Quickly the old maid covered Emma with a blanket. “There now,” she cooed. “It’s all over.”
But it wasn’t over, he thought darkly, wiping his brow with his forearm. Would the herb control the hemorrhage? And what about the pennyroyal she’d ingested? Would it take her life?
He staggered back, unsteady on his feet, still feeling the sedate and dizzying effects of the opium. He dropped the bloody instrument into the bowl of water and washed his hands again. There was nothing more he could do but wait. And pray. Pray the girl survived. Pray he hadn’t made a mistake—and caused another woman’s death.
CHAPTER 16
In the quiet room, under the warm glow of lamplight, Holly watched her sister sleep. The hemorrhage had finally come to a surcease, and Quincy had removed the shepherd’s purse. Even so, Emma had lost a lot of blood. And Holly waited with baited breath for the girl to recover.
It was half past three in the morning, but she was too afraid to close her eyes. What if something terrible happened to Emma while she slumbered?
Holly looked over her shoulder instead and studied her husband, reclined in an armchair on the other side of the room. His eyes half shut, she wasn’t sure if he was gazing at her or having a waking dream.
A welter of feelings stormed her breast. Gratitude. Anger. Confusion. What had happened to him tonight? Why hadn’t he roused when she’d cried for his help?
She reflected on the heart-stopping moment she’d realized her sister was in peril, when the blood had flowed and flowed without end. She’d had to leave her dying kin unattended while she’d fetched Quincy. And when she’d reached his room, he still wouldn’t wake. She’d had to shake him, dumped water over him. Holly had never seen him so lifeless. Was he ill?
And he hadn’t revived upon entering Emma’s room. She’d had to shout at him to do something before her sister perished in her arms.
Holly heaved a trembling breath. In the shadows, Quincy looked ever so forbidding. She was suddenly unsure about him, about the strange spell that had come over him. But it wasn’t the right time to broach the disturbing matter.
Her thoughts returned to Emma and more unsettling emotions rattled in her chest. If she hadn’t been so flustered by her earlier kiss with Quincy, she would never have paced her room in frustration or heard the whimpering sounds coming from her sister’s room next door. The girl would have died alone and in pain. She still might . . .
Holly pushed aside her heavy reflections. She wouldn’t dwell on the macabre. Emma was young and strong. She would live. She had to.
Emma stirred. “Holly?”
“I’m here, dear.” She pushed out of her chair and climbed onto the clean bed. “Rest.”
“Holly,” her voice cracked, “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, Emma.”
Holly couldn’t deny it any longer. She had failed to protect her sister. Too distracted by her marital troubles, she’d allowed a villain to take advantage of the vulnerable girl.
She embraced Emma. “I am at fault, not you. I failed to look after you, as proper.”
And she would never forgive herself for such a shameful mistake.
“You did nothing wrong, Holly. I—”
“No, dear. I am at fault. And I will make it right. Who did this to you? Who hurt you, Emma?”
She wanted the blackguard’s head. He had seduced an innocent adolescent, then abandoned her with child. He deserved an eternity in hell!
“I—I—” Emma broke into sobs.
“No, don’t cry. You must regain your strength. Shhh. Everything will be better in the morning.”
Soon the girl calmed and drifted back to sleep.
Holly sighed, her arms still locked around her sister’s shoulders. She wouldn’t press the girl for answers, not until she had healed . . . if she healed.
A shudder went through her. First her father had died, then her mother. She had a husband, but not a marriage partner. And to lose Emma because . . .
Her throat filled with bitter tears. Slowly she separated from her sister. As the tears fell, Holly slipped off the bed and paced the rug, restless with regret and fear.
“You are not at fault,” came a deep voice from the shadows.
Her shoulders quivering, she turned toward her husband. “Then who is at fault?” she whispered. “It is my duty to protect Emma until she marries.”
“It is our duty to protect her,” he returned. “She is my sister, too.”
An overpowering awareness came over her, making her gasp for breath. Another man might have tossed her sister from the house for becoming pregnant out of wedlock. A truly cruel man might even have let her bleed to death, citing it just punishment for sin. But not her husband. He considered Emma family. He considered her family.
Something changed inside Holly at that moment. The sentiment rooted itself in her heart with a frighteningly iron hold.
Her tears poured. Quincy moved away from the armchair, his eyes sharp with intent. When he reached her, he slipped his palms across her cheeks. Air trapped in her lungs. Without a word, he pressed his lips against her mouth.
Holly released her breath, then dragged in another. Her heart thudded, her blood roared in her ears, but his kiss wasn’t borne of passion, rather something more. It soothed the soul. In every way, his gentle touch eased her grief and offered her hope.
Her fingers trembling, she reached for his face. She stroked his skin, rough with stubble, and returned his buss with an earnest want for true intimacy . . . that of two connected hearts.
“Rest,” he breathed over her lips, ending the healing kiss. “Everything will be better in the morning,” he echoed her own words.
And she believed him.
~ * ~
When a gentle hand rocked her shoulder, Holly opened her heavy eyes. She focused on the cloudy figure hovering above her and soon recognized her sister-in-law, the Duchess of Wembury.
