I’m certain.”

With a weary nod, he acquiesced. Once he’d quit the room, Jane sank into the chair by the bed and sighed, keenly aware of his absence in every fiber of her being
. More disturbing was the thought that something inside her had changed fundamentally these past few months, that never again would she feel peaceful contentment. Instead, the days ahead would be plagued with unfulfilled yearnings, with unsatisfied desire tinged with regret. She could only shudder at the thought.

Struggling to force the dark feelings away, she opened her book and began to read
.

Chapter 17

“Where’s Lord Westfield?” Jane asked, looking up as Emily came in, followed by Mrs. Smythe who carried a tea tray
.

“I’ve sent him off to bed
. Here, I’ve brought you some tea and cakes. I thought you might need some nourishment if you insist on sitting up through the night again.”

Without a word, Mrs. Smythe set down the tray and bustled out
.

“Well,” Jane said, “we’ve established a nice pattern, haven’t we?”  Hayden sat with Madeline throughout the day, and Jane throughout the night
. It had worked well for the past two days, and kept them from each other’s company as much as possible. She was satisfied by the arrangement.

Emily turned toward Mr. Allan, who busied himself by the washbasin, cleaning his instruments with a scowl
. Finding him suitably occupied, she turned back to Jane and spoke in a hushed whisper. “Oh, Jane, I fear for Lord Westfield. His patience is wearing thin and his spirits are dreadfully low tonight. I do believe he’s lost hope. Mr. Allan has told him that she cannot hold on much longer and that he should prepare himself for the worst.”

Jane shook her head sadly
. “Poor Lord Westfield.”

“I cannot even imagine...” Emily shook her head, her eyes squeezed shut
. “I promised him that should her condition deteriorate in the night, you would summon him at once. He wishes to be with her at...”  She sniffled into her handkerchief. “At the end.”

Hot tears blurred Jane’s vision as she looked to the child who lay so still and pale, the rising and falling of her chest now barely perceptible
. “Of course. Go on to bed, Emily. I will do as you ask.”

“Very well
. Goodnight, then, dear Jane.”

“Goodnight, Emily.”

After brushing a few golden strands from Madeline’s cheeks and readjusting the light coverlet that lay over the child, Jane settled herself into her chair and took out her needlework. She had begun an embroidered gown for Amelia weeks ago, and was anxious to finish it before the child grew too large to wear it.

More than an hour passed before she stopped and examined her progress
. The candle had burned low; she moved it closer and held up the gown for inspection. Very pretty, she thought, pleased with her work. If her eyes held out, she’d finish it by sunrise.

A faint movement from the bed stirred her attention
. She carefully set aside the gown and needle, rising on weary legs to peer down at the child. Were her eyes playing tricks on her? She held her breath, willing Madeline to stir. And then she saw it again–one thin arm moved against the coverlet, pale fingers grasping at the cloth. “Madeline?”  Jane’s voice trembled with excitement. “Can you hear me?”

The child’s tongue darted out to wet her lips
. “Thirsty,” she croaked, her voice rusty with neglect.

Jane’s breath escaped with a rush and her hands began to tremble
.
Oh, thank God
! “You’re thirsty? Here, let me get you some water.”  Jane clumsily reached for the pitcher and filled a glass, spilling a fair amount in the process.

“Here you are, just open your eyes, Madeline
. Come now, you can do it!”

Jane’s heart accelerated as the child’s eyes fluttered open, her blond brows drawn over them in puzzlement
. “Jane?” 

“Yes, it’s me
. Here,” Jane reached around Madeline’s thin shoulders and propped her up before bringing the glass to her lips. “Drink.” 

Madeline sipped obligingly, coughing and sputtering as the cool liquid made its way down her parched throat
. Panic rose in Jane’s breast, and she almost dropped the glass trying to pat the child’s back. Once quieted, Madeline reached again for the glass and took a long, gulping draught with no ill effects. Jane’s pulse settled at last as Madeline leaned back against the pillows, smiling wanly.  

She raised a hand to the child’s forehead and almost wept with relief
. It was cool! A thin film of sweat beaded on Madeline’s forehead.

