An Improper Encounter (The Macalisters Book 3)

by Erica Taylor

  “How would you know?” she cried. “You weren’t there, you haven’t been around in years!”

  “I may not have been in his life, but I knew my brother,” William barked. “You made a mistake in assuming I was a fool.”

  “What are you going to do?” she smirked. “My engagement to Heath may have been a lie, but my marriage to you is real—and legally binding.”

  “Yes, I am your husband,” William replied. “But not for long. Fever or no fever, be prepared to depart in the morning.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To London,” he replied. “Where I can petition for an annulment.”

  Anna laughed. “On what grounds?”

  “On the complete deception that transpired to trap me into this marriage,” William replied. “You lied to me about your relationship to my brother, also deceiving my father so that on his deathbed he wished for nothing other than to see what he perceived as his grandson to be born in wedlock.

  Even the name you gave me was false, Lady Anna.”

  “No court in this country would grant you such a heartless request,” Anna sneered. “Annulling your marriage to your pregnant wife?”

  “Then I will find another country,” William replied. “I’m half Scot, remember? It’s easy enough to get married in Scotland, I image it’s the same when one wants to be un-married.”

  “You’re mad.”

  “I’m done being manipulated,” William replied. “This ends here and now.”

  He ignored Anna’s shouts at his retreating back. He fled his rooms, the ones he shared with his conniving wife, and went to the only person who felt like home.

  He peeked into Sarah’s room, exhausted from the ordeal of the evening, but eager for the undeniable comfort she offered him. Lady Westcott had set up vigil beside the bed, but had fallen asleep in her chair, a lone lit candle on the side table. Warmth from the fire was dying and William stepped over to the hearth, adding an additional log to prolong the heat.

  “How is the patient?” came Westcott’s voice from the doorway.

  William set his hand on Sarah’s forehead; it was warm to his cold touch, but she didn’t stir.

  Frowning, he replied, “Between the fever and the additional laudanum she will be unresponsive for a couple of days. Until her fever breaks, we won’t know what sort of damage has been done.” Nodding to Lady Westcott, he added, “Your wife was incredibly brave tonight. It’s no wonder this family has such a close relationship. They borrow strength from each other when needed, and give it away without hesitation.”

  “They’re a remarkable bunch, I’ll give you that,” Westcott said with a smirk. “Once they have their hooks in you it’s difficult to get away.” He looked to his wife, a soft loving look crossing over his normally jovial expression. “But Susanna has an inner strength I will never understand. I can only relish in the awe that she deigned to choose me when someone much better was surely available.”

  He bent beside his wife and scooped her into his arms. She blinked lazily at him before resting her head contently against his shoulder. With a nod to William, Westcott quit the room, his snoozing countess in his arms. Not wanting to be away from Sarah just yet, William claimed the chair vacated by her sister and watched her sleep.

  Bradstone appeared soon after Westcott departed, and William offered an update before he could inquire for one.

  Sarah’s brother nodded, his arms crossed, a near permanent scowl across his face.

  “Are you staying?” Bradstone asked him.

  “For a bit,” William replied, not wanting to admit he had no intention of leaving his chair any time soon.

  “I sat vigil over Clara’s bedside once,” Bradstone reminisced. “There was nothing I could do then, and there is nothing more you can do in this moment. Best get some rest in case your services are needed.”

  William nodded. “Westcott said something of the same. But if it’s all the same to you, your grace, I will remain.”

  He didn’t need to offer the man an explanation, and it seemed Bradstone didn’t need convincing.

  “Good,” he said and suddenly the sullen duke was gone, and a jovial brother was smirking at him. “I only had to suggest you leave out of brotherly duty. Propriety and all that.”

  “Sarah would have appreciated the gesture, your grace,” William replied, surprised at the complete change in character.

  “You can stop ‘your gracing,’ me now,” Bradstone said. “After all you’ve done for my sister, I would ask you to call me Andrew.”