Oh, no. She had fallen asleep!
Holly tossed the blanket aside and jumped from the armchair. “Emma!”
“Shhh,” whispered Mirabelle. “The girl is fine.”
Holly darted toward the bed and found her sister pale, but alive and soundly slumbering. Lady Amy was tucking the covers around her, while Sophia mopped the girl’s brow with a cool compress.
Holly slumped her aching shoulders with relief.
“Get some rest,” encouraged Mirabelle, stroking her spine. “We’ll look after the girl.”
With such attentive ladies at her sister’s bedside, Holly left the room, grateful for their support. Her legs wavered as she trudged through the passageway toward her own room, but she first stopped at Quincy’s door. He must have sent word to his kin about Emma. She wanted to thank him for that. But she also wanted to make sure he was all right. She still didn’t know what had caused his dissociative state last night.
Quietly she opened the door.
Ensconced in an armchair, Quincy stared out the window. She hadn’t seen him since he had kissed her with such healing tenderness. Her heart thumped with quickened beats as she approached the bed and settled on the feather tick.
Something had changed between them after the kiss. A bond had formed. He’d offered her solace during one of the worst moments of her life. She would offer him the same if he desired. She hoped he desired her help. It would mean he trusted her. It would mean the start of a new relationship. The one she had longed for since their wedding day.
“Quincy?”
Slowly he turned and gazed at her, his deep blue eyes smoldering. A warmth filled her, and she shuddered at the pleasant sensation.
“How is Emma?” he wondered, his voice hoarse. There were dark marks under his eyes. His features were taut. He had suffered a restless night, like her.
She offered him a weak smile. “Better. Your family is tending to her right now. Thank you for summoning them.”
He looked back toward the glass. “You needed help caring for the girl. It will be many days, if not weeks before she r
egains her full strength.”
At least she would regain her strength, thought Holly . . . thanks to Quincy.
Her heart throbbed even harder. She clasped her moist hands in her lap. “You look tired.”
“So do you.”
“I’m going to my room to rest. I—I first wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“I’m fine.”
He wasn’t going to offer her a confession, she realized. If she wanted to know the truth about what had possessed him in the midnight hour, she would have to ask him outright.
She took a deep breath. “What happened to you last night?”
Quincy remained silent.
She prodded, “I cried for your help, but you didn’t come. I shook you, but you didn’t wake.”
His chest expanded as his breathing deepened, grew louder.
Holly sensed she was treading on dangerous ground, but she persisted. Something was very amiss with her husband. She wouldn’t let the matter rest.
“What’s wrong, Quincy? Let me help you.”
The silence stretched for several more moments. He flexed his hand, then balled it into a fist. Over and over. As if fighting for control.
“It was the opium,” he said at last.
She frowned. “Opium?”
“It helps me sleep.”
She remembered his previous night terror, how he had cried for his mother and sister, how she had tried to rouse him without success.
“You suffer from night terrors,” she concluded. “Why?”
As he had his back to her, she wasn’t able to gauge his emotions, but she sensed the tension in his body.
“I killed my mother.”
Holly gasped. Her heart spasmed as if a fist had rammed her in the chest. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to kill her” he had cried in his disorienting sleep. But . . .
“T-that’s impossible,” she stuttered. “Your mother died from childbed fever.”
He slumped his head. “I see you’ve been gossiping with Belle again.”
Her spine prickled at the accusation in his voice. “Your sister isn’t a gossip. She just wanted me to know . . . to understand you better.”
“Then you understand I killed my mother.”
“Quincy—”
“She died because I was born. Let’s not mince words, Holly. I killed her.”
He had the twisted idea ingrained in his soul and disabusing him of it wouldn’t help matters. He’d only resist her all the more.
“Bearing a child is a risk for a woman,” she agreed, “but you are not to blame for what happened to your mother.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“I ruined their lives.”
“They? Your family?”
“Aye.” His voice dropped. “I remember the way my father looked at me, with such pain in his eyes. He’d always turn away from me, avoid me.”
“Oh, Quincy.”
“James assumed nursing duty, rearing us while Father was at sea. He lost his youth, keeping us in line and tending to our needs. I know how James feels toward me. Resentful. He won’t admit it, but I know. And then there’s Belle, a girl who grew up without a mother. And now she is a mother herself, but she doesn’t always know what to do with her children. At times, I hear her cry in frustration. If our mother had lived, their lives would’ve been better. I should not have come into the world.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks. The anguish in his voice broke her heart. “And the opium helps?”
“I can’t live without it,” he said in a flat vein.
“You mean . . . ?”
“I am an opium fiend, so don’t be disturbed if you have trouble waking me—or if one day you cannot wake me a‘tall.”
Holly’s heart dropped. Her world crumbled around her. She felt strapped for breath and hadn’t any more words.
She grabbed her skirt and dashed from the room, rushing toward her own chamber. Inside, she slammed the door and leaned against the cool wood, sobbing.
