Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

L ogan drifted in and out of consciousness. He heard people speaking around him, but he didn't recognize the voices. Earlier, he thought he'd heard women's voices, but right now he only heard a man's voice, and it wasn't his valet's.

Where is Bronson? Something was very wrong. The last he recalled, he and Bronson were approaching the village of Bocka Morrow in Cornwall, where they'd planned to stay the night and rest—but they were set upon by highwaymen. They had only needed another day to reach his home.

Snatches of memory shot through his mind. Green cat eyes gazing down at him surrounded by a curtain of long, blonde hair. Two figures dressed in black fighting alongside him and Bronson against the highwaymen. A black and white cat sitting on his horse. Bronson's warning shouts…and pain—lots of pain . Surely, this was some sort of strange dream brought on by too much ale. Bronson and he must have overindulged at the inn. He would open his eyes and it would be over. He would find himself in a room at the inn…where people weren't hovering around, discussing him.

But he didn't recall making it to the lodgings. So where am I? Logan tried to calm his racing thoughts and listened.

"Clean his wounds twice a day," a man with a deep voice was saying. "Here is a tin of salve to use before the bandages are reapplied. When he wakes, give him the laudanum drops for the pain. His injuries are deep and need time to heal. But he's young and strong. Sleep is the best thing for him."

"Dr. Thakur, will he be able to get up from his bed and walk in three or four days?" an older female voice asked.

Logan wished he could get up and walk right now. But he was as weak as a newborn colt. It sounded like his presence was taking up room meant for other guests.

"He will, but I cannot say if it will be a few days or longer. He's healthy and should survive these wounds easily enough if he stays in bed and rests as long as necessary ," Thakur emphasized.

Logan decided to ask Bronson to hire a comfortable coach to take them the rest of the way home. That is, once he found out where Bronson was. Obviously, he couldn't ride Justice. What happened to my horse? More memories flooded him. Men swathed in black surrounded them. Justice kicking out, fighting back. Blood. Logan remembered seeing blood on Justice.

He groaned and uttered, "Just…" But nothing else came out. Frustrated, he moved his head back and forth. Logan needed to ask about his horse, but his tongue felt too thick; he couldn't form the words.

"There you are, Mr. Bronson. Perhaps you can speak to Lord Fitzwater. He'll recognize your voice," a young female voice said. It was lilting, with a songbird quality…beautiful. An image of blonde hair gleaming like silver in the moonlight and emerald green eyes flashed in his mind once more, and he wondered if the lovely voice belonged to the same woman who'd fought off the thieves. But he was being nonsensical. It must have been a dream. When had he ever known a woman to dress in men's clothes and fight a group of brutes with the skill of a combat soldier?

A man cleared his throat. "My lord, it's Bronson. We were attacked by highwaymen, and you were shot and stabbed. We were fortunate to have been rescued. At the moment, we are staying at Lord and Lady Penrose's home in Bocka Morrow. Squeeze my hand if you understand what I am saying, sir."

Finally! Someone who made sense. Logan squeezed Bronson's hand. He remembered that name. Lord Penrose had been a close ally of his father's in Parliament. They had worked together on various important road acts, including the turnpike. Logan nodded and managed to crack open his eyes. He lay in a mahogany post bed with a dark green canopy.

He blinked several times, and his vision became clearer as he noticed the paintings of hunting parties hanging on the wall beyond the foot of the bed. He shifted his gaze and counted four people sitting or standing in the room—and then he saw her. There couldn't be another that looked like her. My God! She is real! A delicate beauty with long blonde hair and the most mesmerizing green eyes he'd ever seen looked back at him from the right side of the bed, closest to the window.

"Lord Fitzwater, it's good to have you join us," the now familiar, deep-voiced man said with levity. "I'm Dr. Thakur. You've had a ball removed from your arm and a deep stab wound repaired on your lower chest, just above the stomach. My best advice is that you rest and allow your wounds to mend."

