CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Thank God…” Sterling murmured his profound relief when Elizabeth’s eyelids began to flicker and then opened.

  She turned to look at him with those beautiful violet eyes. “Where is Christopher?”

  A wealth of feeling welled up in Sterling’s chest upon hearing that, as he had suspected would be the case, Elizabeth’s first thought was to know the whereabouts of the son she obviously adored. “He is asleep in a bedchamber just down the hallway from this one. Peggy and Mary are with him,” he instantly assured.

  “Thank you,” she breathed gratefully.

  Sterling nodded. “Jimmy has brought the doctor, as I instructed, and that young man is now outside seeing to the stabling of the horses and carriage.” He had instructed the groom to include the latter so that the carriage was not left outside to attract the attention of anyone who might feel a need to tell the Earl of Whitlow that they had seen one of his carriages at Bristol Manor.

  Not because Sterling was in the least concerned about arousing the earl’s displeasure, but because Elizabeth’s continued welfare had become of paramount importance to him. That welfare might be threatened if the earl should learn that Elizabeth had fled only as far as the neighboring estate to ask for Sterling’s protection. A protection Sterling knew he would gladly give her for as long as she wished for it.

  “I am Dr. Harlow, Lady Marshall,” the older man now told her soothingly. “His Grace has asked me to examine you to see if you have suffered any serious injuries.”

  Sterling had also cautioned the doctor, very firmly, in regard to revealing to anyone the name of the patient he had been called upon to visit at Bristol Manor in the middle of the night.

  “He is so very kind.” Elizabeth bestowed a warm smile on Sterling before turning to the doctor. “I do not believe anything is broken. I am only very badly bruised.”

  Sterling had never heard himself referred to as kind before, let alone very kind. Nor was he sure it was true of him now. Or if he would have reacted with such urgency in sending for the doctor if that woman had been anyone other than Elizabeth.

  Perhaps if it had been his cousin, Gwen, or one the new wives of two the other Ruthless Dukes. But otherwise, Sterling believed, after sending for the doctor to attend her, he would have distanced himself from the woman and the situation.

  But when it came to Elizabeth, he found it difficult to leave her side, even for a second.

  He did so now, and allowed Peggy to take his place, only so that she could help remove her mistress’s clothing and then assist her into her night rail. He knew it would make it easier for the doctor to examine Elizabeth more thoroughly if she was not hampered by so much clothing.

  Sterling used that time to first go to his study to write several letters, then seek out and issue further instructions to Jimmy, before he returned to his study to partake of a much-needed glass of brandy. As he sipped the fiery liquid, he considered, having sent Jimmy to deliver the necessary letters, what his next move should be.

  Instinct and outrage demanded he pay Whitlow a visit at the earliest opportunity and make him suffer as Elizabeth had and still did.

  It made Sterling wince to think of how afraid Elizabeth must have felt as she began to fall. The pain she would have suffered as her body came into contact again and again with the long wooden staircase as she tumbled down, before she landed on the hard tiled floor below.

  Sterling took another large swallow of brandy at the realization she might have been killed.

  Once Elizabeth had confirmed the sequence of the events of the past thirty-six hours, as related to him by her maid, and Sterling was assured Elizabeth had not suffered any lasting damage from her fall, he fully intended to pay Whitlow that visit.

  A part of him wished it was to inflict the same bodily harm as Elizabeth had suffered, but good sense told him that would not resolve the situation, but instead possibly prolong it.

  But he would make it clear to the other man that Elizabeth and her son and servants were more than welcome to remain at Bristol Manor until she decided otherwise.

  He had no doubt Whitlow would not care for that arrangement at all, but Sterling not only outranked the other man, he also felt no qualms whatsoever about threatening any man who would dare to cause harm to a defenseless woman. Most especially if that woman was Elizabeth.