“Mr. Allan!” Jane cried, quaking with excitement
.

The surgeon roused himself at once and hurried to her side, rubbing the sleep from his eyes
.

“She’s cool!”

“Very good, very good indeed.”  He felt Madeline’s forehead, then her pulse. “Her fever has broken.”

“So sleepy,” Madeline murmured
.

“Yes, child.”  Mr. Allan patted her hand, smiling broadly
. “You need a great deal of rest.” 

They watched as she slipped back to sleep with a faint smile on her lips, her breathing far easier than before
.

Mr. Allan retrieved his stethoscope, putting one end against his ear, the other against Madeline’s chest
. Jane held her breath as he listened intently. At last he straightened, removing the single earpiece from his ear. “This is good, indeed. Her heart sounds strong, her lungs are clear. I believe she’ll make a full recovery,” he proclaimed, looking very pleased with himself. “Let her sleep. We’ll see how she fares by morning.”

“I must go tell Lord Westfield
. Perhaps the news will bring him a peaceful sleep.”  Her heart singing, Jane headed for the door.

“Yes, yes,” Mr. Allan said absently, settling himself into the chair by the bed
. “Go at once.” 

***

Jane blinked back the sleep that threatened to overcome her as she hurried to Hayden’s room. She hoped he’d managed to get some rest. Lord knew she needed some herself. Stepping up to the door with a sigh, she rapped sharply. “Lord Westfield,” she called out. “Are you awake?”

The door opened at once, startling her
. She stepped back and caught her breath.

He reached for her wrist and pulled her inside, his face contorted with despair
. She’d never before seen him so disheveled, so discomposed. He wore no waistcoat, no coat–only a simple, white cambric shirt that was pulled haphazardly from the waistband of his trousers. Even his hair, usually so neat, tumbled about in unruly dark waves.

“By God, has she worsened?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion
.

“No, Lord Westfield
. I’ve come to tell you she’s much improved. Her fever has broken at last.” 

She saw the relief wash over his features as he grasped her hand in his so tightly that she feared he might crush the bones.

At last he dropped her hand and strode to the chair beside the hearth. Flinging himself onto the worn leather, he dropped his head into his hands. “If she had been taken, I would never have forgiven myself,” he said, his voice thick with grief.

Jane tiptoed to the doorway and looked out into the hall, listening sharply for any sign of movement within the house
. All was silent. As quietly as possible, she pulled the door shut and hastened to his side.

She knelt beside him and laid a hand tentatively on his arm
. “You cannot say that, my lord. This was not your fault. Besides, she’s better. Mr. Allan says she should recover fully, now that the fever’s gone. Please don’t blame yourself.”

He raised his head and Jane flinched at the sight
–his cheeks were dampened with tears, his eyes red-rimmed. He was weeping. Her stomach twisted in knots. She’d never before seen a man weep, and she had no idea what to do. She swallowed, trying desperately to retain her composure.

“It
is
my fault,” he continued, his voice breaking. “I love her, God help me. I knew the risks, yet I allowed myself to love her nonetheless.”  He dropped his head again. “Madeline was all I had left.” 

His words, so full of pain, ripped at Jane’s heart
. “Come, now, Madeline’s much improved. Do not despair. You still have her, my lord.”

“Hayden.”  He stood abruptly, nearly knocking Jane to the carpet
. “My name is Hayden, and you can bloody well start calling me that.”

She rose and drew herself to her full height, facing him with her chest heaving in indignation
. “I only meant to help,” she said, tears threatening her eyes. She spun toward the door but he reached for her hand to stop her flight.

“Jane.”  His voice was a hoarse whisper
. “Don’t go.”

Guilt washed over her
. She couldn’t leave him alone, not in this state. He didn’t know what he was saying, so torn was he with worry and grief. One look into his tortured eyes told her so.

She reached up to stroke his cheek, rough with days’ worth of stubble
. “Oh, Hayden,” she murmured, moving dangerously close to him. Her feet moved of their own volition, and before she knew it, she was standing just inches from him, peering up into his face, the heat from his body warming hers. In seconds his hands were on her flushed cheeks, one thumb tracing her lower lip. Her whole body quivered in anticipation.