Logan tried to form a reply, but his darn tongue wasn't cooperating. He managed to say something, but it sounded like a garbled mess to his ears, and he was sure no one had understood him.

"Try to rest, my lord. The medicine will wear off soon, and you'll be able to speak clearly again," Thakur said.

Bronson stood there, nervously squeezing his floppy brown hat in his hands. "My lord, allow me to make the introductions," he said, indicating the older woman. "This is the Dowager Countess Penrose. And the young woman next to her is her granddaughter, Lady Charlotte Penrose."

That's who they were calling Charlie , he suddenly realized, but wondered if he had imagined the black breeches and shirt. He nodded, indicating for Bronson to continue. At a minimum, the introductions were a pleasant distraction from the pain, which plagued him greatly.

"And you've already met Dr. Thakur," Bronson said. "He fixed you up and didn't do any bleeding like other doctors do."

Dr. Thakur chuckled. "It's true that I don't agree with some of the medical treatments practiced by some of my fellow doctors. I learned my techniques on the battlefield."

Logan was grateful for the doctor's skills.

"And mind your stitches," Dr. Thakur added. "I can't claim to have as fine a hand at needlepoint as the ladies present, but I think I did a fair job of stitching you up."

"Aye," Bronson added, his eyes crinkling with humor. "The good news is you're going to be all right in a few days, and then we can continue home."

"The knife missed your heart and other internal organs," Thakur said in a serious tone. "You're a lucky man, my lord. But I must emphasize that the next twenty-four hours will be critical, and you must rest to prevent putrefaction. That means staying in this bed. You may experience a fever overnight, but you are in excellent hands here, my lord. I will return tomorrow to check on your progress."

Logan's eyes were heavy. Even though he didn't feel tired, he struggled to keep them open. Logan wanted to know more about her . Lady Charlotte Penrose. She may have saved his life.

The dowager cleared her throat. "I will let Cook know you're awake. She's fixed a special beef broth for you that will help you regain your strength. We have taken your clothes to be washed and mended, so you are wearing my grandson, Caden's, nightshirt. He's about your size." A maid stepped into the room. "Millie, can you remain here with Lady Charlotte?"

"Yes, my lady," the maid said, before taking a seat in the far corner of the room and pulling some sewing from her pocket.

"I need to check on Moonbeam and Justice," Bronson said. "Justice was shot, but he's doing fine. He fought like a devil, he did."

"I will follow you to the stable, Mr. Bronson," Dr. Thakur said, snapping his black bag closed. "I promised to look in on the horses before I left."

Logan grimaced. Justice had been wounded, so he hadn't imagined that either. He hoped it truly was only a flesh wound and that Bronson wasn't making light of it to keep him from worrying. He would worry in any case.

"As I mentioned, I'll be back tomorrow to check on you," the doctor said over his shoulder as he disappeared out the door.

Logan was surprised that the young woman was willing to stay with him and was glad her grandmother had been willing to let her. If only he could talk. Hell, he could barely keep his eyes open.

Lady Charlotte Penrose… Charlie …. He remembered her brother calling her that. He liked it. His head started to swim but this time it was because of the warm smile Charlie gave him as she pulled a chair closer to his bedside.

"I suppose you have questions," she said in a soft voice.

He tried to answer but settled for, "Yes."

"You are staying in my parents' Bocka Morrow home. We come a couple of times a year—especially for the Halloween season. There is to be a ball in five days. Many people stay at Nightshade Manor, Lord Wharton's estate, but because we have a home here, we don't."

He'd heard of the annual ball. Rumors had abounded about Nightshade Manor for years. Stories about witches and warlocks. Of strange goings on and magical spells. His parents had scoffed at the stories. His father and brother had had a great deal of respect for Wharton, even though Logan had never formally met the man. Even so, he didn't believe the tall tales told by superstitious old folk around a hearth fire at night or by mothers and fathers to scare children who misbehaved. Besides, there was no such thing as witches. Yes, women had been accused of witchcraft throughout history, but women with magical powers…? It can't be true, can it?

