Chapter 13
Ben was in motion at once, reaching Violet in less than a dozen brisk strides. Despite how the duskiness rendered her features indistinct, the subtle floral scent left no doubt it was his wife who stood before him.
He was uncertain how to name the sensation tossing about in his gut. It was both warm and icy. Airy and cloying. But suddenly, it didn’t matter.
It didn’t matter because the clouds above drifted enough to allow an extra sliver of moonlight through. A brightness that revealed the rivulets running down Violet’s face weren’t just raindrops, but blood.
He easily distinguished the resultant cold wave that washed over him: fear. The type so potent that he didn’t think before scooping her off the ground and into his arms, hugging her damp, cloak-clad body tight to his chest.
She gasped in surprise, her body wriggling within his grasp. “What are you doing?”
He marched forward, keeping his gaze trained solely on the faint wisp of light from the lamp at the front of the house. “You’re injured.”
“Merely a scratch or two,” she protested, her limbs continuing to flail. “Nothing to prevent me from walking.”
She said something else as well, he thought, although he ceased registering the words. He could concentrate only on getting her indoors. On making the blood go away.
Somewhere in the midst of his unrelenting march forward, the wriggling stopped, her body becoming a soft, immobile weight in his arms. Her hands clasped the back of his neck, a sensation he could almost imagine as being pleasant.
At least, he could if his heart were not pounding so thunderously.
Were her skin not wet and cold, and his nose not filled with the scent of mud from her cloak.
Finally, they arrived back at the front steps—the short distance seeming to have taken a lifetime—and he climbed them two at a time, shoving open the door and bursting into the entrance hall.
“We need hot water. Linens,” he barked at Mrs. Wheeler, who was hovering in the corner, trying to make sense of the chaos that had descended upon the house.
But perplexed or not, she obeyed without a moment’s hesitation, disappearing at the same time a footman emerged from the shadows with a lamp, ready to provide further assistance.
Due to its proximity, Ben opted to rush into the drawing room, the footman and Achilles close on his heels. Beneath the lamp’s muted glow, he placed Violet on the settee and kneeled before her, working to unfasten her muddied cloak. Filled with alarm over what injuries it might conceal.
“I’m all right. Truly.” Suddenly, her wet hand came atop his, stilling it, and her eyes turned to glinting orbs that assessed him in the dimness.
“I fell and scraped my palm, and when I touched my face to check for additional cuts, I fear I may have spread the blood.” She colored a little at that part; he could detect the change upon her countenance even in the low light.
“I’m certain it’s not as bad as it looks. ”
Pushing his hand gently out of the way, she finished untying her cloak herself, letting it fall to the settee. Whatever horrors he’d expected, he didn’t find them. Her simple dark gown wasn’t torn or bloodied; it wasn’t even wet.
A slight relief, in any case. In the next moment, though, the industrious footman had the first of the wall sconces lit, its light revealing her damaged palm. The angry red smears on her face. The leaves in her hair, the dirt caked on her hem.
How had she come to be in this state? His mind swerved in myriad different directions, each one bleaker than the last. He both needed to know the details and dreaded them.
But before either of them could broach the subject, Mrs. Wheeler came hurrying in with the supplies he’d ordered, pushing aside an ormolu vase to make room for them on the end table beside the settee.
He bolted to his feet, standing back and nodding for the housekeeper to take his place. “Mrs. Prescott has cut herself. Please help her tend to the wounds.” Yes, that was the best thing to do first. He and Violet would sort whatever the hell had transpired after she was no longer covered in blood.
As always, Mrs. Wheeler was quick to comply, but Violet held up her uninjured hand just as the housekeeper reached for the linen. “Thank you, Mrs. Wheeler, but that won’t be necessary. I’m sure I can manage on my own, and you’re free to go. I’d like a private word with Mr. Prescott.”
Her eyes drifted to his as she uttered his name, the blue startling in its intensity. Christ, was the woman determined to ignore her well-being altogether and heed nothing he said this night?
Mrs. Wheeler did him the courtesy of looking his way for added direction, but she waited for only half a beat before bobbing a curtsy and scurrying away, with weak instructions to ring if they needed anything else.