  “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind,” William replied. “It’s nothing personal, it’s just . . . Sarah and I have a complicated enough relationship as it is. Becoming more familiar with her family only widens the dark rabbit hole. It’s just easier if everyone can remain as they are.”

  Bradstone chuckled and nodded. “Leave it to Sarah to fall for the one man she cannot have. But no more ‘your grace,’ please. I’ve never felt quite comfortable with that address, always looking behind my shoulder for my father.”

  “I do the same,” William admitted. “Having inherited their title seems wrong in a way. So I am Foxton, you are Bradstone, and neither one of us is ‘your grace.’”

  “Agreed,” Bradstone said with nod. Looking back at Sarah’s near lifeless form on the bed, he sighed. “Not to put undue pressure, but I would take it as a great favor if you would see to it that my sister does not die. This family has endured tragedy as few have known, and Sarah took care of us all in the absence of our mother. Losing her would be like losing a mother all over again. Sarah is the glue that holds this family together, the one who always makes sure we are warm and safe before considering her own well-being. We cannot lose her.”

  William wished Sarah could hear her brother speak about her with such warmth, but he nodded, vowing to do his best, which was really all he could offer. He couldn’t work miracles and it was all up to the strength of her body and spirit.

  Bradstone left soon after, leaving William alone in the room, weary and wishing Sarah were awake to cheer him up. She would smile brightly, chastise him for looking so glum and remind him he was alive and that alone was to be cherished.

  He scooted the chair closer to the bed, taking her hand in his and softly kissing her knuckles. “I’m going to make this right, Sarah,” he said softly. “Not just your health, but everything we should have had, I will make certain we can have it again. We deserve our happiness, our second chance.” He leaned his head against the back of the chair, watching each breath with the rise and fall of her chest, her hand warm beneath his. He drifted off to a fitful sleep, weary to the core but not wearily enough to give up the fight for her just yet.

  The morning after the accident found William sore and tired, having slept poorly against the foot of Sarah’s bed. Her fever had set in a few hours after the surgery, and she slept fitfully, even with laudanum.

  Additionally, Bradstone and Westcott were convinced someone was trying to cause him harm.

  Collected again in Bradstone’s study, William looked between the two men with disbelief.

  “When you piece everything together as a whole, it is highly suspicions.” Westcott held up his hand as he ticked off the points of concern, ignoring the look of skepticism washing across William’s face.

  “Your carriage wreck in October that led you to seek shelter in a nearby inn, the issues when you arrived at Brad-stone Park earlier this month, the accident when Sarah was injured—it is all rather convenient.”

  “And circumstantial,” William replied with a disgruntled sigh. He’d come downstairs in search of something to eat, not a tribunal. “The carriage wreck in October was due to the road conditions. The reason we came to Bradstone Park was a downed tree across the road.”

  “And how can you explain the damage to your saddle?” Westcott asked.

  “Fergus was saddled in a hurry,” William answered with a shrug. “Could have been anyt
hing.”

  “Or someone could be creating these accidents,” Brad-stone said.

  Westcott agreed with a nod. “If they are, they’re doing a poor job of it. Have you any enemies?”

  Proximal, intermediate, and distal. “I am a doctor from Edinburgh, and I have concealed my connection to Foxton almost my entire life. No, I have no enemies.”

  “What about your father?” Westcott asked. “His business dealings weren’t exactly all above reproach. Could someone come after you in his place?”

  William sighed. “Perhaps? I’ve cut off the illegal and immoral dealings he had. I suppose that might anger someone, but I couldn’t say who.”

  “What about an heir?” Westcott questioned, making a notation in his notebook, his pencil scratching away against the leather-bound parchment.

  William shook his head again. “There is no Foxton heir, save for the child Anna is carrying,” he replied. “If the babe is a boy, he is the next heir to the dukedom. If she births a girl, she will be an heiress, inheriting everything but the title. No cousins or long-lost relation.”

