“My fault entirely.” Fiona assured him. “I was angry with you and I must’ve kicked her a trifle too hard.”
Tyrell cocked an eyebrow at her and smirked. “Angry at me, eh?”
He could be so dratted appealing when he smiled, even if it was to mock her. Fiona’s heart beat a little faster. “Yes, my lord. It seems we are forever at odds with one another. Perhaps we might start anew today.” She shifted the reins and extended her other hand to him. “Friends?”
But her mare skittered sideways and Fiona struggled to maintain her seat.
Tyrell touched the brim of his hat in a salute. “Friends,” he said.
“Good,” She beamed back at him.
The warmth of her smile sent an electric charge through Tyrell. It caught him off guard. He took a deep breath, stiffened his spine, and trotted alongside her mare. He grabbed the harness of the recalcitrant animal and brought it under control.
She looked up at him catching her lip apprehensively. “I must confess a dark secret to you, my lord.” Her horse lurched sideways and nearly unseated her. She clutched the pommel and shook her head. “I’m accustomed to riding astride at home. It is a shameful practice, I know. But the worst part is, I appear to be a rather inept horsewoman riding sidesaddle. See how I must fight to hold her in check.”
“Not your fault. She’s been standing in the stable too long. She wants her head. I should’ve guessed you race about the countryside riding like a boy.” He smiled. “Can you manage her till we get to Hyde Park? No one will be there this time of morning. I think it will be safe for us to have a gallop there.”
“Oh , that would be marvelous.” Enthusiasm sparkled in her eyes like waves splashing against the shore. Lady Alameda was right. Tyrell had the urge to pull Fiona off her horse and kiss her senseless right here in the street. Instead, he concentrated on finding the shortest route to Hyde Park.
The park, he postulated, would be deserted this early. If he made love to her on the grass, hidden in the trees, no one would be there to stop them. After all, Lady Alameda had given him permission. He ached to do it. But in his heart, he knew he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. His conscience wouldn’t let him ruin Fiona. Why did he even speculate about such a thing? He was a heartless cad, that’s why. He’d known her since she was a baby. She was an innocent.
Or was she?
Of course, she was.
Yet, how could she be, living at Alison Hall with her depraved aunt and that cur Alameda? He glanced back at her and caught her staring at him. Her cheeks turned pink and she looked away.
Tyrell frowned. She aroused such overwhelming passions in him. Could a true innocent do that? She seemed to possess some mystical skill or womanly art that made him incoherent with desire. Perhaps, while he was away fighting Napoleon, she’d exchanged her innocence for pleasure.
A blaze of enlightenment awakened him to the obvious. It must be true. He nodded, agreeing with his own conclusions. She was far too adept at seducing him to be an innocent. That would explain Honore’s willingness to offer him Fiona’s virtue without a second thought. There was no virtue left. In that case, why should he not take advantage of her offer? He ached for Fiona and he would have her. Damn the consequences!
He lied to himself all the way to Hyde Park. Perseus trotted eagerly through the gate while Tyrell continued to weave a glorious tapestry of convenient self-deception.
Why should he not make her his mistress? Her family knows she’s no longer an innocent, and that’s why they didn’t invite her to their ball. They wouldn’t want a tainted daughter spoiling Emeline s come-out. Which explains why she doesn’t even know they’re in town. They don’t want her. Well, I want her. I’ll set her up as my mistress. When we’ve grown tired of one another, I’ll pay her off with a handsome diamond bracelet, or emeralds, or anything else she wants. That’s how it’s done.
He grinned, excessively pleased with himself, and patted Perseus’s neck. An ideal situation. No responsibilities. No obligations. No expectations. I’d be a simpleton to pass up the opportunity. The woman drives me mad with want, so why not satisfy myself? It might take a year, or two, or perhaps three, but what does that matter?
A niggling voice in the back of his head begged a question.
Suppose she gets with child? My child? Tyrell sucked in his breath. The image of Fiona naked, her belly swollen with his child, increased the unbearable pressure in his groin.
Perseus snorted and reared slightly, urging his master to a faster pace as Fiona’s roan shot past him.
