Chapter 7
Seven
Jaclyn stirred from the fog of unconsciousness slowly, her mind clouded and distant, as if she were trapped between two worlds.
The muffled sounds of a fire crackling nearby, the faint rustle of fabric, and the soft creak of wood filled her ears, but nothing seemed to make sense.
No matter how much she tried she could not unscramble the thoughts in her mind.
Her head hurt something fierce, and it was a struggle to breathe.
Cautiously, Jaclyn opened her eyes. She blinked, attempting to bring her surroundings into focus, but everything was blurry—shapes and shadows, all swirling around her in a haze.
Her throat was dry, raw with each swallow, and her head throbbed as though a thousand tiny hammers were beating against it.
A sharp ache in her body left her feeling as if her limbs were made of lead, and an unnatural heat pulsed through her, leaving her flushed and overly warm.
She slid her eyes closed unable to fight the need to return to slumber.
She wanted to be awake, but it was too difficult.
She had to fight the need somehow. She had to understand what was happening with her.
Jaclyn's eyes fluttered open again, and the room around her slowly became less blurry but her vision remained clouded and the unfamiliar surroundings only deepened her confusion.
The walls were draped in soft, muted hues, and delicate furnishings filled the space.
This was not the room she had been in before, nor was it her own.
At Havenwood she shared a room with two other ladies, and there were no others or even a hint of them in the room.
There had to be some clue as to where she was and why she had awakened in an unfamiliar room.
Jaclyn would have to leave the bed and investigate.
For that she would have to attempt to move and she was afraid that might prove impossible.
She laid her hand on the bed and tried to push herself upright but found herself weighed down by an overwhelming fatigue, her body refusing to respond to her will.
As much as she wanted to leave the bed she did not believe she would be able to accomplish that task.
Especially as it continued to be a great effort to remain awake.
The temptation to fall back into the dark comfort of unconsciousness was strong.
But her thoughts—fuzzy as they were—clung to the truth of her situation.
She needed to wake. She needed to understand what had happened.
Was someone else in the room with her? She blinked again and realized, yes, there was someone. It was a… man.
He seemed to notice her stirring, for he leaned forward slightly, his voice a low murmur, though his words were nearly incomprehensible in her foggy state.
“Don’t try to move…” That voice… It was familiar.
Why was it so familiar? “You have been asleep a while. The doctor believes you need to remain in bed and rest to have a full recovery.”
Her gaze slowly drifted to the figure sitting at the side of her bed.
How had she not noticed him sooner? The man was imposing on a good day, but Jaclyn did not fear him.
He was familiar to her and though her mind screamed at her to push the recognition away she could not do it.
She squinted, trying to make sense of the shape before her.
His broad shoulders and strong frame. That sharp jawline, those dark eyes, full of unreadable emotion.
Oh yes, she would never be able to forget this man.
Not him. Not the duke... He would forever be imbedded in her memory even when she wished she could erase him from the depths of her mind.
“You’re safe here,” he said. “I promise.”
Her brow furrowed at his words, her confusion intensifying.
Safe? She had to ask him, had to know, why he was there by her bedside.
As if he cared… The Duke of Amberwood did not care that much for her.
He had held nothing but disdain for her ever since that awful night at Vauxhall.
She tried to speak, but her throat constricted painfully, and she coughed, a rasping sound that left her feeling more exhausted than before.
The duke’s hand was immediately at her side, his touch surprisingly gentle. “Don’t try to speak,” he said quietly, his voice soft and reassuring, though something in her could not trust it. Why would he care? None of this made a lick of sense.
Jaclyn's mind raced, her vision swimming once more.
The last thing she remembered was falling into the pond after trying to convince Melisande to come out of the water.
She had tripped and fell… The cold water had swallowed her and dragged her down.
Now, here she was, in a bedchamber unfamiliar to her, in the presence of a man who had never shown her kindness.
Her thoughts were scrambled as she tried to understand it all.
Why would the Duke of Amberwood be here?
She could feel the bitterness rising within her—the same bitterness she had carried ever since she had been sent to Havenwood after the scandal.
When he had arrived at Easton Abbey with the marquess she had been surprised.
The duke had been cold, dismissive, and distant from the first moment of their reintroduction to each other. So why would he care if she was ill?
She shifted slightly, her pulse quickening. “You... you’re here.” Her voice came out in little more than a rasp, but it was enough to make him pause.
“Yes,” he replied, his tone gentle yet firm. “You fell ill, Lady Jaclyn. You’ve been unconscious for several days. I—”
“Why?” she interrupted, her voice sharp despite the weak rasp. “Why are you in here?”
He stiffened, his gaze momentarily hardening before softening again.
“I had to ensure that you would be all right.” He frowned.
“Lady Easton needed a break from keeping vigil. I offered to stay even though it made her uncomfortable to leave you alone with me. Though neither of us expected you to awaken yet. The fever has kept you delirious.”
Jaclyn wanted to laugh bitterly, but it hurt too much.
Now that she believed. He hadn’t thought he would have to explain himself.
It made much more sense for Charlotte to care about her wellbeing.
The duke had never shown any concern for her before.
He had always made his disdain for her clear.
Though he was here now, sitting beside her, watching over her, his voice softening with every word. Surely that meant something… Didn’t it?
“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “We both know what happens when you show me any kindness.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her tone. That duel had ruined her life, and it hadn’t made his any easier. Her foolish brother had damned them both.
There was a long silence between them, the weight of her words hanging in the air.
The duke shifted in his chair, his face unreadable.
“This is different,” he said, his voice raw with an emotion she couldn’t place.
“Besides, I cannot very well ruin your reputation any more than I already have, and your brother is not here to force another duel.” He smiled.
“I do care, Jaclyn. I do not wish any harm to come to you. Why would I have bothered jumping into the pond after you if I wished you ill?”
Jaclyn’s chest tightened, a mixture of anger and something unfamiliar swirling in her heart.
He shouldn’t jest about that night… “You seem rather blasé about what happened that night, Your Grace.” She shook her head and regretted it immediately.
“You were physically injured that night. I am glad it was not a grave wound, but next time you might not be so fortunate. We both know how hot-headed my brother is.” She met his gaze.
“I was only ever a nuisance to you,” she muttered, trying her hardest to remain awake.
“Your kindness to me was paid in bloodshed. I do not wish to incur any further injury to your person or your reputation. Mine is already in tatters and another blight will ensure I will be a pariah. You should leave. Send Charlotte back.”
“I am not leaving,” he said, his voice low and firm. “I am not afraid of your brother or his temper.”
“I did not mean to imply that you were,” she said softly. “Perhaps I am just surprised.”
“At what?” he asked.
“That you care…” She had not meant to admit that to him, but she could not hold back the words.
“It surprises you that I care?” He arched a brow. “I am not so unfeeling, my lady. I care more than I wish to admit.”
The words were so simple, yet they struck her like a blow.
She wasn’t sure if it was the fever, or the exhaustion, or just the sheer confusion of it all, but the walls she had built around herself began to crumble just a little bit.
The hope she’d buried deep inside—long buried, but still there—stirred.
Could she trust him? Could she let him in?
That night at Vauxhall, when they had first met, she had thought perhaps fate had brought him to her.
That he might be the gentleman destined for her.
What a fool she had been. A young, innocent fool…
Before she could gather her thoughts, he spoke again, his voice softer. “I am sorry you were hurt by all that transpired that night. You never should have carried the burden of a scandal. You did nothing wrong.”