The Baron Next Door (Prelude to a Kiss) (21 page)

P
ain. Pure, hellacious, constant.

Truly magnificent in its ability to consume him. There was no light, and still he squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He hadn’t eaten, and yet his stomach roiled dangerously, threatening yet another bout of vomiting.

He couldn’t take it. If he cast up his accounts one more time, his head would surely explode with the unfathomable pressure that screamed for escape like steam from a violently boiling teapot. He burrowed deeper beneath the covers, desperate to escape the pounding pain. No anvil had ever suffered greater blows than his brain now endured. Over and over, as regular as his heartbeat. He had enough time to recover for all of half a second before the next blow came, stealing his breath and turning his stomach with its intensity.

Sweat dampened his pillow as he pressed his face into it. Every hair follicle seemed like a raw nerve ending, chafing each time he moved.

This was the real him.

This pathetic, crumpled, helpless being racked with the sort of pain he had never imagined possible back when he was whole. This had been him for half a decade, and it would be him for the rest of his life.

How long had it been? And hour, maybe two? His breath came out in a tortured hiss. He knew from experience he had hours to go yet.

A lifetime.

He swallowed against the nausea, but his mouth kept salivating.
God, not again. Please, not again.
He gritted his teeth, even as the tightened muscles intensified the stabbing at the base of his skull. To his immense relief, the nausea abated and he slowly relaxed his jaw.

The Baths had offered hollow, teasing hope. A promise that things might get better, but he’d known it had been a hopeless pursuit. He’d allowed Felicity and the damn quack doctors here to lull him into a false promise, and this was what he got for it.

Pound, pound, pound, pound. Squeak.

He froze, listening to the distinctive sound of a door swinging on its hinges. What the bloody hell was wrong with Jacobson? He knew better than to come in during an attack. His job was to stay the hell away. Hugh willed the man to leave, much too wretched to actually speak.

“Hugh?”

He squeezed his eyes closed that much more tightly. Was he hallucinating now? That was Charity’s voice, whispering in the back of his mind. It was barely audible above the intense throbbing in his brain, but he knew it was her. Had his brain redoubled its torture with a two-pronged attack? Physical agony combined with emotional anguish?
Here’s all the things you’ll never have, and here’s why, you sorry bastard
.

He kicked at the covers, suddenly hotter than Hades. The cool air gave scant relief as it washed over his sweat-dampened skin. He pressed the heels of his hands against his temples and pushed as hard as he could.

Was that a gasp? Impossible to tell. Could have been his own, for all he knew. He writhed to the side, desperate to find a position that would quiet the pounding.

Water splashed—he knew he heard that. With every bit of strength he possessed, he cracked his eyes open, squinting into the gray light cast through the wall of windows. A movement beside his bed drew his attention to a human-shaped outline. Water splashed again; then a cool, wet cloth was draped across his forehead.

“Shhh, don’t fret,” the soft voice crooned.
Charity.

Christ, what was she doing here? The throbbing intensified—he wouldn’t have believed it was possible—as he instinctively shook his head. “Charity,” he rasped, his voice dark and ragged. “Go away.”

Cool hands pressed against his cheeks. “I won’t. What can I do to help?” Her voice was barely a whisper, but he could hear the pity.

Self-loathing threaded into the blanket of pain and agony already suffocating him. Now she knew how pathetic he truly was. “Nothing,” he said, wincing at the sound of his own voice.

She didn’t move. Was she staring at him? Looking on as one might observe a burning building—part horror, part fascination? He couldn’t escape her, even as he didn’t want to face her. Drawing his cheek between his teeth, he bit hard as he struggled to turn away from her. He braced for the crashing, rhythmic blows that assailed him as he moved. Even so, it was worth it. At least she could no longer see his face.

He breathed out a harsh breath, grateful to be turned away from her. He didn’t give a damn that she was presented with the bare expanse of his back. If she didn’t want her sensibilities offended, she shouldn’t have let herself into his bedchamber.

“Oh, Hugh,” she murmured, her voice heavy with regret. “I’m so sorry.”