Her heart hammered with a sense of panic she hadn’t experienced in years. She suddenly remembered her father, gambling every night. She remembered the furniture disappearing from the house. She remembered rooms being shut up until only the sitting parlor remained. She remembered their meals being sparse, and the manor being cold in the winter because there wasn’t fuel to heat it.
“Stop, Papa! Stop this instance!”
Her father lifted his defeated head. “I cannot stop, Holly. Not until I’ve restored everything that I’ve lost.”
“If you do not stop now we will all perish.”
“Holly, trust me. I will make things right.”
“No,” she cried. “I do not trust you anymore, Papa.”
Holly staggered toward the bed and collapsed, weeping.
“No,” she groaned. “Not again.”
Her hope for a future with Quincy withered away. He couldn’t give her what she wanted—a real marriage.
A real marriage went far beyond the marital bed, she had learned. A real marriage was structured on trust. But she could not trust her husband. Or depend on him. He was an opium fiend. He had an insatiable obsession. Just like her wastrel father. And if there was one lesson Holly had learned from her father’s addiction to gambling, it was that a fiend could never reform his destructive ways.
CHAPTER 17
Holly parted the curtains in her sister’s room, allowing light to flood the chamber. For a moment she stood in the warm glow, feeling the comforting heat on her skin, then turned from the window and smiled.
“Good morning, Emma. How do you feel?”
Emma sat up in bed. “Better.”
And she was truly getting better, reflected Holly. A week had passed since her near tragic death, and with each new, hopeful day, she regained more and more of her strength.
Her heart swelling with thanksgiving, Holly took the hairbrush from the vanity and settled on the bed. Gingerly she combed her sister’s tousled locks, humming a tune. The simple ritual reminded her of what she had almost lost, and she cherished the sisterly moment.
“What would you like for breakfast, dear? I can ask Cook to prepare your favorite biscuits and jam.”
Emma’s shoulders suddenly stiffened.
Holly pulled back the boar-bristled brush. “Is something the matter? Have I tugged too hard?”
After another tense pause, Emma said, “I would like to see Quincy.”
The brush grew heavy in Holly’s hand. Slowly she lowered it into her lap. “He is living aboard his brother’s ship. You know that, Emma.”
Quincy had moved out of the townhouse the same day he’d confessed he was an opium fiend. Holly had not asked him to leave. She had learned, after a tearful, restless sleep, that he’d packed his possessions and had advised the butler he would be aboard the Nemesis should anyone need him.
She still wasn’t sure why he’d left. Perhaps he’d sensed her grief at his confession. Perhaps he’d wanted more privacy to indulge in his obsession. Whatever the reason for his hasty departure, he had not sent her a single message in the week he’d been away, nor had she couriered any letters to him. She just didn’t know what to say to her husband anymore.
“Did he leave because of me?” asked Emma, her voice shaking. “Is he ashamed of me? H-have I ruined your marriage?”
“Oh, Emma, no.” She dropped the brush and gripped her sister’s shoulders. “He did not leave because of you, I promise.”
If she had learned anything from her scandalous in-laws, it was that Quincy wasn’t searching for perfection . . . he was searching for oblivion.
“If I did not drive him away with my . . . transgression, then why hasn’t he come to visit me?”
At the sound pressure on her breast, Holly winced. “I will send word to him, invite him to visit.”
“Why must you invite him? Isn’t this his home?” As tears filled her confused eyes, Emma’s voice finally cracked. “What have I done, Holly? Tell me. How can I make
it right?”
“Stop, Emma.” She embraced the girl. “Stop at once, I insist. You must conserve your energy. You must get well. Don’t shed your strength on matters that do not concern you.”
“But . . .” The girl hiccupped. “He left right after I . . .”
“He left because of me,” said Holly.
Emma pushed her aside. “Why?”
I am an opium fiend. The chilling words still resounded in Holly’s head. And what about his warning? Don’t be disturbed if you have trouble waking me—or if one day you cannot wake me a‘tall.
She shivered at the memory of his foreboding. How could she live with an opium fiend? How could she live with the constant fear he might perish in his sleep from overindulgence? How could she expose such a terrible reality to an already vulnerable Emma?
Perhaps Quincy had realized the same thing, she considered. Perhaps that was the reason he had left.
Holly bowed her head. “He is not a proper influence on you.”
He wasn’t dependable, like Father. He wasn’t trustworthy, like Father. He wasn’t safe, like Father.
“He saved my life, Holly.”
“And I will be forever grateful to him, but—”
“I don’t understand,” she cried. “Tell me what happened? I . . . I am not a child.”
Holly reared her head at the unexpected assertion. “You most certainly are a child, and do not think otherwise. It is my duty to protect you, and I will decide what is right and proper for your ears.”
Emma clamped her lips, still quivering.
But Holly held firm her position. She would not reveal the wretched truth about her husband’s obsession—or her despair at losing all hope of a future with him.
As her fingers trembled, Holly scooted off the bed and returned the hairbrush to the vanity. “I will send up your breakfast.”
She reached for the door latch when a broken voice whispered:
“Holly . . .?”
That frail, frightened voice disarmed her, and she whirled around.
How To Seduce A Pirate (The Hawkins Brothers Series) Page 10
