by Burke, Darcy
“I do appreciate your compassion and good sense. And I apologize for assuming this was a brothel. When I awakened nude in an unfamiliar place, it was the only thing that made sense.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, her head tilting. “This has happened to you before?”
“No, not this. Of course not. But if I wasn’t at a brothel, why would I be nude in a strange bed?”
“Because you were beaten almost beyond recognition and you were completely soused to boot.”
Unfortunately, none of that was unlikely, and he was, at least, clearly injured. He had to have been completely inebriated to have fought in the first place and then to end up here in Cavendish Square. How had that come about? He tried to recall what had happened, but only managed to make his head hurt worse.
He raised his hand to the vicinity of his temple. “Do you have anything for my head?”
“There’s a tonic in the other bedchamber. I don’t suppose you should move back there just now. You look quite pale, at least what parts of you aren’t red or bruised. There’s also salve for your injuries. You really are a mess.” She pursed her lips, and he knew she was judging him. As everyone did.
Anthony fought a wave of irritation. “Thank you.”
“We sent for a doctor, and he examined you last night—that’s why you weren’t wearing any clothes.”
“Were you there?” The question leapt from his mouth without thought. His brain really was addled, and he was frustratingly sober.
“I waited outside.” Was that a faint hint of color in her cheeks? It was hard to tell in the dim light from the hearth and due to the fact that he currently had but one functioning eye. “He confirmed that you have injuries to your ribs and instructed strict bed rest for at least a week.”
That explained the horrible pain in his chest and abdomen.
“He said your face would clear up—nothing was broken, and the cut on your cheek did not require stitching.”
“You’ve gone to a great deal of effort for me.”
One of her blond brows arched. “You’ve no idea,” she said dryly.
He flinched inwardly. “Do I want to know all that happened yesterday?”
“Probably not, but I’m going to tell you anyway.” She perched on the edge of the bed, and her thigh pressed against his. The contact sent a rush of awareness through him.
Presumably it did the same for her, because she jumped right back up as if she’d been burned. Well, this was bloody inconvenient given his current useless state. Never mind that she was untouchable—a proper, unmarried miss.
Whose bed he was currently in. Naked. Well, not naked anymore, but did the shirt really count? Hell, his cock was stirring in spite of all that.
She looked away from him, and this time, he was certain of the blush spreading through her face. “We tended to your injuries despite your inebriated state. You were rather insensible—flirting with me, my maid and, I think, the footman.”
Anthony closed his one good eye and groaned.
“Are you all right?” Her voice lowered with concern.
He opened his eye again and lied. “Just a pain in my ribs.” Along with his pride for causing this perfectly respectable young woman to have to deal with his bad behavior. “My apologies, Miss Pemberton. I deeply regret that I’ve caused you such difficulty.”
She studied him a moment in silence. “Once I realized who you were, I became quite worried. I was concerned to find a wounded man on my doorstep, but once I discovered I knew you… Well, I couldn’t not help you.”
“You’re an angel, obviously.”
She scoffed. “My parents would debate you about that.” Her tone was wry once more.
“You’ve a sarcastic streak. I like it.” He grinned and immediately winced. “I’m afraid I can’t smile without causing an enormous amount of agony.”
“Your lip was split in the fight. Have you any idea what happened?”
“I was in a gaming hell. I do remember fighting, but I don’t know with whom. And I don’t recall how I ended up here in your house.” That was truly bothering him.
“Well, you’re here now, and I think you should remain. For a week, at least, until your ribs have begun to heal, as the doctor said.”
A week in Miss Pemberton’s care… He could think of far worse things. And yet, it was wholly scandalous. “I don’t think that’s wise. What are you even doing here, anyway? At Phoebe’s house, I mean.”
“Perhaps you are not aware, but I’ve declared myself a spinster. I moved out of my parents’ house. This is my home now.”
She’d bloody ruined herself. Probably. And Anthony considered himself an expert on self-ruin. “Why would you do that?” he asked.
She lifted her shoulder, moving the plait so that the end grazed her nipple. Already somewhat parched, Anthony’s throat took on the landscape of a veritable desert.
“I was weary of the Marriage Mart and Society’s rules for unmarried misses. I saw that Phoebe was quite happy living independently and decided I wanted that for myself. While it’s true I am socially ruined, I can’t say I really care, since being socially acceptable wasn’t exactly providing any benefit. My friends remain my friends, and that’s all that matters in the end.”
Anthony found her honesty and self-awareness utterly refreshing, albeit strange in someone such as her. “Then I must congratulate you.”
“Thank you.”
“I would still prefer not to contribute to your ruination,” Anthony said. “I’m sure I can get home without exacerbating my injuries.” He wasn’t sure at all, but decided injury to his body was better than to her reputation.
“We’ll keep your presence secret. No one need know you’re here.” She smiled. “It’s not as if I’ll be entertaining.” Her smile faded.
“What?”
“I did yesterday, actually. I hosted a meeting of the Spitfire Society. Phoebe was here, as were two sisters who are somewhat new to town.”
His one eye widened, and despite the injury to his other eye, it tried to do the same. The resulting pain drew a soft groan from his throat. “Did they know I was here?”