The scent of her lavender fragrance reached his nose, and he braced for the nausea. Smells of any kind were generally disastrous when he was in this state. But it didn’t come. Even as the pounding continued its relentless beat, the scent was almost soothing. Comforting.

Almost as much as it was unwelcome. “Leave me, please.” In his weakened state, there was no stopping the pleading tone in his voice. How could he? He was bloody desperate.

She retrieved the cloth that had fallen away when he moved and dipped it in the basin beside his bed once more. The sound of the excess water hitting the surface as she wrung the thing out made him recoil. He’d long given up cursing the rain, but this he freely cursed in his mind.

She laid the linen across the back of his neck, pressing it gently against his spine. The slacking of the pain was minimal. He fought against the urge to relax against her touch. It was wrong. Damn it all, she shouldn’t be here.

She didn’t say anything, hardly even made noise at all as she settled on the bed beside him, her movements slow and gentle so as not to jostle him. And that was where she stayed for the next hour. Silent, unmoving except to rewet the cloth and lay it across him every so often, she stayed beside him as the waves of pain crashed, as the nausea came and went, and as he steadfastly ignored her.

Somehow, fatigued by the fight and lulled by the constant rain and the quiet presence beside him, he drifted off into a fitful sleep. When he awoke, the first hints of dawn filtered into the room. The pain was a dull, manageable throb, and he exhaled with relief, exhausted beyond measure. For a moment, he wondered if her presence had been some sort of convoluted dream, but one long breath proved the theory wrong.

The lingering scent of lavender remained, as light as a memory but real nonetheless. He closed his eyes and shook his head.
Bloody hell.
So much for having a night of no regrets.

*   *   *

“For a woman who is supposed to be celebrating, you are awfully quiet today, Charity.” May’s eyes reflected concern as she offered up a plate of biscuits.

Charity waved off the plate and mustered up a tired smile. “Please forgive me. I slept dreadfully last night.” Celebrating was the last thing on her mind just then. She was tired, yes, but that had nothing to do with the emotions weighing her down this morning.

“Dreadfully?” Sophie repeated around a mouthful of ginger biscuit. She hastily swallowed and tried again. “Why ever would you sleep so poorly? I was so relieved everything went so well, I slept like the dead. Well, I suppose the dead don’t sleep, so perhaps I should say
like a baby
. Although I remember my sisters’ wails in the middle of the night when they were infants, so let’s just say I slept well. Regardless, the recital was a smashing success, and if that doesn’t earn a sound night’s sleep, I don’t know what does.”

Sophie’s tangent managed to raise a small grin on Charity’s lips. “Yes, I know. I can’t really say what had me up half the night.” A very literal statement.

Taking a sip of tea, May gave a slight shrug. “Perhaps it was the weather. I don’t know how you English deal with the constantly changing weather. Rain or sunshine: Pick one and stick with it.” She winked, smiling teasingly.

Charity cupped her tea in both hands, savoring the exotic blend of spices that May had dug out to celebrate the occasion. She wished it were as simple as the weather. Her heart still ached for the suffering she had witnessed last night. She’d never seen anything like it. Like everyone else, she had endured the odd megrim, but this was in an entirely different realm. A candle compared to fireworks. A pebble to a boulder. How he had endured such attacks for so long was beyond her ability to comprehend.

And it was incredibly hard to accept the fact that his pain had been her fault. He had come to the recital just for her; she knew that without any doubt. Despite the fact he had told her before that her music was a trigger for him, he had still come. And she had played her heart out, putting everything she had into that song. It was all for him, whether she admitted it at the time or not. She had wanted him to see her at her best.

And because of it, he had been punished severely.

It was ironic, really, that the very best part of her should ultimately bring about the worst in him. Guilt weighed down her shoulders and wrapped around her heart. Had her music caused an attack before, too? Had he suffered more than once for her blithe attitude in the face of his objection to her playing?

She hoped not, but suspected that he had.

But, of course, she couldn’t share any of this with the others. It wasn’t hers to share, really. She wouldn’t betray his darkest moment, no matter how much she loved and trusted her friends. She sighed and nodded. “Yes, I suppose it could have been the weather. Hopefully I will sleep better tonight.”

