Velvet Embrace

"She had a hard time of it, Miss Brie," Homer said in response to Brie's questions. "Been wheezin' something fierce. I be right worried about her. The medicine don't seem to be helpin'."

Although Brie was no expert, she could tell Mattie was getting worse. Her worn cheeks were flushed with fever, while her breathing was shallow and labored. Brie pressed her lips together, angry that Homer hadn't called her. But she realized it wouldn't do any good to scold him now. "I'll get some water to sponge her forehead," she said, disapproval creeping in her tone.

Homer sniffed and held his handkerchief up to his red nose. "I don't know, Miss Brie. We've already done t'once. His lordship said t'would be better for Mattie to sleep now."

"His lordship?" For the first time Brie noticed the basin and cloth beside the bed, and they puzzled her. She hadn't forgotten the man who had burst into her bedchamber the previous night, uninvited; she had even dreamed about Stanton. But she found it hard to believe that he would put himself out for an old, sick woman he had never seen before. "Do you mean Lord Stanton?" Brie asked. "He was here?"

Homer's answer was interrupted by a fit of coughing, but he managed to nod, which caused Brie's blue-green eyes to widen in amazement.

"And did he stoke the fire?" she asked skeptically.

"No, t'was Sheldon."

Brie was incredulous. To say that Sheldon Dawson was lazy would be like calling last night's blizzard a sprinkling of snowflakes. He never did any real work unless he was absolutely forced to. Even Patrick, who had the patience of an ox, had been known to give his brother a cuff on the chin when he grew tired of shouldering Sheldon's load. Surely Homer was mistaken. "Well, perhaps I could bring you some breakfast," she offered.

Homer shook his head. "Lord Stanton promised to see to it," he said, blowing loudly into

his handkerchief.

Brie was conscious of a surge of resentment. Homer made the man sound like an angel of mercy. "Isn't there anything I can do for you?"

"Don't think so, Miss Brie. Thank ye, though."

Trying to hide her pique, she cast a glance at the sleeping Mattie. "Very well, then. Try to get some rest, Homer. I'll be up to check again in a little while—subject to his lordship's approval, of course."

The house was deserted, Brie discovered after a search of the ground floor rooms. A good fire was going on the kitchen hearth, though, indicating that someone had been busy, and a large caldron of water was slowly heating over the coals. The oven, too, was already warm.

Since Patrick was nowhere in sight, Brie went to fetch her cloak from the hall closet, determined to brave the cold in order to find him. She was tying the strings of her cloak when she heard a door slam. Glancing down the hall, she saw Stanton beside the door. He had obviously just entered the house for the collar of his greatcoat was turned up and he was stamping snow from his boots. She noticed at once that the growth on his chin was more pronounced than the previous evening, a sign that he hadn't found time to shave yet this morning. There was also a grim expression on his handsome face that wasn't at all pleasant. In fact, he appeared to be in a foul humor.

Brie decided she would be wise to avoid him if she could. "Good morning," she murmured, trying to slip past his tall form. She didn't get far; Dominic's hand shot out to catch her by the arm. Brie looked up at him, startled.

His gray eyes held hers for a moment before his gaze swept down her body, taking note of her cloak. "Where do you think you are going?"

Brie stiffened at his curt tone. "The stables, if you must know."

"I don't advise it. The snow is too deep."

Brie stared pointedly down at the gloved hand holding her arm. "Thank you for your concern, but I believe I can manage."

He didn't release her arm, nor did he beg her pardon for his boldness. If anything, his tone became more abrupt. "I expect you to wait until someone shovels a path."

Brie felt a spark of anger ignite in her breast. Stanton was speaking to her as if he were disciplining a disobedient puppy. "I should like to see Patrick," she told him through tight lips.

"Perhaps, but I doubt he wants to see you just now. He's feeling quite a lot of pain."

Brie gasped, her eyes flying to Stanton's. "Why? What have you done to him?"

Dominic's mouth curled at the corner. "I served him to a pack of wolves this morning for breakfast, didn't I tell you? I'm surprised you didn't hear the howling."

His dulcet tones dripped sarcasm, making Brie wince, but her concern was for Patrick, not herself. "Is Patrick truly hurt?" she asked, her eyes anxiously searching Dominic's face.

Giving a sigh, he released her arm. "The boy slipped on some ice and split his knee open. Jacques is sewing the wound now. I came back to the house to get some laudanum. Do you know where any can be found?"

For a moment Brie could only stare at him in dismay. "Mattie should have some," she responded finally. "She keeps a medicine chest in the upstairs pantry."

She turned and reached for the door handle, but Dominic gripped her arm again. "Just a moment. Perhaps you didn't understand me, but you aren't going outside."

"I beg your pardon," Brie said icily. "Release me at once, if you please."