She nodded, but she sensed that he was pulling himself together for her sake and worried if it wasn’t a mistake for him to venture out of bed so soon after sustaining his injuries. “I just don’t want you to be worse off because of this.”
“I won’t be. I promise, Becky.” He took her hand in his and looked at her more seriously than ever before as he said, “But we must put an end to this so he cannot harm us again. We’ve a better chance of seeing him charged with attempted murder if I do my part to help.”
Chapter 26
The days passed and Daniel began to feel better. He was still sore, but at least the sharp pain he’d experienced at first was no longer more than an ache. He still couldn’t fathom how happy he was in light of everything that had happened, but since Rebecca had declared her love for him, he’d had a perpetual smile on his face. It was a magical feeling really, and one that he hadn’t expected. Thinking back on the time they’d spent together and the bond that had gradually grown between them, it probably should have occurred to him that she cared for him. But to actually hear the words whispered across her lips was the sweetest pleasure and a most welcome surprise.
Love.
He’d been loved by his parents once, and then he hadn’t been. It was strange to discover how quickly something that should have been infinite could come to such an abrupt end. He’d turned to a life of recklessness instead, burying the pain of his loss by seeking comfort in the arms of meaningless women and distracting himself with parties and gambling. It had been such fun at the time, so much so that he’d barely had time to spare his missing parents a second thought, but it had also been dreadfully empty and, truth be told, utterly pointless. What had he achieved? Nothing but to distance himself from anyone who might have cared. He hadn’t wanted to face the pity in their eyes or their words of reassurance, so he’d spurned them all and gone his own way.
But then his uncle had come up with his ultimatum. Daniel made a mental note to thank him for that because he’d done him a huge favor. He’d forced Daniel to take control of his life, and while Daniel confessed that he’d done so on his own terms and in a very rakehell sort of way, he’d married Rebecca, and nothing in the world would ever make him regret doing so. She was quite simply wonderful, and she made him want to get his life back together so he could be the sort of man she would be proud of. Would he have sold his phaeton if it hadn’t been for her? It was unlikely. The phaeton had been his pride and joy since he’d bought it two years earlier, but he would happily chop it to kindling himself if it meant offering Rebecca the sort of life she deserved.
And she deserved a lot. Christ, his parents might have abandoned him, but Rebecca had lost hers in a fire and then been forced to live with hateful relations who’d wanted to force her into marriage so they could line their own pockets. The thought of it still disgusted him. But she was his now, and he loved her. He still wasn’t sure how on earth he would manage to support her in the long run now that he’d promised he’d quit his gambling. The phaeton would probably bring in a handsome sum, but that money wouldn’t last forever, and what then? He would have to find a job, he supposed, until he was able to benefit from his investments. Then, of course, he could sell the house and get a smaller apartment. The thought of living so measly didn’t appeal in the least, mostly because he wanted more for Rebecca. She was an earl’s daughter, and as such she ought to have a proper home with a decent number of servants to tend to her needs.
He sighed and briefly considered her dowry. No, he told himself firmly. He wouldn’t touch it. There had to be a way—something he’d yet to discover—by which to earn a proper income. Since he was sitting about all day anyway until he was fully recovered, he might as well put his time to good use and take a look at the advertisements in the newspaper Rebecca had left on the chair by the door. She’d read him a couple of columns from it earlier before stepping out to discuss the evening meal with Madame Renarde.
Throwing back the covers, Daniel eased himself up and out of bed, taking a moment to adjust to being fully upright and without support. He felt slightly light-headed, so he remained perfectly still until it passed. Then he began taking slow steps toward the chair and the newspaper lying on it. “Got you,” he said, grabbing the paper and feeling pretty triumphant with his achievement. But then his gaze settled on what was beneath the paper and he paused, his eyes taking in the sketch that graced the paper. It was drawn in a sure hand, with confident brushstrokes coloring the image that filled not even half the page.
Bending over it, he looked at it more closely and discovered that it was him. The likeness was impeccable, and he reached out to pick up the sketchbook, then paused. Rebecca had mentioned that she liked to paint, but she’d never shown him any of her work. What if she didn’t want him to see it? The thought that she wouldn’t gave him pause, and he pulled back. He would have to ask for her permission, he decided, and he became quite impatient for her to return so he could do so. She might protest, but he would convince her. He smiled as he made his way back across the carpet to the bed. Convincing her would probably be a great deal of fun.
“I brought you some mint tea and a sandwich,” Rebecca announced as she stepped back into the room a short while later. She was carrying a tray, her smile bright and cheerful as always.
It struck Daniel that he’d always adored that smile, for it was so warm and inviting, and yet it was different now. She loved him, and it showed in her smile, or was he just being fanciful? He smiled back, happy that she’d finally returned even though she’d been gone for barely half an hour. “Could you hear my stomach growling all the way to the kitchen?”