  Whitlow might not have physically pushed Elizabeth down the staircase, but neither had he done anything to prevent her from falling down it. Nor, again according to Peggy, had the other man cared to so much as check on her welfare afterward, but instead retired to his bedchamber for the night as if nothing were untoward.

  It appeared to Sterling that at that moment, the earl really had not cared if Elizabeth lived or died.

  Sterling was not opposed to using his influence with the Prince Regent, along with that of his four close and equally powerful friends, to ensure Elizabeth’s future safety.

  It was not unusual for a widowed daughter-in-law to remain in the household of her in-laws after her husband’s death, but it was more often the case she would have set up a household of her own. Especially when that widow was as young and beautiful as Elizabeth. Of course, there was Christopher to consider, and he was the earl’s heir, but Elizabeth was obviously deeply unhappy at having to remain living with her father-in-law.

  No matter what transpired in future, it would be Elizabeth’s wishes that were adhered to, whether or not Whitlow was agreeable to her decision.

  “You appear to have had a lucky escape, Lady Marshall,” the doctor told Elizabeth warmly as he put his instruments back into the black leather bag he had placed on the bed beside her. “As you had thought might be the case, I do not believe there to be any broken bones, nor can I detect any internal bleeding or other injury. The bruising is severe, though”—he frowned—“ and it will no doubt cause you considerable discomfort for several more days and nights to come. Taking the contents of one of these sachets four times a day will help with the pain.” He placed the medication on the small bedside cabinet.

  “Thank you, Doctor.” Elizabeth allowed Peggy to assist her to sit up slightly so that she might drink down the first of those foul-tasting drafts.

  “I will go and tell His Grace the good news.” Dr. Harlow straightened. “He has been very worried about you,” he added.

  Elizabeth easily saw the speculation in the older man’s eyes. A curiosity she had no intention of satisfying.

  Not that she would know what to say if she did.

  For all that she was in Sterling’s home, and he was being so very solicitous to her, the only thing Elizabeth really knew for certain about him was that she had instinctively known that, despite the duke’s innate air of haughty disdain, he would never turn away a lady in need of his protection.

  “As were we all.” The outspoken Peggy was, thankfully, the one to briskly answer the doctor, before adding, “I believe His Grace went downstairs. I’ll accompany you there.” She moved purposefully across the bedchamber to pointedly hold the door open for the doctor to leave.

  Elizabeth held back her smile as she watched them go.

  A smile that faded the moment the door closed behind them.

  Because, yes, she was safe for now. But she had no doubt her father-in-law would demand she return, with Christopher, the moment he learned where they both were.

  Apart from traveling back to London, she’d really had no idea where she was going when she left Whitlow Grange earlier, only that she had to get away from the earl before he succeeded in killing her. Her parents’ already crowded house seemed to be the most logical choice, but even that could only be a temporary arrangement. Whitlow was far more powerful than her father, and the moment the earl caught up with her, he would demand she return to his household, along with Christopher.

  The Duke of Bristol was more powerful than both of them, of course, with friends who were equally so. But Elizabeth couldn’t expect him to continue inconveniencing himself for her in the way he had tonight.

  God, he had looked so rakishly handsome when she regained consciousness earlier to see him standing beside the bed on which she lay. In her slightly hazy state, his appearance, in a billowing white shirt unfastened at the throat, and tight pantaloons and Hessians that outlined his muscular thighs and legs, had seemed like that of one of the pirates of Elizabeth’s youthful fantasies.

  Logically, she had always known pirates weren’t in the least romantic outside of the pages of books. That they were most likely dirty, with rotting teeth and foul-mouthed language, with little or nothing to recommend them.

  But that hadn’t stopped her, before meeting and marrying Thomas, from losing herself in daydreams of a tall, dark, and handsome pirate carrying her off to sea in his ship with him.

  Tonight, a tousled-haired Sterling looked exactly like that pirate of her dreams.

  Fantasies of a rakish and dark-haired lover which were, even now, as the doctor’s draft began to take effect, joining her in the arms of Morpheus.