"Yes," Charlie answered without hesitation. Her emerald eyes stared into his.

His eyes narrowed in confusion.

Millie cleared her throat as she continued with her needlework, drawing Charlie's attention.

"My apologies—frog in my throat," the maid said. "There's a bite in the air. Best to be careful, Lady Charlotte. Your grandmother wouldn't want you to catch a chill."

Charlie nodded. "Y-yes of course, I will remember to be careful, Millie."

Why did Logan think the two women were discussing something other than catching a chill?

Charlie turned back to him and shrugged nonchalantly. "Sorry. I thought I heard someone at the door asking if it was all right to enter, and that is why I said, yes . It was probably a maid attending a different room."

She smiled, and he blinked, wondering if her eyes could get any greener than they were at that moment.

There were voices in the hall, so it was plausible that Charlie had been responding to a perceived knock at the door and had not, in fact, read his thoughts about witches, he thought. Foolish notions flitted through his mind. He'd thought for a moment that Charlie had somehow heard what he'd said. Whatever the doctor gave me must be making me feel daft.

"I hope you're hungry," Charlie said. "I can hear a maid bringing up a tray. Frankly, I'm starving," she blurted. Her eyes widened and her cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink as she must have realized what she'd said, apparently realizing her misstep.

His lips twitched.

Millie clucked her tongue but continued to sew.

He smiled. The pain that had plagued him since he'd woken from his stupor had begun to dull. Charlie's presence was like a healing balm.

Charlie smiled back, and Logan was mesmerized once again by her beauty. She had the most beautiful smile he'd ever seen.

"I tend to stick my foot in it—say things I shouldn't, like being hungry. I know it's unladylike." She gave a short laugh. "It's just that my stomach rumbled at the sound of the dishes, and I simply reacted. I do that."

The door opened, and a maid entered, carrying a tray. Millie rose and helped them pull a small table to the side of the bed.

"Wait. I think I have a better idea. I know just the thing," Charlie said, hurrying from the room. She returned a few moments later, holding a large wooden tray that stood on short legs about ten inches high. "My parents brought these trays with us last year. We have several more at home as well. They are quite practical when one is unwell and must remain abed." She and Millie carefully helped Logan sit up, fluffed his pillows, and nestled the bed tray comfortably over his lap, being careful of his stitches.

Charlie leaned in closer, her sweet perfume tickling his nose. She whispered, "Will you be able to manage, my lord, or shall I send for Mr. Bronson or Caden's valet to assist you?"

Logan felt his face heat with embarrassment at his predicament. With determination, he reached for the spoon with his good hand, scooped up some of the broth, and brought the utensil to his mouth. Tasting it, he sighed, pleased that he had spilled none on his bedclothes.

Charlie beamed at him. "Cook's broth is as fortifying as it is delicious."

Logan smiled and nodded. Despite the pleasure of Charlie's company, he did not want to eat in front of her and possibly make a fool of himself.

"Your grandmother will be wanting to speak with ye, Lady Charlie," Millie said, with a meaningful look at her mistress. This time, he wondered if the maid had read his mind.

"Yes, of course." Fishing in her pocket, Charlie withdrew a bell and set it on Logan's tray. "This is for you, my lord. Ring this and someone will hear you and return for the tray. Or whenever you require assistance."

What a clever idea. He nodded in appreciation.

"You're quite welcome," Charlie said. She turned to the maids. "Thank you, both."

She turned back to him and curtseyed. "I hope you enjoy your meal, my lord."

He nodded again.

"Well, then. I shall leave you to your privacy." She seemed to hesitate, and another blush pinkened her cheeks. "Perhaps I might check back after dinner. If you'd like some company, I can read to you, or we can talk." She chuckled. "Well, hopefully, you can speak by then. Or I can talk, and you can listen. I hope the food and drink will revive your voice."

