Chapter 13 #2
“That’s what I was thinking. I just—” He exhaled. “I can’t think about it now. My head hurts so very much.”
“We’re nearly to Ravenhurst House,” Tilda said, glancing out the window. “I’m helping you up to your chamber where you will take a lavender bath, then retire immediately. You do not need to join Teague and me tomorrow.”
He pushed up from the side of the coach with another grimace. “Of course I will. He needs me to accompany him to see Mr. Chadwick.”
“You must rest. He can manage without you.”
“It would be better if I were there,” Hadrian insisted.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not allowing you to endanger your health.”
Hadrian exhaled. “I surrender.”
The coach stopped, and Leach opened the door almost immediately.
He helped Tilda down then assisted Hadrian.
She stayed close as Leach guided Hadrian to the pavement.
The coachman kept hold of Hadrian’s left side whilst Tilda clasped his right arm.
Tilda felt a slight tremor moving through Hadrian, and her worry grew.
As soon as they reached the door, Collier, Hadrian’s butler, opened it. He assessed the situation with deep concern.
“His lordship has a terrible headache,” Tilda explained. “He needs a very warm bath with lavender. Can you see to that?”
“Certainly.” He took himself off.
“I can make my way upstairs to my chamber,” Hadrian said.
Tilda gave him an expectant look. “The same way you made your way out of Scotland Yard?”
“I recovered somewhat during the coach ride.” Hadrian turned his head to Leach. “Go take care of the horses.”
Instead of leaving, Leach looked to Tilda.
“Yes, go ahead,” she said. “I can take care of his lordship.” If not, Collier would no doubt help her.
Leach hesitated but ultimately said, “Feel better, my lord.” He then departed the house, closing the door behind him.
Hadrian looked at Tilda, his lips pressed together. “Seems you’re in charge now. Just as you were at Alnwick House earlier when you ordered the butler about. You’re rather good at household management.”
She arched a brow at him, then escorted him into the staircase hall, keeping tight hold of his right arm and bracing her arm along his middle back. “We’re going to take the stairs very slowly. I want you to clasp the rail with your left hand, and I’ll hold your other side. Don’t argue with me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said perhaps a touch sardonically.
They climbed the stairs slowly, as Tilda had decreed, and when they reached the top, she looked right and left. “I’ve no idea which way to go.”
“To the left.”
She escorted him along the gallery that overlooked the hall below. His house was truly magnificent, but she was far more interested in the man she clung to. He seemed a little steadier on his feet, but he still leaned on her.
“This door here on the right.” Hadrian gestured to the last door along the gallery.
Tilda pushed it open into a gorgeous sitting room decorated in blues and greens. There were two bookcases and a carved mahogany desk. If she wasn’t in such a hurry to see Hadrian settled, she would have stopped to appreciate the handsome room.
They moved into his bedchamber, which was quite large and dominated by a mahogany four-poster bed cloaked in dark green velvet.
“I’ll just sit.” Hadrian looked toward a dark brown leather chair situated near the hearth. Tilda helped him get there, and he sat down rather heavily.
Tilda set her reticule on a footstool and once again removed her gloves. She turned back to Hadrian and knelt before him to remove his shoes.
He smirked. “How wifely of you. And don’t tell me not to flirt. We’re not currently investigating.”
“How can you flirt at a time like this?” She removed the second shoe and set it aside.
“This is not a crisis,” Hadrian assured her. “I’ve experienced headaches like this before.”
“I would argue you have not.” Tilda did not care for his blasé attitude. “As you noted, you’ve never collapsed before.”
He scooted forward in the chair and started to remove his coat. Tilda helped him, drawing the garment from his arms. She moved to set it on a bench at the end of his bed. When she returned, she saw that he’d loosened his neckcloth and unbuttoned his waistcoat.
His valet came in through another doorway, his features pinched. “Good heavens, my lord, what trouble have you gotten yourself into?”
“This is nothing but a headache, Sharp,” Hadrian replied. “You remember Miss Wren.”
Tilda had met most of Hadrian’s household during their second investigation together, when he’d been suspected of murder. She’d interviewed several of his retainers, including Sharp.
He was solidly built and when she’d first seen him, Tilda had presumed he was a groom. Except he’d been impeccably garbed, as he was now. He had light brown hair and warm hazel eyes along with a pleasing countenance often made brilliant with his smile.
“Another headache, my lord?” Sharp asked. “Or have the lice finally taken up residence?”
“Headache,” Hadrian replied with a smirk. “Though you are welcome to inspect my scalp if it will give you solace.”
“The footmen are bringing up water presently for your bath, as directed by Miss Wren,” Sharp said briskly. “I will prepare things in the dressing chamber.” He looked to Tilda. “Have you any other instructions, Miss Wren?”
“Er, no.”
Sharp inclined his head and retreated from the room.
She put her hand on her hip and faced Hadrian. “Why does everyone keep asking me what to do?”
“As I said, you’re in charge,” Hadrian smiled. “I don’t mind.”
Tilda groaned. “Stop flirting.”
She stood there a moment, knowing she should leave but unable to make herself do so. “How will I know you’ll be all right?” she whispered.
Hadrian clasped her hand and pulled her toward him. “Sit.”
“Where?” She glanced around, and he pulled her onto his lap.
