Page 101 of The Rebellious Lady and the Phantom Lord
“My grandfather died while I was in Bedlam. Didn’t he?” she asked.
“No.But there is nothing.more that can be done for him. It is you that need taking care of now, and I mean to do it-as I have always done.”
Phaedra started to voice a weary protest, but hesitated. The way Jonathan looked at her made her uneasy. Such a strange stare. And yet, the expression was somehow not unfamiliar to her.
He reached across to pat her hand. “You were never happy at the Heath. Sawyer was so wretchedly careless of you. So much evil in the world, and he never protected you. First Lord Ewan, then that Searle woman and-and worst of all, that cursed marquis.”
It disturbed Phaedra to hear Jonathan couple James with those other two, although she did not know what caused the shiver to course up her spine. Then the thought struck her. Ewan and Hester were dead. But James-
Somewhere in the numbness of her heart she felt the first knife stroke of fear. “Jonathan, have you heard some tidings of the marquis?”
“Aye, he is back in London,” came Jonathan’s indifferent reply.
Back! The knife stroke became a piercing stab. James had been in London, while she lay trapped in Bedlam, near death, losing their child.
“And he made no effort to come for me?” she faltered.”
“There is nothing to fear my dear. I am the only one who knows where you are.”
Jonathan’s calm statement raised inexplicable prickles of alarm along the back of her neck.
“Jonathan!” Her voice was sharp as she said his name. She tried to assure herself that as always he was just attempting in his muddled way to help. “I have to see Jam- I mean the marquis.”
“Eventually.” Jonathan caressed her fingers. “I will have him out to the house.”
Phaedra found nothing in Jonathan’s words or touch that was reassuring. Her fear grew steadily inside her, although she tried to quell it. Nothing was wrong. This was Jonathan, her quiet, solemn friend. He had been part of the background of her life forever, as solid and unthreatening as her desk or books.
And yet when he kissed her hand, the feel of his lips lingering upon her flesh caused her to shrink away from him. When the carriage was forced to halt because of the press of traffic, she inched toward the door.
“It is kind of you to want to care for me, Jonathan. But I need some time alone. I will take a hackney back to the Heath.”
She reached for the handle, but he was too quick for her. He caught her, pinning her back against the seat. Although weakened by her recent ordeal, Phaedra yet had no notion that Jonathan could be so strong. Her lips parted to cry out, but he pressed one hand over her mouth, fairly suffocating her.
“You must be quiet, my dear,” he soothed. “Too much excitement is bad for you and I will never let anything bad happen to you again.
Phaedra’s heart thudded as she felt the coach lurch into movement once more. Feeling too stunned to move or struggle, she stared up at Jonathan, past the tension of his fingers crushed against her face. How could she ever have been so blind? After all her weeks amongst the inmates of Bedlam, she should have recognized at once that look of madness roiling in her friend’s dark eyes.
Phaedra strove to maintain an outward semblance of calm as she was led through the silent house, guided by the inexorable pressure of Jonathan’s hand upon her elbow. Where was everyone? She saw no sign of any servants whom she had hoped would help her subdue Jonathan. She regretted not having appealed to the coachman or anyone in the street. But it was too late to correct that error in judgment now.
Jonathan gave her a nudge and forced her into a room of his house she had never seen before. Here the oil lamps were aglow even in the daytime, revealing a chamber far different from the austere decor of the rest of the house. In the center was a bed with a canopy and gauzy, delicate curtains. It looked like a fairy queen’s bower, all pristine white lace and ribbons with a pale blush of pink. A gilt dressing table was laid out with all that a feminine heart could desire-perfumes, ivory-handled fans, and a jewel box so laden with sparkling gems the lid did not quite close. Wardrobe doors had been left flung open to draw attention to a rainbow array of gowns.
Jonathan’s eyes were pathetically eager, like a child offering a bouquet of wildflowers. Phaedra rubbed her arms, averting her gaze so that he should not see how sick at heart she was. She noted the initials engraved on the silver handle of a brush with a flourishing scroll. P B.
The significance hit her with a jolt. P B Phaedra Burnell- what her monogram would be, if she were Jonathan’s bride. She gazed at the elaborate room, the work of many months ofplanning and dreams spun out in Jonathan’s mind, until the thread must have worn so thin it snapped.
She stared at her old friend with pitying eyes and fought the urge to sink down upon the bed and weep for him. She would be no use to either of them if she succumbed to hysterics.
He hovered far too close to her. “Do you like it?”
“It is beautiful,” she managed to choke.
“I have been arranging it all for over a year now.”
“But Jonathan,” she protested, “over a year ago, I was still wed to Ewan.”
His soft smile filled her with apprehension. “There was no difficulty about that. Ewan was ever reckless when he rode, cruel to his horses, cruel to everyone. After you told me what he had done to your books, I couldn’t let him torment you any longer. I had to do something.”
“But his death was an accident,” she said hoarsely.