As for the footman, he followed close behind with a reluctant Achilles at his side, muttering something indistinct about washing the dog’s paws.
With that, the drawing room door clicked shut, and Ben found himself face-to-face, alone, with his injured wife. His errant wife.
She wasted no time in shuffling down the settee and plunging her hand into the basin Mrs. Wheeler had brought, but whatever the housekeeper had put in the water made Violet wince and snatch it back out.
She opted instead to bury her palm in her skirts, fumbling with her good hand for the roll of linen but inadvertently knocking it to the floor.
“Oh!” She made a little sound, her body shifting again so she could peer under the settee, the action causing a splatter of mud to spread as she jostled her discarded cloak.
“Stop.” Ben’s voice broke out, unable to hold back any longer. They would get nowhere while he stood here, watching her struggle.
He stepped forward, retrieving the linen from beneath the settee and pushing her soiled cloak to the floor with one long sweep of his arm.
It was far too late to spare the settee from dirt, twigs, and leaves, but he ignored the mess, lowering himself beside her and taking her hand from the cradle she’d formed with her skirts.
Her eyes widened, and she made another of her soft noises, drawing in a quick puff of breath. She must not trust him, for she began squirming again, trying to free herself from his grip as he reached toward the basin. However, her efforts merely caused him to hold tighter.
“This will only hurt if you don’t cease moving. Sit still,” he ordered, dipping an edge of clean toweling in the water and bringing it to rest just above her palm. He waited for her to meet his gaze before proceeding any farther.
Comprehension flashed in her eyes, and with the realization that her sensitive palm was safe from another dousing, she nodded, giving up the struggle.
“Very well.” She flinched a little when the towel first hit her cuts, but true to her word, she kept her palm within his, allowing him to dab away the dirt and blood.
However, her feet tapped rapidly against the floor, and she seemed to be swallowing excessively.
It was as if her body were a coil, winding tighter and tighter.
Until all at once, the tension became too much and words sprang out.
“I’m trying to sit here as still as can be, but I can’t wait another second to tell you about the river. About Lord Frederick’s lake.”
Ben’s muscles tensed, his fingers momentarily faltering with the towel before he got himself back in line. He’d never been uncertain about where she’d snuck off to, but hearing her admit it aloud made the truth hit with particular harshness.
Violet, though, appeared far too eager to notice his disconcertment.
She took the slightest pause for breath, then leaned forward, her face flushed with animation.
“Any excuses his lordship makes about diverting the river for flood prevention are falsehoods. He’s doing it to fill his new ornamental lake. ”
A lake? An ornamental lake. Ben let the words percolate, a vein in his neck beginning to throb.
“I should have realized it sooner,” she continued earnestly when all she received from him was silence.
“I knew he was undertaking a huge landscaping project, which included adding a lake. I suppose I just never imagined he’d be so nefarious in how he chose to fill it.
Sure enough, though, when I went to the site of the dam and followed the diversion channel, it led me right to the new lake’s shore.
I meant to take a closer look so I could discern the exact configuration, but when the guard heard me, I—”
“A guard?” Ben snapped. He hadn’t thought his chest could contain another ounce of ire, but he’d apparently been mistaken.
“Yes.” She frowned, catching her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Lord Frederick undoubtedly knows he’s done wrong, but I’m afraid he’s committed to his scheme, for he’s hired a big, burly fellow to stand watch by the river.
You’d best warn your staff and tenants to stay clear of Watley for the time being.
The guard merely fired into the air and caused me to startle and fall, but I’d hate to think what could happen if when the next person came along, he adjusted his aim and—”
“What?” Ben’s voice was sharp and ragged, his lungs on the verge of bursting. How could she sit here and so blithely tell him she’d been shot at? As if she had no care for the danger she’d imposed on herself.
Somehow, he managed to set aside the towel and open the jar of salve Mrs. Wheeler had brought without shattering it in his fist. Somehow, he dotted the concoction over Violet’s cuts while keeping his touch steady and featherlight.
And somehow, he both evened and quieted his tone when he announced, “I’m going to murder Lord Frederick Denham. ”
“You mustn’t say that.” She shook her head emphatically, neglecting her promise of stillness and curling her fingers tight around his. “Responding to his threat with violence will do nothing to help your case.”