Romancing the Duke (Castles Ever After #1)(26)
Author: Tessa Dare

Poor wolf-dog Magnus, caught in a Holland cloth they’d hung up with the washing. He was moving so swiftly, it took Izzy a few moments to discern the reason for his distress.

But she ought to have guessed at the cause.

Snowdrop.

The ermine had gone hunting, all right—hunting for big game.

She was attached to the end of Magnus’s tail, holding on by the strength of her vicious teeth. The dog caromed around the courtyard, whipping and howling in an effort to shake her off.

“Oh, the poor thing.” Laughing, Izzy set off in pursuit. “Duncan, can you catch him?”

It took some doing, but eventually they managed to corner the beasts. Duncan held the dog still while Izzy pried Snowdrop’s jaws from his tail.

“There. You little menace.”

Miss Pelham winced as she studied the bite wound on the dog’s tail. “I’ll see to bandaging the poor dear. It’s a deep wound. In my kit, there’s some salve that will help. It’s in the great hall. Duncan, we’ll need bandages.”

Duncan started off before she even finished. “Of course, Miss Pelham.”

Izzy cradled the ermine in her hands. “I’ll take Snowdrop back up to the turret and make sure she can’t escape, and then I’ll join you.”

The plan established, they parted and went their separate ways.

Izzy mounted the stairs, Snowdrop tucked securely in the pocket of her dressing gown. The ermine seemed to have tired from the chase, and she went to sleep at once.

“The duke will be most put out with you,” Izzy chided, locking the animal into her gilded ball. “And put out with me, no doubt.”

Where was Rothbury, anyhow? He couldn’t possibly have slept through all that howling. And even if he could, he ought have noticed that the commotion involved his own dog.

Despite her questions, Izzy’s steps were light and carefree as she made her way back down to the great hall. Now that their keening, wailing ghost had been unmasked and proved to be something so benign, she felt a new sense of bravery welling in her chest.

She truly could do this. She could make this place her home.

And then . . .

While breezing down the corridor, Izzy caught a glimpse of something in one of the vacant rooms.

A glimpse of something pale and writhing.

And moaning.

Her heart made an impulsive attempt to escape her body by way of her throat. But she didn’t run away. She inched closer, holding the candle tight.

Slowly, the ghostly apparition came into focus.

Izzy blinked. “Your Grace?”

Chapter Ten

Damn, damn, damn.

Ransom winced as her familiar voice sliced through his throbbing skull.

She would have to find him here, see him like this. Down on the ground, his knees cut out from under him. Crippled by searing pain.

Why had he ever agreed to a duel with swords? He should have insisted on pistols. He’d be dead now, of course. But in times like this, dying seemed preferable to one more minute of this burning, shooting pain.

“What is it?” she asked. “Are you unwell?”

She padded across the floor and crouched at his side.

“Go away. Leave me.” He rolled onto his side, curling his knees to his stomach and pressing his skull against the cool, smooth stone.

“Are you having some sort of attack?”

“Just . . .” He flinched as a fresh burst of pain ripped from his eye socket to the back of his skull. “Just a headache.”

It wasn’t just a headache. It was a headagony. The pain ripped from the back of his skull, curving around one side of his scalp to stab him just behind the eye.

Again and again and again.

“How can I help?” she asked.

“By leaving.”

“I won’t do that. You didn’t leave me when I swooned.”

“Different,” he muttered. “Wasn’t—”

“It wasn’t kindness. I know, I know. Something about vermin. If you don’t want me, shall I fetch Duncan?”

“No.” He managed to pronounce the word with gunshot force, but it had a wicked recoil. White streaks of pain flared behind his eyelids.

She didn’t leave him. “Do you need water? Whisky? Some sort of powder?”

He gritted his teeth and gave a tight shake of his head. “Nothing works. Have to wait it out.”

“How long?”

“An hour, perhaps.”

An hour that would feel like a lifetime. A lifetime of being stabbed through the base of his skull with a spike. Repeatedly.

“I’ll stay with you,” she said.

Her hand settled on his shoulder, and the touch sent a shiver through him.

Ransom was accustomed to dealing with pain on his own. In his early life, he hadn’t been given a choice. His mother had died less than an hour after his birth. His father had showed no patience with tears he might shed over stubbed toes and scraped knees. If he hurt himself or fell ill, the old duke thought he should overcome the pain on his own. The nursemaids and house staff were forbidden to give him so much as a hug. No coddling. No small mercies. His father had insisted on it.

And his father had been right. By learning to recover on his own, Ransom had grown into a strong, independent man. Untouchable. Invincible.

Right up until the moment a short sword caught him across the face.

Her fingers brushed over his ruined brow.

“I don’t need you here,” he said.

“Of course you don’t. You’re a big, strong, manly duke, and you don’t need anyone, I know. I’m not here for you. I’m here for me. Because I need to stay.”

With a sigh, he gave in. He hadn’t the strength to argue it further.

She settled beside him and drew his head into her lap. “There, now. Be easy. Be calm.”

Her fingers drifted through his hair, tracing delicious furrows on his scalp. Each caress seemed to stroke away a bit of the pain.

Her touch was like magic—or the closest thing to a miracle a man like him could ever credit. She found the sharp edge of his pain and dulled it with gentle sweeps of her fingertips.

And her voice. That deep, sweet river of her voice, carrying him away from the pain.

It was so foreign to him, this unsolicited tenderness. Incomprehensible. And much as he craved it, it scared him like hell. With every caress he permitted, he was piling up debts he could never repay.

You don’t deserve it, came that dark, unforgiving echo. He’d heard the words so many times, they were part of him now. They lived in his blood, resounding with each hollow beat of his heart. You don’t deserve this. You never could.