“This is hardly appropriate,” she murmured.
He looked her in the eye. “And you think being in my chamber somehow is?”
She pursed her lips. “No. I should go.”
“I don’t want you to,” he said softly. “Not yet.” He leaned his head back against the chair.
Worry surpassed everything else she was feeling. She put her hands on his temples and massaged her fingertips over his forehead.
He closed his eyes again, and his lips curved up. “That’s nice.”
She caressed the lines from his brow. “You gave me quite a fright.”
“I think I frightened myself a little,” he admitted.
She smoothed her hands down his cheeks and again stroked his cheekbones with her thumbs, then she slid her hands back over his ears and into his hair.
Hadrian opened his eyes. She was very close and at this proximity, she never failed to feel as though she were falling.
Not in the way Hadrian had fallen at Scotland Yard, but the sensation that she was floating and gliding.
He wrapped his right arm around her and clutched her side. His left hand rested on her thigh.
Tilda was exceedingly aware of him beneath her and of his embrace. “This is too familiar,” she whispered.
“Our relationship is progressing, whether you want it to or not,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers.
His hand moved along her thigh, and Tilda gasped softly.
He lifted his hand and stroked her cheek.
“The emotions between us keep growing, as does our need for physical contact. Can you deny that?”
Holding her breath, she stared into his familiar, handsome—and beloved—face. “I cannot.” She pressed her mouth to his.
The kiss was soft but not brief. Tilda felt each caress of his lips against hers in every fiber of her being. Finally, she lifted her head. “I must go. You need your bath and to rest.”
“Yes,” he agreed, sounding quite reluctant. “But I’m going to Chadwick’s house tomorrow, and you can’t stop me.”
“You mustn’t tax yourself. Please don’t be foolish.”
“I’ll be fine. I promise I won’t fatigue myself.”
“You must also promise you will not use your ability,” she said sternly.
He pouted briefly. “What if we need it?”
Tilda understood his desire to help, but not at the cost of his health and well-being.
“Your gift has been incredibly useful, and I’m grateful for it.
But if I could trade it away for you to be healthy and whole and not experience this recurring agony, I would do so.
I’m very close to asking you to not use your ability when we investigate. We don’t need it.”
“Perhaps not, but how many times has it pointed us in the right direction?” he asked. “As you said, it’s a gift. I will not turn away from it. I’m learning to manage it, and it’s my hope that this pain will diminish over time.”
Tilda worried it would not, but she didn’t say so. “You should write to Captain Vale about what happened tonight.”
“I will.”
“One more thing, if your head still hurts in the morning, you must promise me you won’t meet us.”
He hesitated, then ultimately agreed. “I promise.”
Tilda wasn’t sure she believed him. “I’ll be able to tell if you’re in pain,” she warned him.
“You think so?” he asked with a half-smile.
“I know you quite well, my lord,” she said.
“Oh, now I’m ‘my lord,’” he laughed, and then immediately winced.
“Don’t laugh.”
“Don’t provoke me.”
She stood from his lap, just in the nick of time too, for Sharp came back into the room. “The bath is ready, my lord. Will you be staying?” he asked Tilda plainly, without even the slightest bit of irony or judgment.
“No, but perhaps you could dispatch a note to my house later and let me know that his lordship has retired for the evening and is well?”
“I would be happy to,” Sharp said.
Tilda picked up her reticule and looked back to the valet. “If his headache is still troubling him in the morning, he must stay abed.” She sent a warning glance toward Hadrian.
“Certainly. If I detect his head is still hurting, I shall send word,” Sharp vowed.
“Thank you.” She turned her attention back to Hadrian. “I like your valet.”
Hadrian smirked again, and his gaze seemed to smolder as he regarded her. “I wish you could stay,” he whispered.
She tried to tamp down the rising heat inside her as well as her own strong desire to remain and care for him. He was in excellent hands, but it was hard for her to leave. She just wanted to be with him. Together, they were more than an investigative team.
But she couldn’t stay. It wasn’t her place to care for him in this way, and it certainly wasn’t appropriate for her to even be in his bedchamber as she was. Not unless they were wed. Right now, in this moment, that held a singular appeal.
That shocking realization encouraged her to go. “Good night, Hadrian.”
“Good night, Tilda. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Perhaps.” She narrowed her eyes at him briefly before turning on her heel and leaving.
She made her way back downstairs to the entrance hall where Collier awaited.
“We’ll take good care of him, miss,” he said. “You needn’t worry.”
“I’ll try not to. I know he’s in the best hands. Please make sure he gets an appropriate amount of rest. We have inquiries to make tomorrow, and I don’t want him coming along if he’s still unwell.”
“Of course not,” Collier said in agreement. There was a glint of admiration in his eyes as he regarded her. “We appreciate you taking care of him. He’s lucky to have you.”
Or was she lucky to have him?
She’d never wanted a partner in her work, let alone a romantic one. Yet, here they were. She couldn’t deny what he’d said upstairs was true. They had grown closer, and they would continue to do so unless they stopped spending time together completely.
Tilda could not see or accept that happening. Which meant she had to determine what came next. Whether she wanted to acknowledge it publicly or not, they were courting. Furthermore, the idea of marriage was not as improbable or undesirable as she’d once believed.
She was going to need some time to become used to that change.