Lord Maxwell’s Quest, page 15
“I’m not comfortable leaving you alone.”
“I’m certainly not going to strip down and bathe with you in the room.”
“Of course not,” he stammered.
“I’ll lock the door as soon as you are gone. If you wish, I’ll push something in front of it so nobody can get in by breaking the door down.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Max blew out. “I’ll be downstairs, sitting near the stairs. I’ll have an ale then ask for dinner to be delivered.”
“That would be very nice.”
“How long do you need?”
Rosemary had no idea how long it would take to bathe this afternoon away from her skin, but she also knew she wanted time alone to meditate, something else that had fallen out of practice. “Two hours.”
His eyes widened. “It takes you two hours to bathe?”
“I need two hours to myself,” she corrected.
Max frowned.
“I just want to be alone.” What she needed was too hard to explain, and Rosemary wasn’t certain Max would understand. “I’m tired. It has been a trying few days. That is all. I promise that I am fine,” she assured him.
“Very well.” Max crossed to the door. “Two hours.”
Rosemary turned the lock as soon as he was gone, then for good measure, slid the dressing table in front of it, then stripped down and sank into the hot water.
Chapter 20
Max glanced at his timepiece for the tenth time since he took a seat near the stairs with a view of the entry to the hotel. In one hour he could go back up. He’d already requested that a dinner be delivered at that time, so all he had to do was watch, drink his ale, and keep checking his timepiece.
Why hadn’t Rosemary at least been shaken?
He was shaken by the incident.
Instead, she’d been angry. He should have known that she wouldn’t dissolve in a fit of hysterics as many misses would have, but he’d been surprised when she grabbed the knife and threatened her assailant.
It had been bloody admirable. At the time, he’d been terrified, but now that he had time to think on the matter, his regard for Rosemary rose.
It had also proven that she didn’t really need him. Nor did she want him. The first time she’d invited him into the bed, she’d assured him that she had no intention of seducing him, nor had she ever given any indication that he was anything other than a sometimes friend, temporary partner, but usually a competitor.
She was too independent, headstrong, and clearly resilient to need any man. Most especially Max.
He was also glad that she hadn’t become hysterical because he was quite certain that he would have been at a loss as to what to do. She simply wanted a bath and rest.
He wished for the same, but it would not be given. At least not the bath because there was no way he’d allow her to leave the chamber so that he could have privacy, nor would either of them be comfortable if she remained in the chamber with him.
At least Max assumed that Rosemary would be uncomfortable, possibly embarrassed, whereas he truly wouldn’t mind.
He took a sip of the ale and the thought that he kept trying to push to the back of his brain came forward. He could have lost her today.
Murder hadn’t been the intent at the time, simple kidnapping, but Rylan had murdered before.
For so long Max had kept Rosemary at a distance, reluctantly acknowledging his desire, but afraid to mention the same to her. It wasn’t because he didn’t wish to marry, though that was the excuse he gave. It was because he feared rejection. If Rosemary had at least once indicated that she’d be interested in pursuing a different form of partnership, Max would have courted her, the best that he could while they hunted relics. It was the reason he’d bought her flowers today. But to tell her his mind and what lie in the deep recess of his heart and then be rejected by her would be awkward, and likely bring an end to their competitions to be the first to find the next antiquity. He thought he’d be satisfied if that was all they had because it was better than nothing.
Except, he had almost lost her today, which changed everything, and Max needed to decide if he was willing to risk rejection or continue as they had and hope that one day she might look at him differently.
As he’d done each time the door opened, Max glanced up, then frowned at the two strangers who entered. One was a red-haired woman and the other was a man with sandy hair, but that is not what caused Max to become concerned. It was the fact that the gentleman was carrying his and Rosemary’s valises that had been left at Madame LeFante’s. Were they trying to make off with their belongings? How had they even gotten them, unless the landlady had set them on the stoop when he and Rosemary hadn’t returned? Except she’d sent word that she was worried.
No, it was something else.
The two were dressed too well to be thieves, and he’d never seen them with Rylan. They also had an air about them of privilege, of Society.
He stood and crossed to them. “Excuse me, but why do you have my valise?”
The woman looked directly at him. The corner of her mouth tipped. “Might you be Lord Maxwell Trent?”
Who the blazes was she, and did he answer honestly?
Then again, the couple had his belongings.
“You’re exactly as Mr. Benedick Valentine described.”
“Who are you?”
“Genviève Mirabelle Bridges, formerly Trent.”
“Ah, one of those Trents.” Distant, distant cousins, who his brothers and sister had met earlier in the spring. Max had not been in the country so did not have the same opportunity.
“Jonathan Bridges,” the man introduced himself.
“Please, join me.”
Mr. Bridges held a seat for his wife and then settled into his own.
“Why do you have my belongings?”
“As a favor to Valentine,” Bridges answered.
“We owe him many,” Genviève added.
“And one of them is delivering our valises?” Max queried.