Tyrell shook his head. The fog of his irreverent imaginings lifted. Fiona galloped violently across the field in front of him, her horse wildly out of control. The mare swerved left then right, kicked up her hind legs, and tore across the turf as if jackals were after her. Fiona held her seat, but only just. When the mare bucked again and threw her head down, it was all over. Fiona catapulted out of the saddle.
Tyrell spurred Perseus into a gallop. He saw Fiona’s body bounce like an India rubber ball and tumble to a stop. She lay unmoving on the grass. Tyrell heard a deafening shriek. Was it hers? No. It had bellowed from his throat.
He felt trapped in a thick soup, unable to gallop fast enough. It seemed an eternity before he reached her fallen body. He leapt down and knelt beside her.
Her hat was gone. Her hair fluttered about her face, blowing like the autumn leaves. Her eyes were closed. Mud flecked her pale cheeks. Silent and still, she lay. Too still.
A low keening moan came from unbidden his throat. He lifted her shoulders onto his lap and bent over her, smoothing her hair, rocking back and forth. His mind returned to the battlefield. The bloodied faces of his soldiers flashed before his eyes, young men dying, his men. He held Fiona, and shook his head.
“No!” he cried. It was a command. It was a plea. “Not her!”
“Not her.” He rocked and clasped her to his chest. “Fiona! Fiona, wake up!” He ordered. He begged. “God, listen to me—not her. Don’t let her die. You can’t let her die—I love her.”
The truth didn’t startle Tyrell. He supposed he’d known it all along. “God forgive me. I’ve been a fool. I’ve always loved her. Always. Just bring her back to me.” He hugged her to him.
His lamentation was so deep, he didn’t hear Fiona stirring until she choked, “You’re hurting me.”
He squinted at her, unbelieving, uncertain if she was a ghost, or if he was the luckiest man alive. He crumpled into tears and he clutched her against his chest again.
“Stop. My arm…” she moaned.
Tyrell came to his senses. He looked down and saw for the first time that her arm was lying across her lap, twisted awkwardly. From the elbow down it appeared to be screwed on backward. He brought it into focus through his watery eyes. “It’s broken. Don’t move. I’ll get you to a doctor as hastily as I can.”
He unwound his cravat from his neck and yanked off the long white cloth. “We can bind your arm to your body so it won’t move about. Can you sit up a little?”
“I think so.” She leaned up, but the movement cost her considerable pain. He didn’t miss her lips clamped tight, or her involuntary flinches as he wound the cloth across her shoulder and anchored her arm to her chest. “How is that?”
“Better.” She nodded, but he was unconvinced.
“Fiona, listen to me. Lifting you onto Perseus’s back—there’s bound to be pain. I’m sorry for it, but there’s no other way. I’ve got to get you to a doctor.”
She nodded. When Tyrell hefted her onto his horse, she shuddered and turned white. Afraid she would faint, he rushed to climb up behind her.
“There’s a surgery near here,” she said, pain warping her voice. “Dr. Meredith.”
Tyrell clicked his tongue and urged Perseus into a gentle walk. With one arm he held Fiona firmly against his chest. Grimly, he followed her directions, until they found a two-story town house. He tied Perseus to a link and carefully lifted Fiona down. She looked alarmingly pale. He held her shoulder
s as they walked to the door.
“What about my mount?” she asked.
“Ran off. Doesn’t matter. If I ever see the blasted beast again I’ll put a bullet in her ignorant head.” He banged the knocker.
“You needn’t be cross with her. It was my fault. I don’t ride well in a lady’s saddle. Leave me here with Dr. Meredith and go search for your horse.”
“Don’t spout nonsense.”
“But—” The color washed out of her face and her eyes opened wide. “Oh dear—” Fiona slid like a corpse down his side into a dead faint. He caught her, scooping her up into his arms.
The door opened. Dr. Meredith stood without a coat, his sleeves rolled up, squinting at Tyrell holding Fiona in his arms. “Is that Miss Hawthornham? What happened?”
Tyrell glared at the doctor as if the fellow had biscuits for brains. “Hawthorn. It’s Miss Hawthorn. She’s had a riding accident. Don’t just stand there, man. Help me get her into your surgery.”
