Had the effects of the laudanum diminished? Was he pacing the floor ready to unleash the devil’s own wrath on the sister who had betrayed him? At least he couldn’t shoot her. The only pistols available were in a box wedged under her arm.
Ava’s hand shook as she tried to slip the key into the lock. Just as she seemed close to mastering the simple task, the door swung open.
Twitchett stepped back. “Thank the Lord you’re alive, madam.”
Bless him. The man’s face was as white as his hair and cavalier-style beard.
“It was as I suspected,” Ava whispered as she crossed the threshold and handed the butler her hat, gloves and coat. “Lord Valentine is a true gentleman.” She glanced at the stairs, listened for the rants of a madman, but the house was silent. “I trust my brother is still abed.”
Twitchett placed the hat and gloves on the console table and gave a weary sigh. “He woke some twenty minutes ago, madam, and was not best pleased.”
Ava’s heartbeat pounded hard in her throat. “Tell me he is still here.” She imagined Jonathan snatching paper from her escritoire to scribble another challenge, racing around to Lord Sterling’s abode and insisting he deliver the letter to Lord Valentine’s second at once.
Twitchett nodded. “It seems the effects of the laudanum left him unsteady on his feet, and so Mrs Stagg put him back to bed.”
Thank heavens!
When he found his strength, it would be a different matter.
“Then I had best visit him in his room.” Ava had to make him see sense before he did something foolish. “Hide the pistols.” She handed the butler the mahogany box. “Lord knows what he will do when he learns I fought in his stead.”
Jonathan had every right to be angry. After her intervention this morning his peers would think him craven. But what else could she do? Lord Valentine was the best shot in England. Thankfully, he was not a man to boast or brag. Blessed with a host of impressive attributes, he had nothing to prove.
“Can I arrange for refreshment, madam? Coffee, perhaps?”
“Coffee would be wonderful. It’s bitter outside this morning.”
“Evidently. Your lips are an odd shade of blue.”
Ava pressed her fingers to her lips. Was that what had caught Lord Valentine’s attention? His gaze had dropped to her mouth more times than she cared to count.
“Perhaps a hot bath is in order,” Twitchett said, the deep lines on his brow evidence of worry as well as his growing years. “Shall I arrange for Mrs Stagg to heat the water?”
“There is no need.” What if her brother left the house while she was otherwise engaged? “But have Mrs Stagg prepare a tisane. Something to ward off a chill.”
That seemed to appease Twitchett for the time being.
“Now, wish me luck.” Ava summoned a smile. “I am about to enter the lion’s den.”
“Ring if you need assistance, madam. I shall send Bernice up with a taming stick.”
Ava patted Twitchett on the arm. “My brother’s roar is far worse than his bite.”
In essence, Jonathan was more a lion cub—boisterous and playful some of the time, quick to bite and nip for the most part, lovable when asleep. And yet none of those descriptions matched the dark mood of the man lying still, but wide-eyed, in bed.
“Oh, you’re awake.” Despite her best effort, she could not keep the nervous thread from her voice.
Jonathan’s cold, grey eyes flicked in her direction. He lay propped up on a mound of pillows, had a deathly pallor that had nothing to do with illness and everything to do with the effects of the drug, coupled with a hatred for interfering sisters.
“No doubt you’re surprised.” Jonathan’s words carried the depth of his contempt. “Perhaps you failed to add enough laudanum to my port last night. A few more drops and you might have been rid of me for good.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Ava swallowed. The tension in the air was like a prelude to a violent storm. She stepped farther into the room, gripped the gilt chair next to the armoire and brought it closer to the bed. “I saved your life this morning. Had I wanted rid of you, I would have let you meet Lord Valentine on the battlefield.” She dropped into the padded seat and gave an exasperated sigh.
“Do you know what you’ve done?” The words slipped from lips drawn into a scowl.
While the effects of the laudanum made him more subdued, Ava sensed a threatening undercurrent. “I am not in the habit of repeating myself, Jonathan. You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”
“All that matters?” Jonathan sat up and tugged to straighten his nightshirt. “Do you know what happens to a man who misses his dawn appointment? He is mocked and ridiculed. He cannot walk the streets without people pointing and sneering.” With each sentence his voice grew louder, more impassioned. “No doubt there will