With a groan, his mouth took hers, more greedily than ever before
. Her skin tingled, her back arched, and she pressed herself against him. This time she didn’t flinch at the blatant evidence of his arousal. Instead, it fueled her desire, made her moan against his mouth as his tongue flicked teasingly against hers. It felt as if the world had stopped spinning, as if time was suspended and nothing–
nothing
–signified except the feel of his mouth possessing hers. Their bodies melded into one, their hands moving in unabashed exploration. He somehow managed to release her hair from its pins, and she felt the weight of her tresses brush her shoulders. His fingers combed through her hair before moving lower, working the fastenings on the back of her dress.

The breeze stirred against her bared back as her dress parted at last
. His mouth moved from hers and his hands found her neckline, roughly shoving the fabric from her shoulders in one motion. In an instant, he had unlaced her stays and they fell to her feet with a swish. She shuddered convulsively as a warm, moist heat gathered between her legs. His mouth, hot upon her skin, moved to her neck, tracing a path from behind one ear, down the curve of her shoulder and across the swell of her breasts. Lower still his mouth moved, to one taut nipple. She tipped her head back, arching herself into him, desperately wanting him to suckle her.

Instead, he froze
. His gaze rose to hers, his eyes glazed, half lidded. They swam into focus, his struggle for self-control evident in his countenance.

A sharp sigh of frustration escaped her lips
.
Don’t stop
, her mind screamed.
Not now
.
Not this time
.   

“I know I must stop,” he said hoarsely, “but I haven’t the strength, not tonight.”  He shook his head and stepped away from her
. “Go, before it is too late.”

“No, Hayden,” came her reply, her gaze boldly meeting his
. “I can no longer deny my desires. I no longer wish to.” 

He hesitated, his eyes seeking affirmation in hers
. She only smiled. He nodded slowly and drew her toward him, his hands clutching at her chemise. He paused, his head dipping down toward her ear. “Thank you,” he murmured, then fiercely tore away her chemise.

She gasped as the fabric fell to the floor
. Somehow she managed to kick off her slippers and step out of the folds of her dress, pushing aside the tattered remnants of her chemise with her stocking feet. She straightened, bared to him in the candlelight. His gaze raked over her body appreciatively, his eyes smoldering with desire. A shy smile formed on her lips in response, even as her heart fluttered in anticipation.

“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he said, his voice rough
. “Do not ever doubt it.”

Without taking his eyes off her, his fingers flew furiously over his shirt’s buttons, and in seconds he pulled it over his head
. Roughly, he removed his boots before stepping out of his trousers and standing proudly before her, his body entirely bared to her curious eyes.

Her cheeks burned as her gaze slid over his form in fascination, following the path of the dark dusting of hair that covered his finely sculpted chest and narrowed to a fine line, bisecting his taut stomach and tapered hips, and widened again at the source of his erection
. She swallowed hard, amazed by the frightful size of him in arousal. Her heart skidded and her eyes quickly flicked back to his face, dark with desire, his eyes burning intensely with need.
Dear God, he’s beautiful
. More beautiful than she’d dare to imagine. Jane’s legs grew weak, threatening to buckle if he didn’t take her in his arms quickly.

As if he’d read her mind, he gathered her in his embrace and lifted her off her feet, cradling her against him as he carried her across the room to the heavily draped bed
. She laid her cheek against his warmly scented skin where his heart slammed against his ribs, echoing her own.

Gently
–almost reverently–he lowered her to the bed. His hands roamed the length of her body, sending flames of desire leaping from her skin at his touch. She felt his fingers stroke her legs, barely aware that he was untying her garters and sliding her stockings down until she felt his warm breath caress the curve of her calves. She closed her eyes as soft, featherlike kisses rained from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. His scent–tobacco mixed with sandalwood and the faintest hint of bergamot–enveloped her, sent her senses reeling, her head spinning. Turning her head to one side, she moaned softly against the bedcovers.