When Fiona awoke, the sleeve of her riding dress had been sliced open up to the shoulder, and the two men were standing beside her, arguing.
“I tell you, it’s not broken. It’s dislocated.”
“How can you be certain?” Tyrell demanded.
“Gad, man. I’m a doctor. I’m supposed to be able to tell. I felt the bones. They’re all intact. The radius has slipped out of the elbow joint. To put it plainly, her forearm is upside down.”
“What do you intend to do?”
“If you will get out of my way, I intend to move the arm into position and snap it back in place.”
“There must be another way.” Tyrell slapped his hand against his leg. “That’s going to hurt her something awful.”
“Of course it will hurt. But while we stand here arguing, the muscles and ligaments are stretching, tearing and getting weaker. Her recovery pain is increasing with every minute you delay me.”
Tyrell exhaled through gritted teeth. “You’re certain there’s no other way? Something less painful?”
“If there was, I would’ve already done it. Now, you must move and allow me to set her arm.”
Tyrell sighed, sounding like misery itself, and stepped aside. “Very well.”
Dr. Meredith smiled sympathetically at Fiona. “Ah, you’re awake. So you heard?”
She nodded.
“Then we’ll begin.” When he grasped her arm and yanked it into place, Fiona sank back into the gray oblivion from which she had just emerged.
Chapter 18
To Catch a Murderer
They returned to Alison Hall that afternoon. Tyrell held Fiona more possessively than normal as he led her into the foyer. Although she wore a sling on her arm, she looked rather cheerful for an invalid.
She smiled up at him, groggy from laudanum. “This time the Duchess of Disaster wounded herself. I can sympathize with my former victims.”
Tyrell raked a hand through his disorderly curls. “Reserve some of your sympathy for me, Fiona. It is exceedingly hard to stand by, helpless, while someone you care about suffers. I believe I have aged ten years in one morning.”
Warmth flooded her cheeks. He cares. In the hazy memories of that morning, Fiona recalled how he had begged God for her life because he loved her. She tried not to betray her joy at this discovery, and decided the best disguise would be to tease him. “Now that you mention it, my lord, you do look older. Oh dear, now, Lady Haversburg can call you an old gudgeon.”
“Just so.”
As they walked across the foyer his boots reported crisply against the marble and echoed through the circular room. Out of the corner of his eye, Tyrell caught a flash of white descending on them. It had no place in the air above their heads. Before he could comprehend what was hurtling toward them, his battlefield instincts shot into action.
He grabbed Fiona and dove against the wall. He hunched over her, sheltering her beneath his chest. A deafening crash followed, and chunks of flying debris pelted his back.
Once the splattering stopped, Tyrell turned to stare at the foyer floor. One of the large Grecian urns from the balcony above their heads lay shattered at their feet. They looked at each other. Tyrell still clutched her against his side.
Fiona’s voice shook and came out barely above a whisper. “That’s twice today you’ve rescued me, my lord. But this time... this time we both might have been killed.”
“Are you all right?” He held her tight, waiting for her nod. Studying the debris, Tyrell picked up a broken section of the urn’s base and turned the thick marble over in his hand. Across the foyer, Honore stood in a doorway, also surveying the scene.
Mattie exploded into the vestibule, huffing and puffing. Behind her trailed a number of maids, two footmen, and the butler.
“I heard a noise. What’s happened?” Mattie bellowed, halting in front of the broken heap of stone. “What’s all this?”
Honore walked casually forward. “This, my dear Mattie, is a dreadful tangle.”
Tyrell stared at Lady Alameda. He thought her choice of words rather peculiar for the situation.
“Mattie, our Fiona has had something of a harrowing experience, and judging by the note I received earlier, this is her second such upset. She needs a restorative cup of tea and a rest. See to it, will you? Tell Lorraine to sit with Fiona for the rest of the night. She should not be left alone.”
“That is unnecessary, Aunt Honore. Truly. I feel fine.”
“I insist.” There were no superlatives no grand flourishes. Honore’s tone brooked no nonsense. “Mattie see to it.”
Mattie put an arm around Fiona. “Come along, m’ dear. We must get ye to bed and rest that arm of yours. I’ve a nice soothing balm that will draw out the swelling.”