Closing the door, she chuckled as she waited for him to sit up properly. He put the newspaper aside, and she placed the tray upon his lap. “Oh yes. It almost sounded as if a lion had taken up residency.” She nodded toward the newspaper. “I see you’ve had a little out of bed adventure. Did you manage all right?”
Daniel nodded as he chewed on the bite he’d just taken. “I felt a bit dizzy at first,” he admitted, “and it did ache a fair bit, but I made it to the chair and back without too much difficulty.”
“Well, you should probably still take it slow, though I’m glad to see that things are moving in the right direction and that you’re recovering.” Turning, she went to take a seat in the chair, then paused as her eyes fell on the sketchbook. “I . . . er . . .”
“Yes, I was rather wondering when you were going to show me that,” Daniel said, following his comment with a sip of tea as he watched her closely. Her face was turned away, so he couldn’t see her expression, but her posture appeared to have grown a little tense. Was she upset over what he’d seen? Well, she should have closed the book and put it away if she wanted to be certain he wouldn’t look, but then again she probably hadn’t thought he’d go roaming around the room.
“It’s nothing really,” she muttered, picking up the sketchbook and snapping it shut, “just a bit of scribbling really—something with which to pass the time.”
Daniel stared at her. Scribbling? How could she possibly pass such a wonderful sketch off as nothing but scribbling? And then it hit him. She had no idea how talented she was, which would also explain why she’d never shown him her drawings. In all likelihood it was something she very much enjoyed but didn’t think worthy of volunteering for someone else’s perusal. “Becky,” he said, his voice soft and with an edge of surprise to it that could only signify deep admiration, “I think your drawing . . . painting . . . of me is quite marvelous.”
She looked over her shoulder at him with a little frown creasing the bridge of her nose and the edge of her mouth tilting up in a half smile. “Really?” There was something so vulnerable and hopeful in her eyes as she said it, as if she feared he might not have been sincere in his compliment or, heaven forbid, said it because he loved her and didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
“Absolutely,” he said with a confidence that would brook no doubt, or so he hoped. He added, “Of course I’ve only seen the one painting, so I’ve no way of knowing if the rest of your work is rubbish or not.” She scowled at him, but there was laughter in her eyes. His attempt at humor had paid off, and she was relaxing. Putting all the reverence he felt for her into his voice, he finally said, “I would be honored if you would allow me to see your sketchbook, Becky.”
Standing perfectly still, she looked back at him, considering his words, and Daniel could scarcely breathe from the anticipation of what she might say. If she denied him the request, it would mean that she didn’t trust him with something that clearly meant a great deal to her. The thought of that troubled him, and he knew he had to do whatever he could to prevent such an outcome. After all, wasn’t she the great advocate for honesty and full disclosure? That they would be closer if they shared everything with one another? No secrets. And yet he didn’t want to force her hand either, so he decided to make her an offer instead. “Oh, and if you agree, then I shall give you a reward for each of the pictures I see.”
“A reward?”
Ah, now he had her attention. He looked at her as if she’d been standing nak*d before him. Waiting for realization to dawn on her features, he nodded with satisfaction when she squeaked a little “Oh!”
“Yes, Becky . . . a reward.”
She turned to face him fully, hands on h*ps and looking quite adorably flustered, though she was clearly attempting a more composed demeanor. “Why, Mr. Neville, I do believe you have a rather wicked streak.”
Daniel almost sputtered his tea across the bedcovers with laughter. Her declaration spoken in such a prim manner was just too much. “Surely you haven’t just found this out now,” he said when he was once again capable of speech.
“Perhaps not,” she admitted, “but it seemed like the proper thing to say.”
Pushing the tray from his lap, he scooted away from the edge and patted the spot he’d just vacated. “Come sit. Bring your sketchbook, and I’ll show you precisely how wicked I can be.”
Shaking her head in surrender and smiling as if it was she who’d just gotten the better of him and not the other way around, Rebecca picked up her sketchbook and did as Daniel asked, perching herself on the edge of the bed as she handed him the book. He eyed her for a second. She looked nervous again, as if his opinion was of the utmost importance. The notion made his heart swell, and he reached out his hand to gently stroke her cheek. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I know I’m going to love your pictures, Becky.” And then he opened the sketchbook and was quite literally rendered breathless.
This was not what he had envisioned at all, not still life studies of vases filled with flowers or boring fruit bowels. This . . . this was fantasy—a group of fairies dancing, their whispery gowns twirling about their legs while huge blooms of wildflowers dwarfed them from overhead. They were all barefoot, he noticed, and with lovely translucent butterfly wings. “I don’t know what to say,” he muttered as his eyes fell on a small ladybird nestled between the straws of grass.