To Capture a Rake Page 18

  A soft breeze rustled through the garden, sending her skirts toward him. The material clung to his legs, as if begging him to pull her closer. “That wasn’t the agreement.” He reached out, brushing a loose tendril behind her ear, his fingers lingering at her jawline as he resisted the urge to pull her closer.

  “It’s supposed to be.”

  Was it his imagination, or did her voice sound a little huskier than normal?

  “Elizabeth!” Will cried out, shoving his way through the gate.

  Gideon could have cursed the lad’s inopportune timing. Blushing furiously, Elizabeth stepped back. Why the shyness, he wasn’t sure. Surely the entire household must know about their relationship. But her embarrassment amused him. He never quite knew what he would get with her. Quivering milkmaid, commanding lady, or sinful seductress?

  Will came to a skidding halt, sending loose pebbles into the air. “She’s in the portrait gallery again, and she has the painting.”

  Elizabeth sighed, rubbing her left temple. “I see.”

  “I had the unfortunate timing to meet up with her as well,” Gideon taunted.

  Elizabeth’s worried gaze flashed to him. Gideon’s blood went cold. There it was…everything he needed to know. Elizabeth didn’t want him in the gallery.

  And like the bastard he was, Gideon said, “There was a lovely portrait of your late husband she was forcing the servants to hang.”

  He gleaned some satisfaction when she went pale. It was the reaction he needed. The reaction he expected. Innocent milkmaid indeed. Who the hell was the real Elizabeth, and more importantly, why was he here?

  “I see,” she whispered.

  Their tense silence stretched. Gideon shifted, crossing his arms over his chest and gazing toward the children, who were arguing over a doll. “Odd that you don’t keep a painting of your husband in the gallery.”

  “It…upsets the children.”

  So, she wasn’t above using Henry and Cally? As much as he wanted to hate Elizabeth and her lies, the shadows that haunted her eyes ate at his conscience. Damn her. Gideon stared up at the dark clouds, willing his heart to harden. What secrets was she keeping?

  “Will,” Elizabeth said. “Bring Henry and Cally inside. I’m sorry, but I must go.”

  She didn’t wait for his response but curtsied and rushed toward the gate, practically running. Will headed toward the children, but Gideon barely noticed the man.

  “What are you up to, my dear?” As he watched Elizabeth flee, he knew two very important facts…she didn’t want him in the gallery and he’d bet money that she didn’t want him seeing the portrait of her late husband either. The question was…why?

  Chapter 13

  The sun had set hours ago, but Elizabeth couldn’t seem to find any peace. She lay in bed, a book upon her lap, a roaring fire in the hearth, and warm tea on the bedside table. She had all the comforts she needed, and on any other night she would have welcomed the moment of peace and solitude. But she couldn’t focus enough to read, and the fire and tea offered little comfort. Instead, she stared idly at the fireplace, wondering if Gideon would send for her tonight and hating herself because she prayed he would.

  With a sigh of frustration, she set the book on the table. So many thoughts and worries spun through her mind that it was impossible to think straight. The truth of the matter was that it was becoming more and more difficult to keep Gideon in the dark. And the more time she spent with the man, the guiltier she felt.

  Dare she tell him the truth? Elizabeth played with the blue ribbons that tied her dressing gown together. Gideon had seen the portrait of her late husband, but he hadn’t seemed to recognize the man, thank God. Still, there were times, like now, when she felt as if she should just blurt out the truth and be done with it…if only she could trust him.

  As much as last night had meant to her, she wasn’t stupid enough to think their moment together had meant something to him. And why should it? He’d had so many women that she was just another in a long line. But damn it all, she wanted to be more. So much more. With a groan, Elizabeth covered her face with her hands. Dear Lord, she was actually coming to care for the man.

  A low rumble of thunder rattled the glass in the windows. Elizabeth glanced at the clock on the mantel. Midnight. The house slept, everyone but her. It was obvious Gideon wasn’t going to send for her, and for some reason she felt gravely disappointed.