  Sterling hadn’t taken his gaze off Elizabeth once since the moment he returned to the bedchamber, immediately after the doctor had departed, and found she had fallen into a deep sleep beneath the bedcovers.

  “Why did Whitlow do this?” he questioned the maid softly.

  “Because of me.”

  Sterling gave her a startled glance. “You?”

  She nodded abruptly. “I believe her ladyship questioned him in regard to his—his treatment of me.”

  Sterling’s eyes narrowed. “Treatment of you…?”

  The young woman lowered her gaze. “The old… He’s been demanding I go to his bedchamber this past six months.”

  Sterling felt nauseous at the thought of Whitlow demanding physical intimacies from any woman, let alone this lovely young lady.

  “I didn’t want to,” Peggy hurried to defend. “But he threatened to harm Lady Elizabeth and Christopher if I didn’t do as he said.”

  Whitlow was lower than a snake. As disgusting as a pit of noxious slime.

  “I am so sorry this has happened to you,” Sterling told Peggy softly. “Believe me when I tell you it will not happen again,” he assured in a hard voice.

  He then dismissed Peggy, with the assurance he wouldn’t leave Elizabeth alone when she’d protested leaving her mistress. Once alone with Elizabeth, he pulled the armchair from near the window across the room and placed it as close to the bedside as he could before sitting in it.

  Elizabeth muttered a few times in her sleep, but nothing Sterling was able to decipher.

  Her face was pale beneath the increasingly darkening bruises on her cheek and temple, the latter a reminder of how she might have died two nights ago if she had struck her head any harder than she had.

  Her hands, lying above the bedcovers, also showed signs of swelling and bruising. No doubt from where she had tried, and failed, to cushion her fall.

  Sterling felt the anger boiling and roiling beneath his skin every time he thought of Elizabeth’s helplessness and fear as she felt herself falling and knew she wouldn’t be able to prevent it from happening.

  Indeed, if Whitlow had been before him right now, Sterling had no doubt he would enjoy strangling the older man with his bare hands.

  He still might.

  However this should turn out, he would ensure Whitlow was finished.

  In Society.

  At his clubs.

  Financially.

  In every and all ways that were of importance to the earl’s comfort and station in life.

  No man who could treat a woman in the way Whitlow had Elizabeth, and sexually molesting her young maid, deserved to be allowed anywhere near decent society ever again.

  Sterling intended to ensure—

  He turned sharply as he heard the bedchamber door open behind him, brows rising and eyes widening when he saw Peggy enter the room carrying the little dark-haired boy he knew to be Elizabeth’s son, Christopher. He was dressed in his nightshirt and looked as if he had been crying, from the mottled red of his cheeks and his sore-looking eyes.

  “He woke up and wouldn’t settle again, insisting I must bring him to see his mama,” Peggy explained softly as she crossed the room.

  Sterling rose to his feet, appreciating the small boy must be disturbed by all the strange happenings of the past days and night. Not least of them being going to sleep in one house and waking in another. Goodness knows what conclusion Christopher had come to in regard to his mother’s bruises.

  Until three years ago, small children were not something Sterling knew how to interact with, having had no previous contact with any. But three years ago, his cousin, Gwen, had given birth to a baby girl. Given the honor of being Emily’s godfather, Sterling made a concerted effort to spend time with her.

  He utilized that experience now. “As you can see, your mother is quite well and sleeping. As you should be,” he teased lightly.

  Nevertheless, a mutinous expression tightened the boy’s features. “I want to stay with Mama.”

  “As you can see, your Mama is asleep,” he reasoned.

  “I want to stay with Mama,” Christopher repeated stubbornly.

  Sterling admired his tenacity. “I think you need your sleep more.”

  “No!” Violet-colored eyes, so like those of his mother, glared at Sterling. “Want Mama.” Christopher’s bottom lip began to tremble, the boy once again on the edge of tears.