  “Isn’t Mr. Byrne your cousin?” Bradstone asked.

  “Yes, but he’s not in direct line to the title,” William replied. “He is the son of a daughter of a second son of some random branch of the Hastings family tree.”

  “So no one to want your title,” Westcott said, mostly to himself as he made a note. “Has anything like this happened to you before you came south?”

  “Anything like what?” William asked. “A series of unrelated events that indicate my imminent demise?” He paused, looking from Westcott to Bradstone, looking for a glimmer of humor, something to confirm this was all a joke. When he saw none, he sighed. “No, nothing like this. I’ve lived an enemy free existence in my thirty-three years. Even my years in the army were spent patching up war-torn bodies. I came in after the combat, at the tail end of a battle, not in the middle of it. No time for enemies when you’re attempting to save lives.”

  “Is there anyone who blames you for their loved one’s death?” Westcott asked. “Or anyone whose life you saved who later was angry at you for it?”

  “Not that I’m aware of,” William stated. The entire notion that someone wanted him dead was laughable. “I am unaware of anyone from my past life who would want me harmed.”

  He stood, wanting this entire conversation to be over. “Gentlemen, I thank you for your diligence, but I implore you to not grasp at ghosts that do not exist. These events have been unfortunate, but they are unconnected. No one is trying to have me killed.”

  “Will you not take precautions?” Bradstone asked.

  “What precautions would you have me take?” William replied. “Here, in Kent.”

  Westcott waved off his comment. “In London, then. Take a different route when you leave the house. Never go the same way.”

  “Don’t accept any help from people you do not know,” Bradstone added. “Or food for that matter.”

  “Don’t ride or walk or travel at night.”

  “Or in inclement weather.”

  “Keep your schedule fluid and unpredictable. Change up your patterns.”

  “Watch out for people who may be following you. Double back your path if needed.”

  “And hire some additional footmen to guard your home,” Westcott concluded.

  William looked between the men, wondering what had made these two so incredibly distrustful.

  “You know there is a word for what you two are?” William asked. “Paranoid. And I refuse to live in that world. I admit the saddle strap looks tampered with, but it could have been a complete accident. The other two instances were complete chance.”

  “How can you be certain?” Bradstone asked.

  William shrugged. “No one wants me dead, of that I can be certain.”

  It took three days for Sarah’s fever to break.

  Three days of a laudanum-induced dream-like state. Sarah really didn’t remember much from those days, only glimpses of memories. She wasn’t even sure what had been real and what had been a hallucination. William’s firm hand on her own, warming her to her core. Susanna’s fretting and pacing, a shapeless shadow moving about the room, wondering when she would wake up. Sarah remembered Andrew coming to sit beside her, not touching her or saying a word, but she knew he was there, knew it was the only way he could show he cared. Dysfunctional, the lot of them.

  Norah, Nick, Charlie, and Mara were in a few times each, mostly just to watch her sleep for a few moments before leaving to occupy themselves, not really sure what they could do besides wait and pray. Sarah remembered Clara’s clear voice, shooing them out, chiding them for loitering too long, sending them out to play in the snow with Mary-Claire and Abe.

  Memories flooded through her vivid dreams, her sleep restless. Memories of William, of their times together, his hands caressing her, woven into the horrors of her marriage to Radcliff, the two men blurring together and tormenting in their pursuits. One moment William replaced Radcliff in a memory during their courtship, a walk along the Serpentine, the next William was in her memory of Radcliff sneering at her, telling her about the bastard child his mistress was carrying. William’s face was laughing mercilessly, mocking her for her barren womb, and she felt the tears running down her face, horrified of her humiliation by her husband. Her mother was there, dancing throughout her dreams, sweet and gentle, always a babe in her arms, looking down her nose at Sarah for not following in her footsteps. Then a parade of women: Clara, Susanna, Lydia, Norah, and even sweet Mara were all dancing around her, each holding babies, ribbons and flowers in their hair as they pirouetted around Sarah, who was acting as the town Maypole. There were horses flying through the air, wings of silver, and Sarah gliding effortlessly among them, twirling in the air before cold buckets of icicles rained down upon them, dousing her in freezing cold sleet before William took her in his arms, and they were buried by an avalanche.