  She forced her thoughts away from Gideon and onto Henry and Cally. She and the children had taken their dinner in her rooms. She couldn’t stomach sitting alone with her mother-in-law. The time for hospitality was gone. She could take the woman’s dark presence no more. Tomorrow she could tell her mother-in-law to leave and never return. She dreaded the confrontation, worried it would make things worse, but it must be done.

  Elizabeth fluffed her pillow behind her. She and Mr. Ashton had married in France, taking an extended trip so that her pretended pregnancy and the children’s pretended births would not be questioned. And with a few coins placed in the right hand, a priest had made sure their marriage certificate was dated a year earlier.

  After three years of living abroad and avoiding Mr. Ashton’s friends and family, they’d returned, and with their arrival came his mother and her disapproval. It didn’t matter that Mr. Ashton had procured teachers while abroad and Elizabeth had learned everything a lady could, they still saw through the ruse. She had no money and no family connections. Their plan had been risky indeed, a fine balance of the truth and lies. But she feared that reality was nipping at their heels, sending her a warning bark.

  She started to reach for the lamp, intending to attempt slumber, when she heard the soft click of the doorknob turning. Elizabeth stiffened, sitting upright. Anticipation and nervousness combined. When the door opened and Henry peeked his head inside, she almost laughed at her own ridiculousness. She wasn’t sure if she felt relieved or disappointed that Gideon had not arrived.

  “I’m not feeling well, Mama.” Henry shuffled across the carpet, his face pale, his scrawny arms wrapped around his white nightdress.

  Her amusement fled. Elizabeth shoved away the covers. “What is it?”

  “My head aches fierce, and my belly feels sick.” He crawled onto the bed and snuggled up next to her, his tiny body warm and soft.

  She pressed her hand to his forehead, but there was no fever. Still, he felt clammy. It was the one thing she despised about being a parent, the unrelenting fear that came with. She pulled the blankets up around his small frame. She hadn’t given birth to the children, but she could worry as well as any mother. “You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

  The servants had been ill only a month ago, a cold that had moved through the estate, leaping gleefully from one person to the next, leaving red noses and watery eyes in its place. Although the symptoms were not the same, perhaps he’d finally picked up the illness. Henry moaned and curled more tightly into a ball, squeezing his eyes shut as if in pain. The agony upon his beautiful face sent fresh fear churning in her gut.

  “Henry? Darling, do you need a bowl?”

  “Yes, please.”

  She jumped from the bed and grabbed her washing bowl. This wasn’t like Henry, not at all. She slipped the bowl under his face just in time. The poor child lost his dinner. Startled, she grew even more anxious. “What did you eat tonight?”

  “Just the ham and potatoes Milly brought to dinner.” He shivered and groaned again. A whisper of unease had her jerking on the bell cord. Past fears pushed their way into the foreground. Children died all the time from unknown illnesses. She’d lost her parents, she’d lost her only sibling, she could not lose Henry.

  She cupped the boy’s round face. A shiver of warning raised the fine hairs on her neck. “Henry, did you eat anything else? Anything at all?”

  “I don’t know.” His lashes fluttered down, and his breathing grew shallow. The child seemed to be fading before her very eyes. Fear pulsed bitterly through her body, taunting her with its familiar arriv
al. No, she couldn’t go through this again.

  “Henry?” He didn’t answer. She lightly tapped the sides of his face. The boy didn’t even flinch. He was still as death. Panicked, Elizabeth hiked up the skirts of her dressing gown and raced toward the door just as it opened.

  Startled, Sarah drew back. “What is it?”

  “Check on Cally, make sure she’s well.” Elizabeth pushed the servant into the hall, worried Henry would overhear. “Send Will to fetch Dr. Riley, and hurry!”

  The maid nodded. “Yes, of course. What—”

  “Now!”

  The maid spun around and raced down the hall right past Gideon. His hair was mussed, his jacket and boots on as if he’d been out. Vaguely, Elizabeth was aware that he hadn’t been in his room. He could’ve been returning from Sarah’s bed for all she cared. Nothing mattered but Henry. She started to turn toward the door when he gripped her upper arm, stopping her.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She jerked away from his hold, in no mood to appease his domineering personality. “Henry, he’s ill. It’s probably nothing, but ever since Mouse was sick…”

  Gideon swept past her and moved into the room as if he belonged there. It angered her that after the way he’d treated her, he thought he could take charge of her children. Yet, she couldn’t deny that a part of her welcomed his assistance. She was so bloody tired of being alone.