“Yes.” She grinned. “He called on us when he realized, for reasons he would not explain, that you’d not be able to retrieve them yourself.” She waved a hand as if it didn’t matter. “Then he wondered how you’d be able to leave town without being noticed.”
Max frowned.
“That is when we offered to be of service,” Bridges said.
“My husband and I went in through the back to Madam LeFante’s and retrieved your belongings, then exited through the front door, got into our carriage and came here, where we entered through the front door, but we will leave through a rear exit and take a hackney home.”
“My wife enjoys skulking about,” Bridges added.
“I enjoy doing something out of the ordinary on occasion,” she defended.
“What of your carriage?” Max asked.
“Oh, you will take that to wherever you are going. Benedick said it would be better than securing a seat on a mail coach.”
“I could be gone for a few days. Won’t you need your carriage.”
“We sail for Scotland in the morning and won’t be back for at least a month.”
They didn’t even know him. “Why are you offering to help when you don’t even know me.”
“We are related,” Genviève reminded him.
“Distantly, and we still have never met previously.”
Bridges leaned forward. “Valentine trusts you, therefore, we do.”
Max wasn’t so certain he’d lend his carriage and horses to a stranger, if he owned such. However, if someone such as Crisp assured him the person was trustworthy, he’d trust them. “Thank you. Your offer will be of great assistance.”
“It’s our pleasure.”
When a servant came by, Bridges ordered an ale, and Mrs. Bridges a cup of tea, though she grumbled that she’d like to have an ale, and if they weren’t in pubic, she’d indulge.
They then spent the next forty-five minutes getting to know one another, and his distant cousin refused to leave until she gained a promise from Max to meet the rest of his distant relatives when he returned the carriage.
When the servant stopped by the table and told Max that they’d left the supper outside the door of his chamber, he checked his watch once again. It had finally been two hours and he was anxious to return to Rosemary to make certain she was still recovered and hadn’t been overcome with emotion as a result of the day’s events.
She hated that she needed to put on the dress that she’d already worn for days, but Rosemary couldn’t very well dine across from Max in only her shift. She also hadn’t reached a state of calmness as she’d managed to do in the past, nor did she gain peace or settle her mind, but that was her own fault, and she’d not fall out of the habit of meditation again.
However, when Max arrived with dinner, and their bags, she pushed him out of the room again, and found her night rail and robe, and pulled both on. Simply being in something clean had brought her some comfort, and the clothing was modest enough that it covered everything as it should. However, it wasn’t exactly appropriate either. Had it been anyone other than Max, she would have dressed properly, but as she simply wanted to eat and then crawl into bed, she hadn’t wanted to change her clothing yet again.
Further, she hadn’t realized how hungry she’d been and nearly devoured the roast chicken and potatoes. Max had also found a bottle of Scotch Whisky in his bag, and claimed he had no idea where it had come from, yet they sipped it with dinner.
Rosemary had drunk various alcohols over the years, in several countries, but in England, it had only been Maderia and the occasional brandy. This was the first time that she’d ever enjoyed a whisky. It not only burned the back of her throat, but warmed her belly, and the combination of the hot bath, filling meal, and perhaps her earlier meditation, relaxed her more than she had been in days.
It could also be that tomorrow they’d finally have the sword. Their quest was at an end, and they’d finally know for certain if it was the true sword of Joan of Arc.
“You’ve changed since we first met.” Max was leaning back in his chair, the fire behind him reflecting off the glass he held.
He’d made a similar comment a few days ago. “I would hope so,” Rosemary chuckled. “I was all of thirteen.”
“Yet, I was a very mature sixteen-year-old,” he laughed. “I meant, you used to be indecisive, easily manipulated.”
Was that how he’d seen her? Of course, if someone were unaware of all circumstances, she understood why they’d believe as such. “I wasn’t so indecisive or easily manipulated. Or, at least not as much as you may believe,” she offered. “Though, perhaps I was at first.”
“I know the stories of how the three of you were at Wiggons’. The terrible trio,” Max reminded her. “Mrs. Wiggons was very detailed in describing your exploits to my father, usually instigated by Eliza.”
“I’m not denying the truth of the stories,” Rosemary chuckled. “You misinterpret my involvement following our first year at the school.”
He leaned back and studied her, as if he didn’t quite believe that she wasn’t so innocent.
“Sophia and Eliza were, are, both strong in their personalities and determined,” Rosemary offered. “Often they were working in opposition of the other. While Eliza was outrageous, Sophia was rational.”
“I’m glad to know that my sister was pulled into these sometimes-dangerous antics and not the leader.”
“She claimed to go along so that we did not end up in danger or do something foolish,” Rosemary chuckled, then sobered. “But it was more.”
“How so?” Max asked as he leaned forward and poured only a bit more of the whisky into his glass. Though they had an entire bottle, neither had drunk enough that their faculties would be affected. In fact, she’d had more to drink than Max, and she was certain his tolerance for alcohol was higher than hers, or so she assumed.
“Sophia had her family, who were nearly a constant presence, or so it seemed. Her father visited and her brothers, you included, usually when traveling between London and your home.”