  “I’ll sit with Christopher and Lady Elizabeth,” Peggy offered in an obvious effort to placate the little boy.

  An occurrence which would result in Sterling being expected to then leave the bedchamber. And Elizabeth.

  Unacceptable.

  “Will you stay here with me, Christopher, and let Peggy go back to her bed to sleep?” he cajoled instead.

  The maid looked taken aback at the suggested compromise. “I don’t think—”

  “Yes,” Christopher announced, and at the same time reached his arms out for Sterling to take him.

  Which Sterling instantly did, surprised at how little the boy weighed. Not as much as Emily, and she was a year younger. “Shall the two of us sit beside your Mama?” he suggested softly. “That way, the first thing she will see when she opens her eyes in the morning will be you.”

  “And you,” Christopher pointed out.

  And him.

  Which, Sterling appreciated, might not be ideal as far as Elizabeth was concerned. But, as he had every intention of remaining beside her for the rest of the night, perhaps Christopher’s presence would help to diffuse the strangeness of that situation.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Elizabeth woke in the sure knowledge she did not recognize her surroundings. Not the huge four-poster bed upon which she lay, the blue-and-white décor and drapes revealed by the single candle alight on the dressing-table. Nor the painted fresco ceiling above her, depicting shepherdesses, nymphs, and cherubs.

  However, after a slow turn of her head, she did recognize the man sleeping in the chair beside the bed, his dark hair tousled, a dark-haired child asleep upon his lap, the boy’s head resting against the man’s shoulder.

  The duke held her son, Christopher, in his arms!

  Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat at the unlikelihood of seeing the haughty duke with a child in his arms. Not just any child, but Elizabeth’s son, the expression of calm acceptance on Christopher’s face telling her that he completely trusted the man who held him cradled securely against his chest.

  However unlikely a sight this was, Elizabeth felt something move inside her. A feeling of rightness. A feeling of the same calm and trust as Christopher’s expression showed. A feeling of safety such as Elizabeth had never known before. Along with the sure knowledge that while Sterling was near, no one—no one at all—would dare to threaten or harm Elizabeth or Christopher.

  In that moment, she felt herself falling deeply and irrevocably in love with Sterling Bishop, the Duke of Bristol.

  “You’re awake.”

  The realization of her feelings for this man was so new, Elizabeth was startled by the husky sound of Sterling’s voice.

  She smiled shyly. “I am.”

  Sterling glanced down at the boy resting against him. “Peggy brought him. He wanted to see you, and once he had, he wanted to stay with you.”

  “If he is too much for you—”

  “He isn’t,” Sterling instantly assured, and then grimaced. “Like you, he weighs nothing at all. But you are due to take your next dose of medicine, and you might prefer to have Christopher in bed beside you while I prepare it…?”

  Elizabeth was torn as to how to answer that.

  On the one hand, both man and boy might be more comfortable if Christopher was on the bed with her. Sterling was slumped down in the chair so as to be able to rest his head back against it, but because he was so tall, this meant his back was slouched down rather than supportive, his long legs stretched beneath the bed. She knew from experience that Christopher, if he did not have sufficient sleep, was likely to be out of sorts in the morning.

  But on the other hand, Elizabeth was loath to disturb the two of them when they looked so at ease with each other.

  “Mama?”

  The decision was made for her by her son, Christopher obviously having been woken by their whispered conversation.

  She smiled gratefully when Sterling stood holding Christopher before carefully placing the little boy beneath the bedcovers she’d pulled aside and then tucked about him. Reassured, Christopher instantly went back to sleep.

  Her eyes widened when Sterling, after mixing the medicine in a glass and helping her to sit up slightly to drink it, then resumed sitting in the chair beside the bed.

  “I would prefer not to leave you alone tonight,” he explained in a voice that brooked no argument to the arrangement when he saw the puzzlement in her expression.

  Elizabeth didn’t have an argument to make. How could she have, when she felt safe having Sterling here with her?