Her Mad Baron (4 page)

He frowned for a minute as if trying to search his faulty memory but then nodded. “Of course.”

“What should I do for you when I get away?”

“Tell someone. Go to London and contact my friend, Peter Johnston. Don’t...” He blinked and rubbed his eyes, causing the sheet to slide down his chest. “My late uncle’s man of business. Maller? Smaller? I’ve forgotten his name. But they’ve convinced him I’m insane. I woke once and heard him speak of me in a pitying voice.

“Whoever did this forced him to see—to notify the authorities. I tried to talk. But that was when I still drank what they brought me. I forget things sometimes. Less lately since I’ve poured out the drinks. But the food, too—”

Someone rapped sharply on the door. Florrie started and drew in a deep breath, ready to flee. She moved to the door.

“Hurry up in there,” a man’s voice said.

“Grub. You must wait,” the baron shouted as he looked into Florrie’s eyes. The shout was for her.

“A minute, no more,” came the voice from the corridor.

The nearly-naked man slid off the bed and pointed to a large, old-fashioned clothespress. She glanced at the door, and he shook his head. “Hide,” he whispered and, grabbing her wrist, pulled her gently away from the door.

Fast and silent she went to the clothespress and discovered it was empty. Of course. The man was forced to remain nearly naked—it wasn’t his choice. He carefully closed the lid after her, and she was in complete darkness. She heard clinking and thumping. He shouted, “I’m ready.”

“Hold up your hand, dearie.” This one was a female. “That’s good. Don’t want you to try to fake it again.” The woman used the sing-song voice people employ with small children. “So. I heard you talking. One of your visitors?”

“A woman. Sweet and soft.”

The woman chuckled. “A nice change for you, eh, dear?”

“You all were carrying on ’bout an hour ago. What was that?”

In the dark, Florrie silently thanked the baron even as she held her breath.

“Nothing,” the woman said, cheerily. “Just Mr. Grub’s fancy that we had visitors. Can’t have disturbances cause you a setback, can we?”

“There weren’t any visitors then?”

“Naw. Course not. All’s nice and quiet.”

Florrie prayed the woman didn’t lie.

More clinking
, but in a distant room, followed by the sound of groaning pipes and the whoosh of water. After a very short time, the woman’s voice came again. “I’ll put your dinner here. And the door is open for your nice bath. I’ll give you a few minutes then. Mr. Grub is just outside so we don’t want to be too upset, dear. Let me just open my door and ...here you go, the key. Cheerio.”

The door slammed, and Florrie heard the click and jangle of the door outside and as he unlocked his chain. Almost at once he opened the lid and held out his hand to help her out. “You’re still trapped with me,” he whispered. “Sometimes they clean this room while I’m there and lock me in the bath.”

He reached behind the chest and pulled out her shoe that he’d pulled off her foot.

“You said your mind wandered. But you asked about the uproar and you hid this,” she murmured as she took it from him.

He moved close enough that she could feel the heat of him again. His mouth was next to her ear as he whispered, causing an interesting ticklish shiver down her back. “I have to protect you, can’t indulge the madness. It is easier to go insane alone.” He grinned then pointed at the bathroom. “It’s a combination bath and water closet. You go wash first. You should drink as well. But don’t turn on the bath’s taps.”

“Why not?”

“They will barge in to make sure I’m not trying to drown myself.” He started to raise his hand as if he would touch her, then let it drop. “You may be trapped here for a time.” He moved to the bed and leaned close to the bedpost studying it. Perhaps he was slightly crazed again, seeing monsters on the bedpost. Then she made out small markings on the wood, probably made with a fingernail.

He was back and whispering in her ear. “I’ve been here a month. More, I suppose during the fever. I always make the mark when the dawn comes. Even at my most insane, when I carried on conversations with giant spiders, I made the marks, I think.”

“Do you see strange visions still?” she asked.

“Other than you at the moment? No. But then I haven’t eaten for hours. Reality is a touch and go affair for me. I’m dizzy, and time shifts oddly.” He put a hand on her lower back and pushed her to the bath. “But I
will
fight it now. Quietly, quickly,” he murmured.

She silently closed the door and only took a second to strip and longer than that to admire the luxurious room, far more modern and well-appointed than the adjoining bed chamber where he was held prisoner. The lavatory and bathtub sharing a room—all the modern conveniences in one gleaming space that had once been a dressing room, she supposed.

Stepping into the tub, she wished she might turn the taps and enjoy the opulent plumbing.

The pale bar of soap smelled of him. And for a moment she felt the strange curl of desire. The warm water stung the chafed intimate part of her body, then soothed it.

Hot water at a simple twist of a lever. Amazing.

As she quickly washed, she thought about the plumbing, about the soap, about anything other than the fact that she was held prisoner. And almost worse, that she’d allowed a stranger to touch her so intimately.

No more prevarication. She’d face her crime head on and would force herself to feel the shame, self-loathing and horror that her recklessness must create.

Nothing. No response in her heart.

She pictured the lurid scene again, Nathaniel almost naked and his erection under her hand. Instead of sick shame, she felt the stir of fascinated interest.

Very well, if she couldn’t count on her feminine sensibilities she’d have to pretend they existed.
You will not do that again
, she told herself sternly.
No more earthiness.

Only one small towel lay on the bar, and she carefully blotted her face on it, but nothing else. He had no clothes, after all. She eyed her own chemise, trousers and blouse. Ugh. They reeked of her sweat of anticipation of the climb, work, and fear. She pulled them over her clean skin anyway then quickly ran some water in the sink to drink.

Only a few minutes. She hurried back out into the bedroom. He was standing just by the door and closed his eyes for a moment. “When you’re not in front of me, I wonder if I invented you,” he whispered. “Even when I can hear the sounds of you.”