“I remember.”
Rosemary recalled his visits as well, not nearly as frequent as she would have wished, but she rarely spoke to Max then. He’d come to visit Sophia, and the two of them usually enjoyed a private visit, away from the bothersome students. “While my parents weren’t in England often, they wrote regularly. Mother kept journals of her travels and the excavations she and father took part in, and when the journal was full, she’d send it to me, and I’d be able to read and experience the same through her words.”
“Eliza?” he questioned.
“Eliza’s family forgot her,” Rosemary stated bluntly. “She learned of her older brother’s marriage in the newssheets. Her mother eventually wrote and apologized for not bringing her home, but she’d simply forgot because she was so busy.”
While Rosemary couldn’t begin to know the depth of pain Eliza felt in her soul, she’d witnessed the changes it brought about in her friend. “Many of Eliza’s outrageous ideas stemmed from needing attention. She’d already been rejected by those who we should always count on, and I wasn’t going to dismiss her too.”
“Vampires, ghosts, witches,” Maxwell offered with understanding.
“Sophia objected, of course, tried to reason with Eliza, but in the end, went along. I think she understood why Eliza was behaving as such.”
“Attention from her parents,” Maxwell offered.
“I think she’d hoped that Mrs. Wiggons would send her home, then her parents would be forced to acknowledge her, but she never did. Some pain is so deep that it cannot be healed,” Rosemary explained.
“The three of you, and the Westbrook twins are extremely independent.”
It was almost as if Max didn’t approve. “We all have our reasons for choosing the life we wish and not one Society believes is best.”
“Marriage?”
“Yes.”
“And taking lovers,” he offered quietly.
“Only I have done so, Max, though I don’t see why it should matter to you.”
It hurt that he judged her on this.
“I’m simply surprised,” he quickly defended, then his eyes met hers. “I never said that it mattered.”
Chapter 21
After they’d finished dining, Max had put the whisky back in his bag and placed their dishes out in the hall. Rosemary didn’t argue with who would sleep where, but crawled into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.
She didn’t even tell him to take the other side of the bed, not that he would have, but the other night she’d insisted. Therefore, Max made a bed for himself on the couch. At least these chambers were nicer than the coaching inn, and the couch was rather comfortable, not that he would sleep soon. Instead, he stared into the dwindling fire, wondering if he should add more wood, or let it burn out, when he wasn’t wondering what the sword would reveal tomorrow.
Max wasn’t certain how long he’d slept when noise awakened him. Alert immediately, he assumed Rylan or one of his men had found them, but the door was shut tight and the fire reduced to embers.
The disturbance had come from the bed.
Rosemary twisted and turned, muttering, but he couldn’t make out the words.
A nightmare, and possibly reliving what had occurred earlier in the day.
He should have known that she wasn’t fine and was putting on a brave front.
Rising from the couch, he approached the bed and gently touched her shoulder.
Rosemary pushed him away.
He settled on the bed and this time he took both shoulders gently. “Rosemary, wake up. You are having a bad dream.”
She continued to struggle, and he spoke louder.
In an instant, she rose and pushed at him, but Max held tight, especially when she finally opened her eyes. He was stunned by the terror he saw within the depths, and then in a blink it seemed as if she recognized him. And then her arms were about him.
He gathered her close and maneuvered until he was settled with his back against the wall and Rosemary on his lap. She trembled from what must have been a terrifying nightmare, but there were no tears. After a short time, she calmed, yet did not move away.
“I’m sorry that I disturbed you.”
“You’ve nothing to be sorry about.” He smoothed her midnight hair down her back.
“The dream…nightmare…was horrible.”
“I’m certain it’s because of what happened today.”
Rosemary was silent, and Maxwell assumed she was done speaking. He wasn’t going to ask her to talk about it or relive what had happened today. Still, she remained on his lap.
“The nightmare was of the past mixed with today.”
Max frowned. What had happened to her in the past?
With that, Rosemary removed herself from him and crawled under the covers, and he wondered if that was all she was going to say. Did he even dare ask?
“Max, stay here. Sleep beside me please.” She pulled the covers back.
He’d not had that many nightmares but when he had, they were even more frightening when alone. “Of course.” He slid in beside her then pulled her close until Rosemary’s head rested on his chest.
This was the first time he’d ever seen Rosemary fragile, and his heart ached for her. But she was no different from anyone else when something terrifying occurred, and he’d comfort her the best that he could.
“You didn’t ask what I meant by the past.”
“I didn’t think it was my place, but I’ll listen if you wish to talk,” he assured her quietly.
“Today brought the nightmare of what happened when I was nineteen while in Egypt with my parents. The dream was a mixture of today and then.”
His stomach tightened. Had she suffered a similar attack? Had it been worse than what she had endured today.
“I encountered a new worker in Egypt. It was unexpected, and he had come into my tent after my parents had left. I told him to leave, instead he advanced on me. I was so shocked, terrified, and didn’t know what to do. Frozen.”
