Chapter 6
Thoughts of Sibby and the revelations of the evening haunted Seth; elusive sleep came and went.
He rose once to open his window letting the icy air cool his heated body.
Tossing and turning, he twisted his covers and pounded his pillow.
Regret filled him, though whether for leaving her nine years ago or for mauling her that evening, he couldn’t say.
When he heard cries from downstairs, he leapt up naked, lit a candle, and scrambled to dress. In trousers and a loose shirt, he stumbled down the stairs in bare feet and flung open the door to the sick room to stare at the child’s bed.
His patient’s condition, thrashing and moaning, took a moment to come into focus, so distracted was he by the body of the woman leaning over the bed. Sibby held the girl down, keeping her injured leg still. As he watched, Becky stilled and settled.
Sibby rose and turned to him. “It was a nightmare. I think I kept her leg still. I gave her a few drops of laudanum to settle her.”
Her glorious chocolate-brown hair hung loose around her shoulders, its honey gold highlights flickering in the candle’s light.
The night-rail, plain, modest cotton, clung to womanly curves that would haunt him for the rest of his nights.
His jaw sagged open, and speech remained impossible.
One thought echoed through him. Mine. She’s mine. She always was.
In the face of his silent study of her person, Sibby dropped her eyes and scurried to put on a wrapper. His gaze dropped to the dainty toes he could just make out in the shadows beneath her clothes. I should go back upstairs.
He didn’t. He walked to the table and set down the candlestick. He cleared his throat and swallowed hard. “Tell me,” he said, his voice thick, “What happened.”
Sibby hesitated, still in shadow. “As I said. She woke up in a nightmare. Her cries must be what you heard. She’s fine now. Go back to sleep.”
He nodded. “Thank you for sitting with her. Your actions were perfect.” You are perfection itself.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“About my behavior earlier… I have no justification for my brutish—”
She rushed forward and put a hand to his mouth.
“Don’t. Please don’t apologize.” Her brown eyes bore into his.
“It was…it was…” She swallowed and tossed her head, her hair floating up in a cloud of lavender-scented air.
“We need to talk again, but not now. Not like this.” She dropped her hand and touched his shirt where it hung open. “Not dressed like this. Not here.”
“Talk,” he repeated, holding her eyes. “Yes. Later.”
She took a step back, and he lifted his candle, gripping his self-control by a thread.
He kissed her. Swiftly. Simply. Chastely. He fled the room.
* * *
Sybilla rose from bed as soon as light showed under the window shades and checked her patient. Becky’s breathing was even; she lay still, her leg still between the bricks. The child had slept through the night. Sybilla had not.
She dressed in what she wore the day before, her head throbbing and her belly complaining. She decided to go to the kitchen and make coffee.
Humming to herself she set the drink to brewing and located day old sweet rolls.
“The girl I knew nine years ago would have been lost in a kitchen. She certainly wouldn’t brew her own beverages.”
Seth leaned on the door frame. Unlike last night, he was fully dressed in a brown suit, waistcoat, white shirt done firmly at his neck and a neatly tied cravat. He had even shaved, whereas Sybilla had not yet done up her hair. She blushed and pulled it back in a twist.
“I’ve learned many skills in those years. So have you,” she said.
He bit into a sweet roll. “I didn’t expect to find you here. I thought I would go over to check on the watchers by the shack while Becky slept.”
“Would you like some coffee?”
“That would be heaven on a cold morning,” he said, his voice oddly hoarse.
They sipped in silence until Sybilla could no longer stand it. “Becky will awaken soon. I need to get back.” She stood and gazed at him for a moment. “I think you should try that procedure, plat… plat… whatever you called it.”
“Platre coulé. I plan to.”
“First. Before we let ourselves be drawn into the murder. Becky’s family will take over once you immobilize her ankle.”
“You’re right, Sibby. You usually are,” he replied, gazing back at her. “We need to care for her and then deal with our murderer. We will talk after that.
Talk. She heard the echo of her words in the night and could only nod. Seth appeared as frustrated as she felt. What lay between them needed to be—what? Laid bare? Embraced? She forced her feet to move toward the door.
Mrs. Duncan bustled in as Sybilla left the room. “Y’re both up so early. Some broth for the little one, Mr. Caulfield?”
Behind her, Sybilla heard him giving instructions and agreeing to eggs and a proper breakfast after they treated her.
Seth is right, though. We should check on the investigation as soon as the procedure is done. Sir Whittleby is worthless, and Frank could go off on a tangent. Sybilla approached the sick room. That’s what we will do.
In the end, they didn’t have to. The investigation came to them.