  She followed Gideon, closing the door softly behind her. He was already seated on the bed, his large hand pressed to Henry’s forehead. “No fever.”

  “No.”

  He was unnaturally quiet for a long moment, merely staring at Henry, as if attempting to figure out a puzzle that didn’t make sense. When he finally turned toward her, she didn’t like the dark look in his eyes. A look of anger, of worry, of wariness, a look that was all too human. Tension twisted in her gut. There was something he wasn’t telling her, something he didn’t want to say.

  She nervously wrung her hands together. “Gideon, what is it?”

  He stood and glanced toward the bowl where Henry had gotten sick. “Nothing. Just keep giving him tea.” He started toward the door, sweeping past her like a man on some sort of mission. Elizabeth panicked at the thought of being left alone.

  “No!” She latched onto his arm, clinging to him desperately. It was a struggle to control her fear, and Gideon wasn’t helping. “Tell me.”

  He sighed with frustration but finally looked her in the eyes. The truth was there, terrifying and gut-wrenching. “It’s a guess—”

  “Tell me!”

  He glanced at Henry once more, and the pity she saw in his gaze nearly did her in. The boy lay still, quiet, pale, his eyes closed. “What is it?” She wanted to shake sense into Gideon. Did he not see the direness of the situation? Why wasn’t he speaking? “Gideon, please!”

  “Poison,” he said softly.

  She wouldn’t have been more stunned if he’d slapped her across the face. She gasped, crossing her arms around her waist, feeling very much as if someone had sucked the air from her lungs. “No. Surely you’re being overly dramatic.”

  “Perhaps.” But Gideon’s face was so very serious. It wasn’t some cruel jest. “I’ve seen it before, and the symptoms are rather difficult to decipher. Easy to hide.”

  Blood pounded so loudly in her ears that she could barely hear his words. Elizabeth shook her head. No, it couldn’t be. She stepped back, as if she could escape the accusation. The entire world crumbled, falling down around her piece by piece. She couldn’t breathe. Her lungs shrank, the room spinning. If Henry had been poisoned, that meant her in-laws weren’t merely after her. That would mean she hadn’t done her job as a mother and protected her child from harm.

  “I could be wrong,” he said softly.

  Her knees began to buckle, the floor giving away. Before she fell, Gideon wrapped a muscled arm around her waist, pulling her up close to him. How she needed his strength.

  “Would she, Elizabeth? Would your mother-in-law be so bold as to poison him?”

  “I don’t know!” She glanced at Henry’s tiny body and almost choked on a sob.

  So small. So innocent. She tore away from Gideon as the truth took hold. She would save him, somehow, in some way. She sank onto the edge of the bed, clasping Henry’s hand close to her bosom. She couldn’t leave his side, afraid that if she did, he would slip away. And so she memorized his thick lashes, his flushed round cheeks. She memorized his tiny chest and little feet. She wanted to wrap him in her arms and protect him, but she was too late. Too damn late.

  “Elizabeth.” Gideon rested his hand on her shoulder, but she hardly felt his touch. “Would she?”

  She studied Henry’s pale face, counted each breath he took, the shallow rise and fall of his little chest. “Yes.” The word was painful, ripping from her heart and chest. “Oh God, what have I done?”

  It was her fault. She was the only one to blame. If she had been more diligent…if she had moved to France as she had wanted to…

  “It might not be,” Gideon said gently, kneeling beside her. “Let’s not worry until the surgeon arrives.” Gideon brushed his thumb over her cheek, a soft and caring caress she didn’t deserve. “He’ll be all right. I promise.”

  But of course he couldn’t know that. He knew as well as she that the child could die. Henry could die, and if he did, it would be her fault because she hadn’t protected him. Rage boiled within, a fury that practically blinded her. She would kill the woman herself.