Miss Pemberton shook her head, sending the braid moving against her breast again. God, she was going to send him the rest of the way to his grave. And she had no idea. Unless she cared to glance down and notice the tent he was likely creating with the bedclothes.
“They did not,” she said. “I did, however, have to make up an excuse for all the racket you made. You overturned a table and broke a vase. I hope it wasn’t dear to Phoebe.”
He winced again. “I’m a menace,” he said softly but with as much self-loathing as he could manage. Which was quite a lot.
“You aren’t.”
He looked at her with great doubt.
“All right, perhaps a little.” The smile appeared once more, and he was tempted to return one of his own but knew it would be at considerable cost to his comfort.
“You are definitely an angel.”
“Then it’s settled,” she said. “You’re staying here.”
“Here…in your bed?” Again, words tumbled from his mouth without thought. Flirtatious, provocative, seductive words. Words he ought to apologize for but didn’t.
He’d expected another blush or perhaps surprise or even admonition. None of those things happened. When she spoke, her words were measured. “When you are feeling better—tomorrow perhaps—you can return to the other chamber. In the meantime, yes, you’ll stay here. In my bed.”
“How delicious.” He really needed to stop talking. “And where will you go?”
“The other chamber. I’ll go there now to fetch the headache tonic and the salve.” She started to turn, but he reached up and grabbed her hand. Her skin was soft and warm, and gave him a comfort that sank into his very soul.
“Thank you.”
She curled her hand around his briefly, then let go. “I’ll be right back.”
He watched as she donned slippers and a robe, t
hen departed. Casting his head back against the pillow, he stared up at the ceiling. He was very lucky things had not turned out far worse. He could have ended up on anyone’s doorstep instead of that of a beautiful angel bent on saving him.
The image of that made him uncomfortable. He didn’t want saving. But he’d accept her care, since he was clearly in need of that. Furthermore, she hadn’t offered to save him.
Exhaustion rolled through him, pulling his eye shut. Her scent surrounded him—a light, fruity but seductive aroma that lulled him into a sense of blissful safety.
Yes, his brain was well and truly addled. But that was better than the alternative, which was probably death.
Is it, though?
As he drifted off, he pictured Miss Pemberton with white wings and a halo of light around her head. It illuminated the beauty of her face, which he recalled from having met her several times before—elegant brows with a natural arch, intelligent tawny-brown eyes, a pert nose, sculpted cheekbones, a heart-shaped mouth that smiled often with genuine humor.
She represented kindness and generosity, beauty and truth.
And he had no business being around her.
Chapter 3
Jane climbed the stairs after dinner that evening, intent on visiting her patient. She hadn’t checked on him during the afternoon as he’d been sleeping, which he’d spent most of the day doing, according to Meg and the other maids who’d cared for him.
She opened the door to her chamber, thinking it was odd that someone else was inhabiting her bed. Perhaps tomorrow, he’d feel strong enough to move back to the other bedroom.
“Good evening, Miss Pemberton,” he greeted her from the bed, with a smile in his voice if not on his face. “I was hoping you’d pay me a visit.”
Jane took in the tray perched on the bed beside him. “You ate dinner?”
“I was famished, and it was delicious. Please give my compliments to your cook.”
“I will.” Jane rounded the bed and picked up the tray to transfer it to a small table near the door. She had to remove a figurine to make room for the tray. Looking down at the ceramic maiden, she wondered if Phoebe planned to fetch it. There were many things in the house that she would probably like to have, particularly the Gainsborough in the garden room.
Setting the figurine on the narrow mantel, Jane turned back toward the man in her bed. He sat up against the headboard, wearing a fresh nightshirt, which she’d sent one of the maids to purchase that morning. She wanted to say he looked better, but the bruising on his face had darkened to a rather horrid degree. He actually looked worse.
“I look hideous,” he said, again sounding as if he were grinning. “Meg gave me a mirror before dinner so I could verify what I already suspected. I do feel a trifle better thanks to your cook’s headache tonic. I daresay I may steal your cook when I leave here.”
“She’s not my cook. She’s Phoebe’s.”
“But isn’t this your house now? The marchioness will surely reside in Hanover Square with Ripley. I can’t imagine him giving that house up.”
Neither could Jane. While this house was one of the nicest in Cavendish Square, it couldn’t compare to the opulence and grandeur of the marquess’s residence. Or so it seemed from the outside—and Phoebe had confirmed the interior was just as impressive.
“Well, I’d rather you didn’t filch the cook in any case,” Jane said.
“I’ll consider your kind request. ” His face seemed to spasm. “I can’t wink.”
Concerned, she walked to the bed. “Why not?”
“That’s my bad eye.”
“You can’t wink with your other eye?”
“I don’t know. Let me try.” He scrunched his face up. “Ow.”
She held up her hand. “Stop, don’t hurt yourself.”
“Everything hurts. But what kind of rogue am I if I can’t wink?” He tried again, and the effort it took to affect a rather sad-looking wink drove Jane to laugh.
“If you are trying to appear roguish, I’m afraid it looks more like you’re attempting to stave off a fit of apoplexy.”