Logan smiled again , hoping she would return, wanting to know more about her. There is something about her. I don't know what it is, but I like her.

Charlie left the room and turned to the maid. "Thank you, Millie, for everything. Please ask a footman to come up here in about twenty minutes and wait in the hall so he can hear the bell. Lord Fitzwater should be finished eating around that time."

"Yes, milady," Millie said before disappearing down the servants' stairs.

Charlie made her way down the hall and into her room. Closing the door, she slumped against it to catch her breath. "That was close," she murmured. "I cannot believe I just answered his thoughts like that."

You recovered nicely enough , Chapelle told her.

Charlie looked up and saw the cat reclining on her bed, calmly licking her paws.

"Cheeky devil." She grinned. Chapelle had a way of just popping up when she least expected it.

Happy to oblige, the cat replied.

"It was almost as if there is a connection between the two of us, as odd as that sounds even to me," she said. "It was a good thing Grandmama hadn't witnessed it, especially after the careful warning she gave me. Still, there is something I cannot deny about Lord Fitzwater, and it's been there since I first laid eyes on him," she whispered.

If I wasn't a cat, I might be attracted to him. He's very good-looking. And he's tall and fit, and yet there's a refined quality about him. A true gentleman. Not just in title but in his very being.

"Indeed?" Charlie said aloud. "Well, I saw him first."

Hmm… Your grandmother wants to speak to you. She heard you walking down the hall.

Oh, no! Do you think she listened to our conversation?

I'm not sure. I think she was too busy with her looking glass, Chapelle replied . You'd better see what she wants. You know how impatient the old witch can be.

Charlie wagged her finger at her feline friend and made her way down the hall to her grandmother's suite. With a gentle knock on the door, she waited to be admitted.

"Charlie, is that you?" the dowager's voice sounded from inside.

"Yes, Grandmama." Charlie opened the door and stepped into the dowager's elegant sitting room. A door led to an adjoining bedroom.

"I used my looking glass and checked in on your parents. If they know anything about what transpired today, they aren't discussing it. But I would encourage you to be guarded with your mind-reading."

Charlie felt the heat of a blush invade her cheeks. Did she hear my thoughts about Lord Fitzwater?

Her grandmother gave her that shrewd look. "I was too busy. But I wanted to warn you to be careful. Did something happen?"

"Yes, and no. I heard his thoughts as clearly as if he were saying them aloud. It was most unusual because I wasn't trying to hear them. And this has never happened to me before." The only other mortal man whose thoughts she could hear was Caden, but he was her twin, and that was understandable. Even mortal twins could sometimes sense what the other was thinking and feeling. "Lord Fitzwater was thinking about Nightshade Manor and rumors he'd heard about magical goings-on and about witches and such. Anyway, I foolishly agreed with him."

"Goodness! It may not have been a good idea to have him stay here," the dowager lamented. "We will have to see it through, however. And it is most unusual for that to happen, as you say."

"Millie tactfully reminded me to be careful. I came up with some reason for blurting out what I did, and I don't believe he caught on to my error," Charlie said. "In any case, he's in a great deal of pain and I'm sure disoriented from the laudanum, so I don't think he will recall this incident." She tried to sound positive, but she wasn't certain.

"Nonetheless, I do not believe you should check in on him this evening as you might have planned." Her grandmother gave her that look again.

"I had planned it…you are right, of course, Grandmama. I will leave things alone and check on him tomorrow, as is more proper," Charlie said. Darn! I was looking forward to reading to him.

Her grandmother expelled a deep breath. "Yes…and as I said earlier, less is more . Believe it or not, I did not call you in here to remind you of what you know very well. Rather, I wanted to remind you that Rose will arrive on another day. You should focus your energies on making sure she has everything she needs. I put her in the room adjoining yours."

