Inside the opulent chamber, all was quiet.
Someone had tucked in the bedsheets. Sheets that smelled of his cologne. Sheets that were warm and smooth against her bare legs.
Merciful Lord, her legs were bare.
Someone had stripped off her clothes.
Eleanor came up on her elbows, wincing because her head throbbed and every muscle ached. Her mouth was as dry as old parchment, though that was the least of her concerns.
Panicked, she peered under the covers. Her gaze settled on the delicate muslin nightgown clinging to her curves and the silk ribbons fastened into a bow under her bust. The pretty garment did not belong to her, yet wearing another woman’s gown was not what played havoc with her insides.
Seeing her bare thighs resting on Theodore Chance’s bedsheets caused a strange fluttering in her belly. Being cocooned in his intimate space brought a profound sense of closeness to a man she should keep at bay.
Her gaze shot to the pillows.
Had he slept beside her?
Had his leg stroked hers in the night?
Had his hand skimmed her hip?
She should be glad she could not remember. Mr Chance had a way of slipping under a woman’s skin and taking command of her senses. Yet the weight of disappointment was prevalent. She had missed another chance to feel something beautiful, something other than loneliness and fear.
She might have buried her face in his pillow, but the muttering voices on the landing drew her attention to the door. As the knob turned slowly, Eleanor fell back on the pillows and feigned sleep.
She recognised Mr Chance’s rich baritone before he stepped into the room. The timbre of his voice was permanently etched in her memory.
He turned to the elderly woman accompanying him and said quietly, “Stay with her. I shall be two hours unless Pickering needs a hard lesson in integrity.”
Pickering?
Mr Chance was to visit the travelling librarian without her?
Surely they had missed their six o’clock appointment.
“Take as long as you need,” the woman said, a gentle softness to her voice. “I bought a healing tincture from the apothecary in Cornhill. It’s meant to restore one’s vigour. Let’s pray it has some effect.”
Eleanor peered through narrowed eyes and saw it was Mrs Maloney. They had met at Delphine’s wedding. The woman had given the family lodgings when they were children and was like a mother to them all.
Mr Chance hung his head. “This is my fault. Miss Darrow wouldn’t be in this predicament were it not for my foolish antics.”
“And you’re doing everything you can to make amends.” Mrs Maloney rubbed the man’s arm like he’d just come in from the cold. “You weren’t to know the poor girl was in trouble. Just as she didn’t know that helping Delphine would see you shot.”
“But what if she never recovers?”
“She will. She needs rest, that’s all. Happen she’s barely slept these last few weeks. And I expect you’re basing the theory on past memories.”
“Perhaps.” His sad sigh tugged at Eleanor’s heartstrings.
Mrs Maloney moved to the washstand and filled the porcelain bowl with water from the pitcher. “Aaron said you refused to leave this room last night. Have you slept?”
“A little. Though I have a crick in my neck from that darned chair.”
The woman looked at the offending article. “I’ll stay here tonight.” She swished a linen square in the water and wrung it out. “When you return from visiting that Pickering fellow, I suggest you rest, too.”
Mr Chance stepped closer to the bed. “Gentry said it’s normal for someone with a head injury to sleep for three days, but I find it hard to be optimistic.”
Three days!
Eleanor had spent three days in Theodore Chance’s impressive bed? During sleepless nights, she had imagined climbing into bed beside him, but she was always a lucid participant in her dreams.
“I never meant to hurt her.” He sat on the edge of the bed, resting his head in his hands. “I pray she will understand why I’ve taken it upon myself to attend to the issues at her modiste shop.”
Eleanor’s heart missed a beat.
What had he done? Boarded the windows? Sold everything of value? Given the landlord her notice?
She didn’t need him riding roughshod over her ambitions. After a lifetime of subservience, she’d sworn never to be anyone’s puppet. And yet, that’s precisely what she had become. A pawn for the ton’s amusement.
Mrs Maloney came to join him at Eleanor’s bedside. “I’m sure Miss Darrow will be most grateful, especially when she learns how hard you’ve worked.”
The press of cold linen on her forehead tore a gasp from her dry lips. “Good Lord.” She was so parched the words were barely audible.
Mr Chance jumped like he’d sat on a pin. “Miss Darrow?” he panted, his voice laced with relief. He reached for her hand and clasped it tightly. “Can you hear me?”
Eleanor lifted her eyelids and gazed into his magnificent blue eyes. “Y-yes.”
Mrs Maloney hurried to the chest of drawers, pulled the stopper from a green bottle and poured water into a glass. “Have a sip of this, dear. It’s boiled, and I added a sprig of rosemary. It’s said to aid the memory.”
