Chapter 12
Elizabeth rolled back and forth on the bed, trying to find a comfortable position, but to no avail. She was hot. She tossed half the covers off, bunched a pillow under her head, then picked up a book she’d been trying to read. She managed three pages before she tossed it aside.
She hadn’t seen Jonathan for a week.
She supposed that was for the best. If she had seen him, they would have just argued. Then again, he could at least have checked in on her. She knew she wasn’t going to die, but she had been flat on her back for a week, and she was tired of being a patient. And she was bored.
But she didn’t want to talk to him about marriage, although she’d thought about it enough.
Her heart skipped a beat at the mere mention of the word, because all she could see was a vision of herself fleeing the chapel in New Orleans dressed in her beautiful wedding gown.
She could imagine Jonathan’s hurt, and she’d seen the ruthless determination in his eyes.
He was going to do exactly what her brother had asked him, come hell or high water, and nothing she said or did would change his mind.
She was doomed.
Finally, about midmorning, her head eased a little, so Elizabeth decided to get out of the bed before she went absolutely mad.
She’d counted the patterns on the wallpaper more times than she wanted to remember.
She had to see her baby! And, most importantly, she had to keep Jonathan from seeing him.
Meeting Dawson would only provoke a series of questions she wasn’t prepared to answer.
Gathering her courage, she pushed herself up, then stopped.
The room spun around, and blackness threatened to close in on her.
She took several steadying breaths, then closed her eyes until the room stopped spinning.
After a few moments, she felt steadier and opened her eyes again.
Thank God, the room was standing still, and her head didn’t hurt like it had for the last week.
Slowly, she slid from the bed and waited until she was sure her feet would support her. She looked down at her white cotton nightgown and wondered who had dressed her. Surely it hadn’t been Jonathan?
On second thought, she knew it couldn’t have been Jonathan because when she last saw him, he looked like he’d be sick if he had to touch her. The thought hurt her more than she cared to admit.
Elizabeth dressed and ran her fingers through her hair to remove the tangles.
When she bent down to retrieve her shoes, her head felt heavy and the floor seemed to pull her down.
She almost fell on her face and had to grab the bedpost for support.
Again the blackness threatened to pull her under.
She waited another five minutes before she carefully slipped on her shoes, trying very hard not to lower her head again.
After several deep breaths, she composed herself and took a tentative step.
With one more breath for courage, she moved gingerly toward the door.
Checking the hallway, she found it empty, breathed a sigh of relief, then started for the staircase. Carefully, she lowered her foot to the first step, then tried it again. She had almost made it to the bottom of the stairs when her luck ran out.
“And where do you think you’re going?” Jonathan asked, looking up at her from the bottom of the stairs.
“Home.”
He gave her an unfriendly stare. “You’re not well enough to go home!”
Elizabeth glared at him. “Since you have not seen me in several days, how would you know how I feel?” She could have bitten her tongue. It was better to let him think she didn’t care a fig if she saw him or not.
Jonathan’s brow arched. “I’ve been asking about your progress.”
“Well you don’t have to bother anymore,” she blazed. “I’m going home.”
“I do hope you mean the town house across the street.”
“No. I mean Briercliff.”
“Perhaps you don’t recall our last conversation,” he said in an ominously calm tone. “So I shall remind you. I’m charged with finding you a husband. The first ball of the Season is next week. Therefore, I will not allow you to go home.”
“Allow?” Elizabeth questioned. “I beg your pardon.” She shot him an incredulous look. “Allow?” she repeated. “Maybe you haven’t noticed but I am a grown woman capable of making my own decisions.”
Elizabeth attempted to move around him, but he stopped her. Looking down at the strong hand that held her, she said, “You are not my keeper, Jonathan Hird!” Her gaze snapped back up so she could look him in the eye.
“I am now,” he countered dryly. “Your brother has put me in this position, and I will do as he has requested.” Jonathan tapped his chin as if he were thinking. “Now let me see. Should it be a banker? Perhaps some titled gent?”
Elizabeth stepped around him. “My brother needs to mind his own bloody business.”