  Opening her eyes, Sarah blinked slowly. The ache in her side and shoulder were bearable, but the heat from being covered by too many blankets would surely kill her.

  William was there, dozing in the chair beside the bed, even though the sunlight peeking through the closed curtains indicated it was midday.

  “He has hardly left your side,” came Andrew’s soft voice, and Sarah turned her head to regard her brother, who was standing on the opposite end of the bed. “How do you feel?”

  Sarah tried to answer, but her throat was parched dry. Swallowing, she managed to hoarsely whisper, “Alive.”

  “That you are, mostly thanks to our ducal surgeon,” Andrew said, his lips turning in a half smile as he helped her sip down a cold cup of tea. They’d let the teapot cool in its disuse, but the temperature was refreshing. “I happen to like this one, Sarah. The two of you are in quite the predicament.”

  Sarah shook her head. “There is no predicament. He is married, and not to me. Nothing simpler than that.”

  Gentleness washed over her brother’s face and he smiled softly. “Nothing is simple when two people are in love and cannot be together.”

  Sarah tried to shrug but gasped at the pain in her shoulder. Her sounds of pain and protest woke William, and he startled awake with a jolt.

  Andrew stepped to the bell pull and rang for a fresh pot of tea before nodding to William as he left the room.

  Leaning forward, William pressed a damp towel to her head, her eyes drooping at the cool sensation. “I have you to thank for my continued existence?” Sarah asked softly,

  “Aye, and barely,” he replied, the Scottish lilt in his voice more prominent than usual.

  “I’m here, so you must have done an adequate job,” she admitted. “But I don’t quite understand what happened.”

  With a sigh, William swatted at the hair that had fallen into his face, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck. “I don’t quite understand it either, to be honest. Westcott has been over the accident site, and best
he can deduce is the strap of my saddle was either cut or frayed which caused me to slip off my horse, and your horse collided with mine. Of the two of us, you were the most badly injured.”

  “And Athena?” Sarah asked, but she saw the answer in his gaze before he said the words. Tears pricked at her eyes, though it was a silly response. Athena was just a horse. She didn’t even enjoy horseback riding.

  “Similar injuries as your own, I am afraid,” he admitted. “And saving you was more of a priority. I’m sorry, Sarah. She passed that night.”

  The tears fell, and William didn’t comment, thankfully. Tea came soon, and he helped her with her tea cup, scolding her when she attempted to use her injured shoulder.

  “How long until the injuries are healed?” she asked, wincing at the soreness.

  “The shoulder will be sore for a week or so more,” William replied. “Your side is healing nicely, and it seems the fever has subsided. The town physician has been in to see you, and I’ve consulted with him, so he knows the extent of your injuries. He is a smart chap, young, and he spent some time in the army as well, so he knows a thing or two about trauma medicine. He will take good care of you after I leave.”

  Sarah set her tea cup on the side table, her brows pulling together in a frown. “You’re leaving?”

  He answered with a nod and a soft, “Aye.”

  “Is Anna well enough to travel?” she asked. A moment of panic overtook her at the thought of him disappearing from her world again, as quickly as before. She didn’t think her heart could bear it. But a softer voice deep inside whispered that it was for the best, she needed distance from him, from the pull of the feelings he stirred within her. None of those feelings between them could ever be acted upon again. She needed to find her own happiness, away from William and her family; she needed to figure out who she was before she could hope to make anyone else happy.

  “She has been for some days. I didn’t want to leave you until you’d woken up,” he replied, and Sarah’s resolve hardened. Another reminder he was out of bounds. “I don’t want to trespass on your brother’s hospitality any longer and I wish to speak to a solicitor. London seemed the most viable solution.”