Page 71 of Broken

Lilly shrugged and the gesture caused more pain. “He is only looking out for his friend, Mrs. Osprey. Don’t let him trouble you.”

Lilly crawled into bed and stretched out. Her body complained heartily and she closed her eyes so Mrs. Osprey wouldn’t see just how bad it was.

One of the maids rattled into the room, bringing a supper for Mrs. Osprey, by the sound of it. The housekeeper sighed just a little. She sounded sad, and Lilly wished she were well enough to ask what troubled her.

But there was no escaping the agony. She needed Giles tonight more than ever. She missed him. Once Papa had his wish, she would return to London and descend into a pain-filled existence once more.

Her eyes filled with tears as she understood just how much she had grown to depend on him. Decadent, impulsive pleasure-seeker that he was. She hadn’t meant to fall for him too but she had. He had made her love him for his gentle ways and determination that she take better care of herself. She had not considered any other way to live in so long.

A light pressure on her cheek wiped away her tears and the cloud of cinnamon-sweet scent that always cloaked Mrs. Osprey surrounded her. She liked Mrs. Osprey. She liked this house and its servants. She did not want to be made to leave.

A sob escaped her, and she turned her head away to cry. She did not want to leave Giles either, but she’d always known this interlude couldn’t last. She was far too much trouble for a rogue to bother with past the moment of amusement.

“The master will set you to rights soon,” Mrs. Osprey whispered. “I know what he’s become to you and I am glad for you and for him. He will not let you suffer through another night of pain when he knows how to take it away forever. Trust in him and all will be well, you’ll see.”

Bless Mrs. Osprey her romantic heart, but he would not have a chance. Lilly would be gone from Cottingstone in a matter of days. Once Papa made his mind up there was no stopping him having his way.

* * *

Bartholomew hugged the shadows and watched Lord Daventry’s servants scurry about. Although he thought his present location was beneath him, he had to determine who best would suit his purpose. The kitchen thrummed with activity, but he caught sight of a buxom country maid with a head of dull brown hair, and hoped she would be the one.

This time he would do the deed himself. He’d not let some transient servant destroy his future with her fickle attention to detail. But first he needed accurate information and a way to reach Lilly undetected.

He could see a breakfast tray waiting to be filled as the cook scurried back and forth, piling the plates high and fiddling with the little flower arrangement. She called to the maid he had his eye on and, when she picked up the tray, Bartholomew backed away, preceding the girl up the servants’ steps until he was well beyond the stairs.

The timing was perfect, the upper hall empty. Lords Daventry, Carrington, and Bartholomew’s uncle were still talking together below. He snatched a curio from the hall table, pocketed it, and then withdrew his knife from his boot. The blade glowed in the morning sunlight, dancing shadows upon the wall.

He sliced his skin.

Blood welled from the shallow cut and he leaned against the wall, near a table, and arranged his body untidily.

Footsteps clattered up the steps and hurried along the hall toward him. The maid glanced at the hand he cradled. “Oh my word, are you hurt, Mr. Barrette?”

“Quickly, fetch a towel from my chamber.”

The maid slid the tray onto the table beside him and raced for his room.

Servants were indeed a stupid breed. He tugged the cork from the bottle and added drops of laudanum to every dish of his cousin’s food.

Holding in a chuckle, he tucked the bottle into his inner jacket pocket and accosted the maid in his bedchamber. “You can forget the cloth. I’ve got you where I want you now.”

The maid spun and made a show of refusing his advances. She tried to dart past him, and he let her think she had a chance. But he still extracted a kiss and groped her breasts before he let her escape the room.

The door crashed shut behind her, and he placed a hand over his mouth to cover a laugh. The foolish chit wouldn’t speak of his advances and, if he were lucky, he’d have her clutching at his arms tonight while his cousin struggled for her life.

Bartholomew whistled a merry tune, removed the trinket from his pocket, and examined it in better light. Old, but given its quaint appearance, the duck was potentially worth trading for a tumble along the road. He crossed to his trunk, lifting out a handful of linen to reveal his hidden treasures.

The duck fit snugly beside a pair of candlesticks, and he secured the compartment, placing his linens over it carefully. He didn’t want any helpful servant thinking he needed them to straighten things for him but their help would serve him in other ways soon enough.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

If yesterday had started bleakly with rain, today was worse. The weather had settled into a gloomy shroud over the countryside as if sad at the prospect of losing Lillian Winter from the district. She had not come down for breakfast today, and Giles had not seen Mrs. Osprey to ask questions. What annoyed Giles most was that he had not managed to go to Lilly’s room last night either.

As he left his chamber to try again, he had spied Barrette pacing down the length of the hall, and had to head for his study as if he had forgotten something. Perhaps the man simply could not sleep as he claimed. Giles hoped he was misjudging, but every night he came across Barty prowling the halls, as Lilly liked to call him, his unease grew.

Winter planned to leave soon.

Giles looked out the window at the weeping sky, and then closed his eyes. He knew what he had to do to help Lilly feel better. But given the cousin’s behavior, it would be a very public assistance. Did he have the right to barrel through her door and take over her care completely?