"With all the excitement, it slipped my mind," Charlie said, guilt washing over her.

"Caden has also arrived home from the sheriff's," the dowager said. "He will join us for dinner."

"At least Rose will be able to travel safely without the threat of being attacked by those horrid cutthroats," Charlie murmured. She couldn't wait for her best friend to arrive. How in the world had she gotten so sidetracked with Lord Fitzwater that she could forget dear Rose? The memory of Logan's handsome face flashed in her mind, and she realized how easy it was to be distracted by such a man. She would have to be much more careful from now on.

"By the way, I don't believe we discussed this, but Rose is bringing along her Aunt Agnes as her chaperone." Grandmama chuckled. "Had those thieves tried to mess with Agnes, they might have ended up tangled in the trees, hanging from their boots. As tangled as her magic sometimes gets, Agnes is delightful to have around. It'll be good to see her again."

"I agree, Grandmama. But I fear that if I don't get some food in my belly, I may faint from hunger. If you are ready to dine, we can go down together," Charlie said, offering her arm to her grandmother. She wished she hadn't offered to read to Lord Fitzwater. She hoped he would not think less of her for not visiting him after dinner. But there was nothing for it. He would probably benefit more from sleep, she thought to herself, to justify the change of plans. She couldn't risk angering her grandmother.

The next morning, Charlie made her way down to breakfast. Despite her best efforts to cover her exhaustion, she knew the dark circles beneath her eyes betrayed her.

"Charlie, dear, did you get enough sleep?" her grandmother asked, arching her brow in concern.

"Mmm," she responded, with a slight nod. "I think it was all the excitement of yesterday." She placed a cup of chocolate on the table and went back to the sideboard to get her breakfast. "I wonder how the earl is doing," she murmured as she helped herself to eggs and toast, not realizing she had spoken out loud.

"Funny you should mention the earl," Caden said. "I checked on him before I came down and found his friend Bronson mopping his brow. Apparently, the earl fought through a difficult fever during the night."

"Yes, I sent for Dr. Thakur and asked him to stop here early on his rounds," Grandmama said, flipping the page of the newspaper she was reading. "I expect he's on the mend, given the care and attention he's received." The dowager shot Charlie a sharp glance.

"I agree, Grandmama," Caden said, popping a piece of bacon in his mouth and crunching loudly. "I asked my valet to assist Bronson—the poor chap refuses to leave the earl's side today. He's a good man."

"That was kind of you," Grandmama said with an approving smile.

"Thank you, Grandmama." Caden beamed. "Bronson assured me the earl was resting comfortably and expects he'll sleep most of the day—hopefully without the fever returning. He glanced at Charlie, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Don't you think that's good news, Charlie?"

"Yes, that's very good news," she replied stiffly. Hells bells! Does everyone have to know everything I do in this house?

He gave a barely perceptible nod.

Charlie wished she could check on Logan as well. But she didn't dare. Not after last night. Charlie hadn't planned on defying her grandmother, but that's exactly what she'd ended up doing.

Something or someone had jarred Charlie out of a deep sleep in the middle of the night. Considering how tired she had been when she went to bed, she couldn't make sense of it. She'd glanced at her clock and had noted it was just after two in the morning. And then in a flash, Charlie knew it was Logan. Throwing on a shawl, she'd tiptoed down the hall to his room and was shocked to discover him in a fevered state, writhing in bed, his sheet in a tangle around his long legs.

Panicked, she'd filled a basin of water and proceeded to cool him down with wet compresses. For the next two hours, the earl's fever continued to climb, and he'd thrashed about, muttering and mumbling in a disoriented state.

"Damn you, Gil," he'd muttered as his fever spiked. "Why did you die on me? Someone else could have broken the horse…someone else…but not you. Oh, God! How are you gone from my life? "

Charlie had choked back tears as she continued to bathe Logan, her heart breaking at the sorrow he must have been keeping inside. Clearly, he'd been wracked with guilt over the death of this older brother. Charlie didn't know what she would do in the same situation if she'd lost Caden. She couldn't fathom that kind of loss.