May tilted her head, as if not quite believing that. Did she see through Charity’s attempt to be lighthearted this morning? “Should I call for Suyin? I’m certain she would be happy to help you relax.”

“No. Oh, wait,” she exclaimed, sitting up straighter as May’s words about how the servant’s techniques had helped her mother sprang to mind. “Yes, please do. If you don’t think she’ll mind, that is.”

May had specifically said the therapy she called
tui na
was designed to help with both body aches and headaches. What if there was something she could teach Charity that would help Hugh? She was willing to do anything to help prevent such terrible pain befalling him again. Perhaps helping him now could somehow make up for the suffering he had endured because of her.

“Of course not! She’s passionate about her art. Don’t tell my aunt,” May said, lowering her voice with a wicked grin and leaning in, “but she’s been giving the maids treatment. They’ve never been so sprightly.”

Charity could only imagine how Lady Stanwix would react if she learned her staff was indulging in the Eastern therapy. She smiled back at May and said, “Thank you, then. I know it will help.” At least she hoped with all her heart it would.

*   *   *

When he agreed to move to the newly available townhouse, Hugh never imagined he’d be willing the day to come more quickly. That, however, was exactly what he was doing as he listened to the sounds of the household making preparations below.

He’d spent the late morning at the Baths, despite feeling rather ridiculous about being there. He didn’t know why he was even trying, not when its so-called magic remedy had failed him so completely the night before. But as he had settled back into the steamy water of the private bathing room he had rented and breathed in the sulfur-tinged air, he realized that he had not only grown accustomed to it, but he actually found it quite pleasant.

The truth remained that he had gone well over two weeks in relatively good health, and that wasn’t something he was willing to toss aside.

Relaxing his tired shoulders, he had let the heat and buoyancy of the water soothe and cradle him. Why hadn’t he thought to float in the ocean more, like he had during his childhood? It was a hell of a lot colder than springwater, but at least it would have relieved some of the pressure. It was something to try when he returned home.

Home.

The word echoed in his head now as he sprawled on the chair in his bedchamber, still a little weak after having walked home and changed again. Soon he would have to return to Cadgwith, whether he was well or not. He would have to fully take up the mantle of his responsibilities, and try to be even a tenth of the baron his father and brother had been. Right now, that small goal seemed beyond his reach.

Charity’s soft touch came to mind, and he closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. She had somehow managed to make things a little more bearable last night. It didn’t sound like much, but it was more than anyone else had ever managed to do. But that assistance had come at a cost. Dear God, what she must think of him. How on earth could he ever look her in the eye again, knowing she had seen the part of him he was so deeply ashamed of?

He glanced to the clock as it occurred to him that this was the time that he had promised to leave to her so she could play. Why wasn’t she doing so? Had her day been so thoroughly thrown off after last night? He rubbed a weary hand over the back of his neck. Perhaps she was with her other trio members.

Sighing, he came to his feet and pulled open the door to the balcony. Something metallic glinted in the bright white light of the overcast day. A coin. He bent to pick it up, only to find a half dozen more littering the stone floor below the window. He shook his head, gathering them all in his hand and curling his fingers into a fist.

She’d stolen his trick. What on earth had possessed her to climb the rail when he hadn’t come to her bidding? Why did she care so much? Of course, she must have been disappointed when he hadn’t been waiting for her, but to go to such lengths? He shook his head. God knew he wasn’t worth that sort of effort.

The door to her side of the balcony rattled and opened, and her sweet, freckled face appeared as though conjured by his musings. Her gown was a simple white muslin, with a dark green ribbon tied at her slender waist and a matching ribbon woven through her auburn hair. She looked fresh and lovely—exactly the opposite of how he felt.

Her eyes betrayed her uncertainty, even as she smiled softly. “Good afternoon.”

He bowed his head in formal greeting. “And to you, my lady.”

She opened the door fully and slipped outside, squinting in the bright light. “How are you feeling today?”