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“Since I’m a lord and thus am also a gentleman, I suppose I shall have to relinquish the chair to you. At least you’re not demanding to sit in my lap again.”

He looked darker and more menacing than ever, and she just smiled more widely at him. He grunted, walked to the bed, looked meditatively down at Owen, placed his palm against his cheek, then his forehead, felt the pulse in his throat, nodded, then sat down in the chair. “I’m tired,” he said, leaning his head back, “and am not feeling at all like a gentleman. He’s your brother, you can sit beside him.”

She very nearly kicked his booted foot. Instead, she said, “What are you doing here? Owen hasn’t made much noise in the past hour so I know he didn’t awaken you.”

“Strange as it must sound, both to me and to you, I woke up and found myself worrying. You two are such innocents. I suppose you’re nursing your brother? All by yourself?”

“I don’t think Clorie would be anxious to serve.”

“No, probably not. Actually, she wanted to serve me.”

“Oh really? Why, at such a late hour? You shouldn’t drink so much, sir, surely it can’t be good for you.”

He opened his eyes and looked at her with such annoyance that she blinked. “Don’t be a fool,” was all he said, leaned his head back again, and closed his eyes.

Seeing as how the gentleman had taken the only chair, Caroline sat on the edge of Owen’s bed.

He said in a slow, lazy voice, “This chamber is an abomination. It’s small and airless. It smells of fever. If you don’t want dear brother Owen to speedily dispatch himself to heavenly climes, I suggest that you ask Tewksberry for a larger room.”

“I can’t afford it.”

He sighed. “I thought not. Who the hell are you?”

“I’m not Prudence, that’s for sure. I won’t tell you my name. I won’t be that s

tupid, although I’m so tired I can’t begin to remember what I said two minutes ago.”

“If you are indiscreet I will tell you so.”

“Thank you. What are you doing here? You’re just taking your ease, treating me like a half-wit, not doing a single helpful thing.”

“All true.” He opened his eyes. “You look like hell. Actually you’re looking exactly as I would imagine a Prudence to look.”

“You can call me Rosemary. It’s my second name.”

“Thank God for that.”

“I don’t like to be rude, Lord Chilton, but why don’t you take yourself back to your own bedchamber?”

He rose swiftly from the chair, pulled a key from his pocket, and handed it to her. “Here, take it. It’s number seven just down the hall on the right. It’s the best bedchamber in this cursed inn. Go get some sleep. I’ll see to brother Owen for a while.”

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious, just as you’ll be if you don’t get some rest. Go now while my good nature is still floating on top.”

“He should remain asleep for another couple of hours. Then he must have more water. Dr. Tuckbucket said to pour water down him as if he were a thirsty camel.”

“Where’s the chamber pot?”

She stared at him.

“If he drinks like a camel he will want to relieve himself. Hadn’t you thought of that, Rosemary? No, I can’t say it. Let’s leave it at Miss Smith.” He sighed, a man sorely tried. “I see that you haven’t performed that particular duty for him, nor had you even thought of it.”

“Oh dear, the chamber pot’s under the bed.”

He just nodded and motioned toward the door. “Go to bed, Miss Smith.”

She left him there, shaking her head, wondering what sort of man he was. She wondered what her aunt Ellie would say when she heard of this mad adventure. She prayed devoutly that the adventure would end at Aunt Ellie’s doorstep and not in a gaol somewhere because she didn’t have enough money to pay her shot. And there was Owen, poor Owen, who couldn’t help it that he’d become ill. But why couldn’t he have waited? Just until they’d reached Cornwall. She had this inescapable feeling that Mr. Ffalkes would find them. She just knew it.


Tags: Catherine Coulter Legacy Historical