“Well, we don’t want that,” he said in mock horror. Then he actually smiled, and despite the damage to his face, Jane recalled he was quite handsome.
“You shouldn’t smile if it hurts.”
“As I said, everything hurts. And you are far too diverting. I can’t seem to help myself. Anyway, speaking of when I leave, we should probably discuss that.”
She thought they’d already decided that the night before. But perhaps he didn’t remember. “Discuss what?”
“My departure. I should go. My servants will be horrified by my appearance, but they likely won’t be shocked. They already fuss over me too much.”
Because he’d fought before? “You’re not leaving. I told you last night, but perhaps you don’t recall our conversation, that the doctor said you should rest for at least a week. I won’t let you return home until that time has elapsed. Perhaps even a fortnight.”
“You are far too kind.” He looked her straight in the eye, his gaze vulnerable. “What did I do to deserve your generosity?”
“It’s not like that. I would have done the same for anyone.”
Really? Anyone who’d appeared in his state on her doorstep?
He shifted slightly toward her. “How can I ever repay you?”
She waved a hand. “That isn’t necessary.”
“It is necessary. We’ll come up with something.”
She had no notion what that could be. She certainly wasn’t going to accept payment. To avoid further discussion, she reverted to their previous topic. “I sent a message to your butler today saying you were fine.”
He stared at her. “You did? He knows I’m here?”
“No. I didn’t tell him where you were. I just said you were safe and would be home in a week. Or a fortnight. And I signed your name.”
“Bloody hell,” he breathed. “You’ve quite taken care of everything. You are surely an angel sent to watch over me.”
She laughed. “Hardly. I’m just glad you showed up on my doorstep and not somewhere worse.”
“Indeed,” he agreed with vigor. “I can think of plenty of terrible places.”
One of his brows arched, and she was surprised he didn’t flinch. “Such as?”
“The door of the man who did this to me.”
She nearly laughed again. “Yes, that would be worse.”
“Or the doorstep of one of the patronesses of Almack’s.”
She did chuckle then. “Most definitely. Carlton House?”
He grinned again. “Yes, that. Or Westminster.”
“Oh dear, you’re going to miss your duties in the Lords, aren’t you?”
He did wince then. “They won’t miss me. I’ve been a bit, ah, remiss this session.”
Because of his drinking and reckless behavior, probably.
“Is there wine?” he asked. “My dinner came with ale and nothing else.”
Because she’d told the maid and cook to only serve him ale. “I thought it best you keep a clearer head whilst you recover.”
His eye narrowed briefly. “How in the devil am I supposed to endure the pain without the assistance of alcohol?”
“The salve should help, and you said the headache tonic was working well.” She hesitated before adding, “You were awfully inebriated when you arrived. In fact, it seemed as though you imbibed enough to keep yourself drunk for a week. Why aren’t you still soused?”
“Ha-ha,” he said, clearly unamused and perhaps even a bit annoyed.
His irritation rankled because of everything she’d done. Maybe she did expect some sort of payment—or appreciation at least. “You seem to be inebriated much of the time. Perhaps your altercation was a warning for you to behave with more care.”
He scowled at her, but she continued, “You seem to be having…difficulty of late.”
“Why do you care?”
She heard the edge of anger in his voice b
ut didn’t heed it. “You always seemed like a nice gentleman, and I like Sarah very much.” Jane counted his sister as a friend. She cocked her head to the side and studied his wounded face. “This is not your first brawl. I saw you fighting at the Brixton Park masquerade. Perhaps you should refrain from spirits for a while.”
“You think I fight because I drink?” He snorted. “You know nothing about me.”
Perhaps she didn’t. “I still care,” she said softly. “About you…and your reputation.”
“And that’s taken as much of a beating as my face recently,” he said.
“We are kindred spirits, then, for mine has also suffered damage due to my behavior.”
His gaze snapped to hers. “Are you speaking of moving from your parents’ house, or that other rumor?”
Jane froze. “What other rumor?”
His eye widened almost imperceptibly, but she caught it. “Oh, it was years ago. I’m not sure I remember exactly—”
She didn’t believe him for a moment. “Of course you remember. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have mentioned it. What was the rumor?” She saw him hesitate. “You owe me.”
He exhaled and pressed his lips together, his gaze softening with sympathy. “That I do. Very well. I’d heard you were unchaste, that you’d resorted to…seductive measures to try to attain a husband.”
Her belly flipped, then tensed, and her pulse sped. Turning from the bed, Jane paced to the fireplace. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that. Years ago? As in five years, when she’d had her first Season? She’d been eager to conquer London, to make a match. And she’d failed. That Season and every Season after, until she’d grown utterly jaded. Whipping around toward the bed, she demanded, “Who started this awful—and false—rumor?”
“I’ve no idea. I’d quite forgotten about it until you said we were kindred spirits. In fact, can we pretend I never said anything?” He looked at her hopefully.
Hot anger sizzled through her. “The damage is done, I’m afraid.” She was livid. And hurt. To think she’d thought she’d been to blame for her failure. Her parents certainly thought so. How had she gone this long without knowing this rumor existed? “Who knows about this rumor?”
