“I shall do my best,” Rafe promised. “I am sending my man to London to fetch a specialist, then I’ll return to Lady Clarice.”
He stood for a moment longer, thinking about what trouble this particular ward of his was and feeling a flash of guilt at the very thought. He circled the bed and took Tess’s hands. “Imogen will be all right,” he said. “The doctor found no sign of a head injury. She will wake up. I am sorry, Tess. This must bring memories of your father’s death.”
Tess’s mouth wobbled. Her chest felt so constricted by fear and anger that she couldn’t even answer.
He squeezed her hand, then left.
Tess had arrived at the house quite certain that she would find Imogen instituting a prank, playing the injured heroine so that she could make a stay in Maitland’s house. That was just the sort of high-spirited trick that Imogen would concoct. But here her sister was, looking so white and unmoving that Tess felt as if she were standing at her father’s side again.
Josie was standing at the bottom of the bed, tears pouring down her face. “It’s just like Papa,” she sobbed, saying aloud just what Tess was thinking. “She’ll die now, just the way he did. He never woke up”—she struggled for breath—“we never could wake him up that last time.”
“She won’t die!” Tess said bracingly. She thought frantically of everything they had used to attempt to wake their father: the talk of the stables, the hot apple-mash…There was only one thing she could think of that might rouse Imogen, even though it was the last thing she wanted. One more glance at her sister’s closed eyes and white face, and she flung open the door.
“Lord Maitland!” she called, running down the stairs.
He was sitting in the ornate, gold-hung drawing room with his mother, looking altogether too relaxed.
“Lord Maitland,” Tess said, catching her breath. “If you would be so kind as to help me with something for a moment.”
“Oh, must he?” Lady Clarice said with a petulant twist of her mouth. “We’ve only just got comfortable, Miss Essex. This is all terribly wearing on my nerves, I assure you.” She raised a scrap of handkerchief to her brow.
“Just for the merest second, Lady Clarice,” Tess said, curling her lips in what she hoped was a smile.
Draven Maitland had, of course, risen to his feet when she entered the room, and now he walked after her up the stairs and down the corridor with all the enthusiasm of a child being sent to school. He hesitated outside the bedchamber given to Imogen. “This isn’t exactly proper, is it?” he asked. “Shouldn’t I call my mother to act as a chaperone? I’m afraid that it will not be seen as—”
“Oh, do go in,” Tess said crossly, pushing him over the threshold. “You needn’t stand on ceremony with us. You certainly have shared many a meal with us in the past.”
“But that was in Scotland,” he said painstakingly.
“I don’t see a difference.”
“My mother would,” Draven said, and then, as if the very mention of his mother was a magic wand, he walked over the threshold.
Josie realized that a man had entered the bedchamber and ran out, giving Tess a furious look. Her face was all blubbered with tears.
Imogen was lying against the pillows, looking so white that Tess’s heart thumped in her chest. “Wake her!” she charged Maitland.
He fell back a pace and blinked at Tess. “Resurrection isn’t my strong suit.”
Tess narrowed her eyes and moved toward him. “She doesn’t need resurrecting. She needs you to wake her up. Kiss her.”
“Kiss her?” His eyebrow shot up. “While I’m always happy to help a lady, I fail to see how—”
“Just do it,” Tess said fiercely. Lord knows it was the very last thing she wanted that irresponsible, care-for-nothing boy to be doing…and yet Imogen had to wake up. She had to.
“As you wish.” He bent down over the bed, as Tess watched. Maitland had a sleekness about him that she couldn’t like, but that seemed to turn Imogen turn to water. Still, Tess had to admit he was handsome, with his cleft chin and generous mouth.
“Imogen,” he said. “Wake up.”
She didn’t move. He looked up at Tess.
“There’s no one but the two of us here,” she snapped. “Consider yourself uncompromised. Of course, your mother would hugely dislike what you are doing now, even if it is for the very best reasons.”
“Believe it or not, that wasn’t first on my mind,” he said. Then he put his hands on either side of the pillow and pitched his voice very low. “Imogen, I want you to wake up now. Wake up!”
Tess’s sister looked exactly like Sleeping Beauty in the fairy tale, her hair curling around her face, long eyelashes lying against her cheeks.
His mouth curled again into a smile. “Ah, but you’re beautiful, lass.” He touched her face. “Wake up, now.”
Tess could see the attraction, oh yes, she could. Those big hands that held a horse so easily, that keen way he looked at her sister. There was something so possessed about Draven Maitland, as if he’d always gotten what he wanted and always would. It was strangely attractive. It was just too bad that the obverse of all that possession was a reckless temperament and a spoiled character.
“Imogen,” he said, and his mouth touched hers. Tess closed her eyes. It didn’t seem right to watch. “Imogen,” she heard him say again, low and commanding.
Tess opened her eyes again. Maitland was looking down at her sister, and there was something in his face that made her feel suddenly uneasy. He put his hands on her face, and he didn’t look lazy anymore. “Imogen,” he said, “I want you to wake up.”
Imogen stirred.
“I want you to wake up,” he said deliberately, “and if you don’t, I shan’t marry you.”
Tess gasped.
He was kissing her sister again, but this time it wasn’t a gentle buss on the lips. “I shan’t marry you,” he growled. Tess took a panicked breath and looked away for a moment. It didn’t seem right to watch and yet—
And when Tess looked back, well, Imogen was awake.
Of course.
Chapter 21
Holbrook Court
Early afternoon
F aced by a woman whose very flounces were dancing with fury, Rafe tried to find a germ of fact in a flood of words that appeared so quickly they seemed to eat the very air around them. “What do you mean, Lady Clarice?”
“Precisely what I said,” she spat. “That ward of yours has made a direct set at my son. And don’t think I won’t see her ruined, Holbrook, because I will. Ruined! You have to send her back to Scotland this moment, and perhaps—perhaps!—I will forget her temerity.”Rafe took a deep breath. “What exactly has Miss Essex done?”
“Not the eldest one, the injured one!” Clarice shrieked at him.
“Well, what has Miss Imogen done?”
“She’s—she’s—You’ll have to see for yourself,” Clarice snapped. “I only hope that Miss Pythian-Adams can forgive my son for his notable stupidity. I consider this entirely your fault, Holbrook, and so I called to tell you. Entirely your fault! You have acted disgracefully as a guardian. Which is no more than anyone could have foretold.”