  Elizabeth surged to her feet.

  “No.” Gideon caught her around the waist and pulled her close. “You can’t go to her right now, worry about Henry. Later we’ll deal with the woman.”

  Elizabeth sank against his chest. “What kind of a horrible person would do such a thing to a child?”

  But Gideon didn’t answer because he knew as well as she what evil lurked in their dark, dark world. As she watched Henry, praying that he continued to breathe, praying that he would see the morning light, she knew the desperation of a mother. Finally, she understood how a person could murder for love.

  Elizabeth wasn’t so very different from the men and women in Newgate. The worry in her heart turned cold as stone as the need for retribution sank like a boulder. The idea of vengeance tasted sweet and kept her from going utterly mad.

  If anything happened to Henry, she’d make sure the woman paid with her life, even if it meant she would hang.

  The wait was unbearable. For five hours Gideon watched Henry vomit and grow weaker and weaker, paler and paler. For five hours he worried the child would die. For five hours he dreamt about heading to the dowager’s room and shooting her through her cold, black heart.

  When the surgeon finally arrived, he only confirmed what Gideon had suspected…it might be poison. Arsenic, most likely. Completely untraceable, and most likely unprovable. They would have to wait it out to see if he recovered. And so the clock on the mantel ticked the minutes by and finally the dark night faded to light and still Henry breathed.

  Gideon moved from the windows toward the bed and took the boy’s clammy hand in his. Lifeless, but his pulse still beat in his thin wrist, thank God. His gaze slid toward Elizabeth. She stood like a statue near the fireplace. She’d been standing there unmoving, practically unblinking for at least an hour.

  The urge to protect her overwhelmed him. To pull her close and tell her that everything would be well. Damn it all, he wanted to save this family who had wormed their way into his measly heart, but how? How could he save anyone when he couldn’t even save himself?

  “Will he recover?” Elizabeth’s voice came out husky with emotion.

  It was a somber room and had grown more so throughout the night. Gideon and Elizabeth had taken turns at Henry’s bedside. He didn’t question his devotion and compassion, and neither did Elizabeth. It wasn’t the time to worry over his deepening feelings. He could curse his weak heart tomorrow.

  The surgeon sighed, raking his hands through his bushy w
hite hair. Instead of responding, he shuffled toward Henry and pressed his stethoscope to the lad’s chest. Gideon gave the man room and paced toward the windows. Daylight had arrived and with it the hope of a new day. The hope of recovery.

  Gideon didn’t trust Elizabeth; he knew she was keeping secrets from him. Yet, at that moment none of it mattered. He only wanted to see her safe and sound. Only wanted the children well. And if they made it, if they survived, he would know that he had done something worthwhile with his wasteful life.

  “We can pray,” the surgeon finally said. “With rest and God’s will, perhaps. Fortunately, it doesn’t seem as if he ingested much. That is…if it was what we believe.”

  He was reluctant to confirm their fears, for it meant that someone, somewhere was guilty. Gideon turned away from the windows and studied Henry’s pale face. He looked so tiny, so helpless in Elizabeth’s large bed. He wanted to cradle the lad to his chest and promise him that he’d see the culprit suffer.

  Mouse sniffled, drawing his attention to her. She sat curled in the chair, clutching her doll and watching Henry mournfully. He knew what it felt like to lose a sibling. He would not let that happen to Cally. Damn it all, he wouldn’t let Henry die.

  “Mrs. Cooper is ready to give birth. I shall check back in a few hours.”

  Gideon wanted to protest the man leaving, but Elizabeth merely nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Send for me if he gets worse.” The surgeon left, closing the door softly behind him.

  Frustrated, Gideon paced the room, from the fireplace to the windows to the bed. He felt trapped, helpless. Elizabeth remained still as a statue near the blazing hearth. And poor Cally rested on a wing back chair, attempting to understand something that was beyond her innocence. Yet, the birds still chirped. The sun still rose. The world still spun. And the dowager…the dowager still lived while Henry suffered. The restlessness within him itched fiercely.