Once again she again felt the prickling of something like fear or distaste. He was listening to her in the bathroom? She stepped away from him.

He must have sensed her discomfort. “I did not mean to invade your privacy. I must listen. For them.”

Brushing a light hand over her shoulder, he passed her then silently closed the door to the bathroom.

She sank onto the bed for a moment. She would help the man of course, but would not allow herself to be drawn by the attraction of him again. He might not be thoroughly insane, but he was not normal. And she was not her ordinary self around him, either. Florrie realized she was quickly losing track of what ordinary meant in this strange prison.

A man’s voice shouted from the hall. “Hurry up in there.”

Nathaniel emerged from the bathroom and motioned Florrie to the chest. In the dark, she heard the jingle clink of the chain and then his shout. “I’m done.”

The nurse didn’t speak this time and had a heavy tread. Another nurse? There were sounds from the bathroom, then a male voice. “We think yer not eating enough. Worrying about our patient.”

Yes, definitely another nurse. This was the man who’d shouted from the hall—not a pleasant person, she guessed.

“We know you’re pouring out your drink. Wouldn’t do for you to get thirsty, eh?” Footsteps sounded closer to the bed. “We got to take good care of you.”

Nathaniel growled. “Get the hell out. Go.”

“You don’t want us to help you, again, do you?”

“Come near me and I’ll kill you.”

She shivered. No wonder they thought him mad. The raw anger in his voice was frightening.

“Tell you what’s what. It’ll be a fine night tonight. No rain. We cleared the bush below this window and we’ll look for the wet patch and see if you pour it out, eh? Then we’ll know what to do.”

The door slammed.

The clink of the chain as he released himself, the sudden light, and he was leaning over her again. “Florrie, Florrie.” He shook his head. “You have walked into a private Hades, and I can’t think of how to get you out.”

She was still shaken by the interaction she’d overheard and was surprised to find him quite calm.

Trying to ignore his strong grip on her hand as he helped her, she scrambled from the chest. “Who was that?”

He combed his fingers through his damp hair, pushing the overlong strands back from his face. “My chief jailer, Grub. He once stood outside my door and said something to someone else about the proportions of red Indian medicine, hemp, opiates and alcohol. A wonderful moment for me.”

“I don’t see that.”

“That’s when I understood that the visions and perhaps all of my symptoms could be the result of his concoctions. I could have kissed the fool.”

He went to the table, tore off a chunk of bread and tossed it to her. “Best eat it plain. I don’t know if I trust the butter. I apologize that there’s no tray and no fork or knife. They’ve learned not to give me any weapons.” He picked up a tin plate and poked at the stew with a finger. “Anything with a sauce is suspect, but the peaches were fine last time. Ah, me. And I shall have to figure some way to deal with the wine or face another encounter with the Grub and his men. Extremely rude, those gentlemen. They don’t fight fair.”

“How can you sound so cheerful?”

“You,” he said, simply. “I have been alone for a long time. You make the world real again.”

He sat down next to her and examined the plates of food he’d brought over and laid on the mattress.

“Listen. They don’t expect to find me. What if I wait behind the door and attack?”

He spooned up a mouthful of some sort of stew. “There is no object here that would accomplish the task.”

True. The room had been stripped of everything. No lamp, no books, nothing lay in there other than the clothes press, the bed and a large table. No wonder Nathaniel was going insane with nothing but his distorted thoughts to occupy himself.

“There’s not even a chair for you.”

“There was. I smashed it to pieces, hoping to fashion a weapon.”

She shivered.

“Eat the bread. You’ll need your strength.”

The bread was fine—the best she’d eaten in a long time. It occurred to her she hadn’t had food since a small breakfast. She’d been too nervous for more.

He shook his head suddenly as if he were a dog trying to shake off water. “The stew might be a problem after all.” He sucked in some air. “It’s the fast acting one. Some of the others take some time.”

She froze and eyed him, wondering if he was going to start gibbering. “What?”

He gave a hollow, unamused breath of laughter and pointed. “There are a great many bugs climbing across the plate.”

She shivered and inched away from the plate even as she realized the truth. “It’s a hallucination.”

“Yes.” He squinted down at the plate, gingerly touched hunk of the meat with a finger. “I can tell. When I try, I know the difference. Because of you.”

“You eat the bread,” she urged and pushed the rest of it into his hand. He only stared at the plate, blinking.

“The bugs are fading,” he said, after a time. “Watch for the other symptoms in me. An exhilaration. Feverishness. Strange talk. It’s not me. Don’t be afraid.”

“Do you know,” she said watching his eyes, “except for a moment now and then I haven’t been afraid? There is something about you…” She allowed her voice to trail off, embarrassed that she was going to confess her attraction.

“I know when you were afraid.” He craned his neck to look at his shoulder. “A vampiress’s mark upon me. Please, God. I need more.” His voice dropped and grew urgent. “Kiss me again, Florrie. Let me taste you again. Give me more.” He’d described his drugged manner as exhilaration, but it seemed to her to be more like naked hunger. She doubted he’d speak to her like this without the influence of drugs.

With some effort she dragged her gaze from his.

“I don’t think I should. I’ll try the peaches, shall I? You said they were fine,” she said, trying to sound cheery. Food would break the tension. A young lady sharing a meal with a gentleman.

“Were. But. Yes, of course.” He swayed slightly and crossed his arms over his bare chest. His fingers dug into his arm until they turned white.

The cups and plates were tin. They wouldn’t serve the prisoner with heavy china. He might try to harm them or himself by shattering it.

His hand trembled as he handed her the spoon. An odd intimacy, sharing utensils, but then again, they had almost shared the most intimate activity between people.