Before Mattie could whisk her away, Fiona reached for Tyrell. He took her hand in his. “Thank you sounds dreadfully feeble on the face of things,” she said, and smiled at him with such warmth his poor cold heart nearly burst into a boil. “But I am deeply grateful to you, my lord. More than you know.”
He said nothing, but lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.
Honore issued a sharp command. “Lord Wesmont, a word with you in my study.” Mattie ushered Fiona away. Reluctantly, Tyrell followed Lady Alameda into her study. Honore shut the door and leaned against it. She wore a ferret-like expression.
Weary of her machinations, he drawled, “I suppose you want to hear my decision?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Honore snapped. “I’ve got more important matters to discuss with you. Aside from that, I knew what your answer would be the moment I first laid eyes on you. Probably before.”
“You flatter yourself, Lady Alameda. You could not have known, nor can you yet know, what I have decided. I’ve only come to a conclusion this very morning.”
She took a deep breath and rolled her eyes. “Very well. Shall we see how far from the mark I fell? You discovered this morning that you’re hopelessly in love with Fiona. She stirs your blood and engages your heart in a way no other woman can and you won’t be truly happy unless you wed her. Well, Wesmont, did I get it right?”
His countenance turned dark and hard, like a man who’s been cheated at cards.
The corners of Honore’s mouth played dangerously into a smirk. “Good grief man, you had it written on your sleeve the first day I met you. You’re not such a dolt that you actually believed I’d offer my niece to you carte blanche? A virgin on a platter?” She sneered at him and shook her head.
Tyrell’s jaw flexed, and his glower deepened.
Honore abruptly stopped grinning. Anger flashed across her face, matching his. “Don’t be a fool! She’s my flesh and blood.”
“Obviously, I am a fool. For I not only believed you—I nearly took you up on your false offer.”
“Folderol. If you think that, you are sadly ignorant of your own character, my lord. And I’ve no time for ignorance.”
“You played too deep this time, Lady Alameda. You misjudged me, at the risk of your ni
ece’s maidenhood.”
“I’d have shot you myself if you took a single misstep.” Honore growled, “I never misjudge. Never!” But her face faltered. She suddenly looked vulnerable, as if she might crumple. “At least, I usually don’t.” Lady Alameda pursed her lips and studied the shelves of books lining the wall behind him until she regained control. “Come, Wesmont, I didn’t ask you in here to bicker.”
She seated herself behind the desk and waved him to a chair, which he refused. Studying his face, Honore absently scratched at the felt ink blotter.
“Then pray, why did you call me here? To gloat?”
“Hardly. No. I need your help.”
“That’s difficult to believe, after you’ve just explained to me how you manipulated me as if I were nothing more than a pawn on your chessboard.”
“Fustian! I didn’t manipulate you. I merely put you in a position to examine your own feelings. Was it so terrifying to discover that you loved my niece? Are you unhappy? Do you wish to call me out for my part in it?”
“Yes!” He slapped his hands on her desk. “Terrifying. You have no idea.” He dropped his head and lowered his voice. “But no, I don’t want to call you out. Strangle you, perhaps, but otherwise, no. I suppose I ought to be grateful.”
“Good. Then perhaps you won’t mind helping me. We’ve a somewhat bigger problem to deal with. You see, I think Fiona’s life may be in a rather precarious position.”
Honore picked up a quill and pulled the feathers through her fingers. “I doubt whether she is safe here at Alison Hall any longer. It’s quite possible she never was. I don’t know. I have miscalculated. It seems impossible to me—but there it is. One can’t deny facts that one sees with one’s own eyes.” She shook her head staring past Tyrell, past the window, to some unseen problem.
“How could I have been so blind?” She didn’t wait for his answer. “I’ve miscalculated, wagered incorrectly, misjudged someone and now, I fear, Fiona’s life hangs in the balance.” She glanced briefly at him but then returned to stroking her feather quill.
“What do you mean? Who? Who have you misjudged? Why is she in danger?” Tyrell squinted and tried to make sense of her ramblings. “Someone is trying to hurt Fiona?”
Lady Fiasco, A Traditional Regency Romance (My Notorious Aunt) Page 17
