Valen stirred to the faint sound of his father’s laughter, a sound that seemed more a dream than reality.
Through half-opened eyelids, he glanced to his side and found the place where Izzie had laid her head during the night, empty. Valen sighed and closed his eyes. He had hoped to see her face, see again the concern and worry in her blue eyes. Witness the affection in her gaze. She loved him—it was undeniable. He vowed to himself that she would fill that empty place in his bed as soon as possible.
He had to convince her. If necessary, he would trick her into it. As a last resort, he’d abduct her and carry his stubborn bride off to Gretna Green. Considering the condition of his shoulder, he hoped one of the less strenuous methods would serve.
The alternative was unthinkable. No Izzie in his bed. And if she should foolishly accept some wealthy nodcock, well then he would have to commit murder. All the hounds of hell could not prevail upon him to allow that milksop, Horton, to have her, nor anyone else.
He drowsed, unwilling to surrender completely to sleep. He had no wish to return to the unpredictable dreams in Morpheus’s jurisdiction. His father’s quiet murmur nudged him toward greater wakefulness. “Yes, it’s the sad truth. His grandfather robbed the secondary title.”
He heard a small click. “Aha! My bishop takes your knight.
“Why, Lord Ransley, how very generous. You left my rook open to confiscate your bishop.”
Valen’s eyelids fluttered. She was here. He blinked, squinting against the brightness. They sat by the window, his father and Izzie, a chessboard spread on the table between them.
“Neatly done, my lady.” His father coughed. “Hmm. I will consider my next move more carefully.”
“See that you do,” she goaded. “It’s a pity his grandfather took such cruel measures.”
Valen saw sunbeams twirling in a shaft of warm yellow light from the window. Extraordinary. Perhaps he was still dreaming. His father sounded surprisingly well and alarmingly cheerful.
“Queen’s pawn, one step.” No, he wasn’t dreaming. Lord Ransley sounded real enough. “Did he not tell you about his allowance?”
“No. We’ve never spoken of such private matters. Naturally, I assumed it was modest, since his grandfather divested the lesser title.”
“Oh no. I wished to correct my father’s treachery. I saw to it he receives a—”
“Best not give the marmot such juicy tidbits.” Valen interrupted before his father divulged all. He wanted her, but he would have her on his own terms, not because of her mercenary streak.
“Oh dear,” Lord Ransley clucked his tongue. “He’s delirious again.”
“Not this time.” Izzie stood and came to him, smiling. “I believe you will find your son has finally returned to his right mind. He is simply indulging in his favorite pastime. Insulting me.”
Valen laughed, which hurt like hell.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, my lord.” She took his hand, and he grinned at her.
“Good morning, marmot.”
“I suggest, if you wish to remain alive, you cease using that name when referring to me.”
“It is good to see you’ve not lost your bite.”
“And you. How do you feel?”
A well meant but absurd question. Unfortunately her inquiry caused him to examine the facts. “As if Satan himself has run me through with a blazing spear. And you may tell my aunt, as kindly as you like, that I will have her put in chains and thrust into a dungeon if she ever dares administer laudanum to me again.”
“Oh my.” Izzie reared back, but he could see she was feigning her protest. “I didn’t realize Ransley Keep had a dungeon, my lord.”
His father stood at the end of the bed leaning against one of the posts, looking to be in surprisingly good health. “Daresay if we had a dungeon, my dear sister would have been locked away decades ago.”
Valen mused that not many weeks had passed since he had been standing at his father’s bed.
“As it is, Honore runs free, wreaking what havoc she may on everyone in her vicinity.” His father shrugged happily. “You may be certain, my boy, she intends no harm.”
“Not certain at all. Trapped me in a bloody nightmare. Thought I might never escape.”
“She is rather free with the stuff.” Izzie wrung out a cloth and washed his forehead. “I feared she might kill you she dosed you so heavily the first night.”
“First night?” He frowned. “Wasn’t that last night? The night you...”
The expressions on their faces gave Valen his answer. Obviously his meddlesome aunt had dosed him with more opiates since. “How long has she kept me in this stupor?”
“Three days,” she whispered and wiped his temples.
“And Merót?”
“Dead. Do you not remember?”
He leaned up on his good shoulder. “Paper and ink. I must send word to Robert. The authorities need a report.”
“Robert was already here.” Her voice flowed over him, as soothing as the warm cloth she glided along the side of his neck. “You needn’t trouble yourself. He and his men took Merót’s body away.” She gently pressed him back to the pillows. “Lady Alameda gave them a full accounting of the events.”
He groaned and tried to sit up again. “In that case, it is even more urgent I send word. You know how she is.”
“You must eat first.” Elizabeth smiled at him, a smile that drenched him in satisfaction.
Satisfaction notwithstanding, he had his duty to perform. “You don’t understand.”
“I understand perfectly.”
He sighed. “If you did, you would comprehend the imperative nature of—”
“I will strike you a bargain. If you eat first, I will act as your scribe, and you may send word to whomever you wish in all haste.”
His stomach rumbled, and he considered her offer. She was wearing the green muslin, the same one she’d worn that day at the ruins. He could remember the feel of her in his arms. If he played his hand artfully, he might gain more out of this bargain