“Such language for a woman so gently bred. We shall have to work on that.” Jonathan took her arm. “I’ll escort you across the street. Wouldn’t want any harm to come to you.”
Elizabeth stiffened. She couldn’t take the chance of him coming into her house and seeing Dawson. “You need not bother.”
“It’s no bother. As a matter of fact, I insist,” Jonathan said as he shoved the door open. “You don’t appear capable of crossing the street without someone’s help.” He would not take the chance of her being hurt again. He hadn’t gotten over the last time yet, but he wouldn’t let her know that.
Elizabeth’s arm tensed beneath his fingers. As they neared the street, Jonathan tightened his hold. Evidently, she was reliving the accident. He waited for the street to clear before urging her forward. Once they reached her door, he pulled her around to face him.
Weakness seized Elizabeth’s limbs as she saw the expression on Jonathan’s face.
Damn this man, for the way he made her feel.
In the sunlight, his hair glistened and her attraction to him was unmistakable.
Clad in buff-colored breeches, shiny brown boots, and a white shirt that lay open in front, Jonathan looked every bit the rake.
Suddenly, his hand cupped her cheek. She jerked back nervously.
When he tilted her chin up, she couldn’t help gazing into his blue eyes—eyes that were cold and hard.
She found herself wanting to erase all the hurt that she saw in the depths of his eyes.
She wanted Jonathan to envelop her in his arms and hold her, care for her, love her, and most of all, forgive her.
Resisting the urge to touch him was the hardest thing she’d ever done.
“Elizabeth,” he said softly, “if I have to go to Briercliff to retrieve you, you will regret it.”
Elizabeth snapped out of her daze. When would she ever get this love sickness out of her head? It was evident that Jonathan didn’t feel the same. He made it plain at every turn that he didn’t want her anymore.
“Don’t threaten me, Jonathan Hird,” she snapped as she jerked her chin away.
“It is a promise ... not a threat.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but couldn’t find the words.
“I will call for you tomorrow afternoon, and we’ll visit the dressmaker. I need to make sure you are in a pretty package since you’re older now than during your first Season.”
“Go to hell, Jonathan Hird,” Elizabeth snarled. Then she opened the door and stepped inside. With a backward shove, she slammed the door in his face.
Jonathan jerked his head back to save his nose from being mashed.
“I have been to hell, Elizabeth Trent. And you’re the one who sent me there,” he murmured to himself as he turned away from the door to head back to his town house.
He waited impatiently for several carriages to pass before he could cross the street.
On his way, he kicked a rock out of his path before making his way to the apartment.
The simple act did make him feel a touch better.
She wasn’t taking the search for a suitable husband well. He smiled, shook his head, and wondered why Elizabeth brought out the worst in him. He didn’t care for her anymore. He no longer loved her. She was completely out of his system.
He was also a liar, he realized with an uncomfortable sinking feeling.
Hadn’t he spent the last several days holed up in his father’s study so he wouldn’t wander into Elizabeth’s room? What was it about the woman that stirred his blood like no other possibly could? Maybe he should ask Dr. Toogood for a magical remedy, or a gun.... Either would do at the moment.
The bloody damned woman had been invading his thoughts more than he cared to admit over the last few days. He was going to have to master control of the situation this time. Miss Elizabeth Trent would dance to his tune, whether she liked it or not.
And this time he’d drag her to the altar for another man. He would make sure she didn’t run away from the bloke like she had from him.
Not waiting for Jeffrey, Jonathan opened his front door, turned, and looked back at Trent House. Perhaps when Elizabeth was married, he would have his revenge, and no longer feel the hurt.
But somehow he doubted it.
Elizabeth didn’t know what to do.
Dread gnawed her insides and she felt like running away.
Her first thought was to flee back to Briercliff, and Jonathan be damned.
But she knew he would come after her, so she didn’t have any choice but to stay in London.
She sat down at her dressing table and brushed her hair while she thought.
She had to be careful combing out the tangles since her head was still tender.
Now what was she going to do? To be on the safe side, she’d have Mary take Dawson back home to Briercliff so Annie could take care of him. Then she wouldn’t have to worry about Jonathan seeing the boy or asking any questions.