Just thinking about it this morning made Charlie's chest tighten.

She'd continued to cool his face and neck with compresses, praying his fever would break, while debating whether she should fetch her grandmother when she suddenly felt a hand clamp around her wrist. Charlie let out a yelp as Logan tugged her close.

"Why are you haunting me?" he'd rasped, his eyes glazed with fever.

"I-I just want to help you," she'd whispered.

"Those eyes," he'd muttered. "Cat's eyes…so green…so mesmerizing. And your hair…so beautiful."

Charlie hadn't known what to make of his ramblings; it was as though Logan was accusing her of something, but she had no idea what it was.

As she gazed upon those finely chiseled features, Charlie did something she would never have dared, had he not been in a feverish state—she dipped her finger in the cool water and traced the curve of his mouth. Leaning over him, her lips had hovered above his, close enough to kiss…

"You will return to your room, young lady, at once!"

Charlie had jumped at the stern order and turned to see her grandmother enter the room with a flourish of her long burgundy silk robe, Millie trailing close behind. The way her grandmother had looked at her and then at Logan and then back at her; it was as though she'd known what Charlie had done, or almost done. Perhaps she saw everything in her looking glass, Charlie had thought.

"Never you mind, the hows and whys, my dear child," Grandmama had said as she gestured to Millie to cover the earl's exposed form. "Harrison has gone to fetch Bronson. He will see to his master's care. While you need to get back to your room, pronto ."

Charlie had realized there was no point in arguing. She'd glanced at her grandmother, expecting to see disapproval written all over her face, and was surprised to see compassion and understanding, instead.

"It will be all right," Grandmama said in a softer voice, reaching out to caress Charlie's cheek.

Charlie had returned to her room and spent the remaining hours until dawn tossing and turning until sleep finally claimed her as the sun was beginning to rise.

Just be careful, Charlie, Caden warned her, jolting her from her reverie.

What do you mean? She looked at him, no longer concerned her grandmother could hear her thoughts.

You're in danger of losing your heart, sis.

I'm not in danger. Charlie frowned as she sipped her tea, trying not to let Caden's warning get to her.

"Are you going to finish that?" Caden asked, watching her push her eggs about her plate.

Charlie jolted from her reverie and looked down at her plate. "Sorry. I was just thinking about Caroline, wondering how she was getting along," she lied.

"Your head seems to be in the clouds, my dear," Grandmama said, that shrewd look in her eyes again.

Harrison stepped into the dining room and approached the dowager. "Dr. Thakur is here, my lady. I sent him up to Lord Fitzwater's room."

"Thank you, Harrison," her grandmother replied. She took a sip of her tea and said calmly, "I spoke with your mother earlier through the looking glass, and she informed me that Caroline seems as fit as a fiddle. Your parents plan to arrive the morning of the ball, as scheduled."

"I'm glad to hear it," Charlie said, genuinely happy that Caroline was doing well. Their parents had made a point of visiting Caroline several times since learning of her pregnancy.

"Yes, your mother was excited. She was decorating the nursery with Caroline and putting your father and William to work painting the cradle and rocking horse." She chuckled.

"It's a good thing they get along," Caden said, getting up and sauntering back to the sideboard.

It was true that their father and Caroline's husband had grown close over the past year, which was a miracle, considering the wedding might never have happened if William's former mistress had had her way.

"I suggest you get as much rest as possible today, Charlie," Grandmama said. "Tomorrow will be a full day. Rose and her aunt will arrive early and the modiste will also be here for your fittings."

"Sounds like you ladies will be busy all day tomorrow," Caden said with a smirk as he lifted the serving lid of the newly replenished bacon.

Charlie heaved a deep sigh. It's going to be a long day.