When Beauty Tamed the Beast

Page 68

Another tear ran down Linnet’s cheek. She nodded.
“Well, you were like to die,” Eliza said, coming over but looking as if she was thinking twice about touching Linnet. “You easily could have died. By all accounts, his lordship thought you would, at first.”
Linnet wished she had, rather than face life with this skin.
And Eliza guessed what she was thinking. “It’ll get better,” she said, rattling out the words. “I’m sure of that. We’ll—we’ll bathe you in mineral salts, every day. Twice a day. I’ve never seen anyone who looks like you, which means that it has to get better. Of course—” She stopped.
“What?” Linnet croaked.
“Oh, your poor throat,” Eliza cried. “Your voice is just gone.”
“What?” Linnet repeated.
“His lordship said as how you’re almost the only one to get this sick and survive,” Eliza said. “Maybe that’s why I’ve never seen skin like that before.”
Linnet closed her eyes, feeling utter despair. She had lived, but she was left with this face. This skin.
“Would it hurt if I touched you?” Eliza was saying.
She shook her head again, wearily.
Eliza’s fingers were soft and cool. “It’s like scabs,” her maid said. “All-over ones. Well, this is a perishing state of affairs.”
“Home,” Linnet croaked, catching her eye.
“You want to go home? It’s going to break your father’s heart, that it will.”
At the moment Linnet didn’t give a damn about what her father thought. She just wanted to be back in her own room, away from anyone who—
Away from Piers.
Away from the man who had loved her body and thought her hair was like burnished gold.
“I’ll ask,” Eliza promised. “But his lordship, I’m not sure he’ll let you go. He tended you all by himself, you know. Kept you alive when no one else could, spooning water into you every hour, covering you with wet cloths, and then warming you up again.”
Linnet felt a pang. Piers had always warmed her with his body when they swam together. She had no doubt he had done everything possible to make her live. Piers couldn’t bear to lose, especially to Death.
“From what I hear,” Eliza continued, “you were a proper sight when they found you in that chicken coop.”
Linnet remembered bits and pieces, and what she remembered wasn’t pretty. The smell . . . the smell was foremost in her memory. She shuddered.
“We’ll have to get you back to the castle first,” Eliza was saying. “You should see the duke and the duchess now. Like a pair of lovebirds, they are. The duke wanted to get a special license, but Lady Bernaise made him post the banns right in the little church in the village. Second week now, so they’ll be tying the knot again next week. Did you ever hear anything so romantic?”
Linnet shook her head.
“I’m not sure that you’ll want to go to the ceremony, though,” Eliza said. She ran her fingers over Linnet’s hand again.
“Never,” Linnet managed, meaning that she would never, ever leave the house again. Not like this. Not . . . ever.
“Well, as to never,” Eliza said, “it’ll get better. There are salves that we can put on, and salt baths, and in a week, maybe a month, you’ll be as good as gold. There’s all those creams they advertise in the papers,” she added. “For clearing up red skin. I know I’ve seen those. We’ll buy some back in London. Your father will buy all of them. The earl sent him a message, by the way, in case he was worried at not hearing from you for so long.”
Linnet closed her eyes and tried to imagine her father worrying about her long silence.
“And even if your skin isn’t quite what it was before,” Eliza went on, “it doesn’t matter, because you’re going to be a countess, and a duchess someday.”
Linnet snapped her eyes open.
“Anyone can tell the man loves you to distraction,” her maid said, smiling. “Besides, he told his father and the marquis that he was marrying you. They came over here the second day to see how you were doing. He wouldn’t let them in to see you, but he told them that you were going to live long enough to marry him. Three footmen heard it, so I know it’s true.”
“No,” Linnet stated. She would never marry Piers. In fact, she would never marry any man, but in particular not the Earl of Marchant.
Eliza didn’t hear her. “I’m just going to pop out and see what I should be doing for you. There must be something we can put on that skin.”
Linnet could hear her, through the door. “I don’t care if he is asleep, there must be something we can put on her skin.” More murmuring. “All right then.” She was back in the room, brandishing a jar. “I’m going to put this stuff all over you.” Eliza took a sniff. “It smells like beer. Well, beer and pine needles. Who cares as long as it works?”
Linnet let her spread the oily, smelly stuff all over, front and back.
“Lord Almighty, it’s worse here,” Eliza exclaimed, gently rubbing it into Linnet’s rear. “Though I wouldn’t have thought that possible.”
More tears trickled into the pillow.
By the time Piers walked into the room—without a knock, as if he were master of the bedchamber—Linnet had made up her mind. She couldn’t go home to London yet, obviously. She had to gather strength. She drank more broth than she wished, because the sooner her strength returned, the sooner she could leave.
He bent over her, almost as if he were going to kiss her. “Go away,” she said, turning her face to the side. The words came out like squawks, but they were perfectly understandable.
He straightened and scowled down at her. “You smell like a brewery. What’s all over you?”
“I put on this salve,” Eliza said, bustling forward with the now-empty jar.
“I told Neythen to send that along for the scullery girl’s chapped hands,” Piers said. “Though it can’t have hurt.”
“I had to do something,” Eliza said defensively. “The poor dear can’t stay like this. Why, she couldn’t be seen on the street without causing a riot.”
She would never look in a glass again.
“Go away,” she croaked at Piers.
“It stands to reason you’d be one of those cranky patients,” he said.
So Linnet looked at Eliza. And Eliza, bless her heart, stepped forward to fight the beast. “My mistress would like you to leave the room, Lord Marchant. Since she can’t make herself understood, I’ll speak for her.”
“Fine,” Piers snapped. He walked to the door, turned around. “I’ll come back later with your supper. I think it’s time to try something more sustaining than broth.”
Linnet threw Eliza a desperate look. Her maid moved forward again, as if she were guarding the bed. “If you’ll bring me the supper, my lord, I’ll make sure that my mistress eats every drop. She’s not fit for company at the moment.”
“I’m not company!” Piers roared.
Eliza folded her arms.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he said suddenly, and got himself through the door. Linnet could hear his cane thwacking down the steps, and then receding into the distance.