The Infamous Duchess

by Sophie Barnes

  “Naturally.”

  Florian surveyed the room. “I’ll have a cot brought in so you can lie down for a bit. Call for me when he wakes, all right?”

  Viola appreciated him saying when, rather than if. “I’ll do so right away.”

  He met her gaze just long enough to reveal his own pain before turning away and striding back out into the hallway. There was nothing left for him to do.

  Chapter 28

  He was back in a bloody hospital bed with aches and pains twisting beneath his ribs. Henry sucked in a breath and felt the tight pull of his wound as it stretched in response to the effort. Christ, this had to stop happening! His brain felt sluggish, so he couldn’t quite remember . . . Oh yes . . . there it was . . . Robert’s attack, the fighting that followed and the penetrating sharpness that sliced through his chest.

  “Viola.” He could scarcely hear his own voice. Trying again, he forced out a louder sound than before and was swiftly rewarded by the touch of her hand.

  “I’m here,” she whispered while carefully touching his cheek. It felt so wonderfully cool until her hand moved, settling more firmly against his forehead. “You’re hot.”

  “Water,” he managed. His throat felt much like Newton’s tongue; prickly and rough.

  A glass was held to his lips but swallowing the contents was a struggle when the effort of raising his head required the use of his muscles—muscles that presently screamed to be left alone.

  It only got worse when Viola pressed down on his chest. “Hell and damnation,” he cried through the pain.

  “I’ll be back in a second,” she said as she left his side, heedless of his groans.

  “Viola!” Her name sliced through his chest and he clutched at the sheets. She mustn’t leave him. Not now. Not when he needed her most. “Viola!”

  Viola skidded round a corner almost falling to her knees as she raced through the hallways, slamming doors open and nearly colliding with a couple of nurses. She didn’t care. The only thing that mattered right now was Henry and saving his life.

  She burst into Florian’s office. He wasn’t there. Dear God. She drew a deep breath and continued her search, storming into one operating room after another until she found him. “There’s infection,” she gasped. “He’s burning up.”

  “Take over,” Florian told the assisting surgeon and handed him his scalpel. He followed Viola from the room, quickening his pace until he jogged behind her. “Bring a syringe and some cannulas along with a discharge tube up to room twenty,” he called to Emily as they passed her on the way.

  Before they even arrived on his floor, Viola could hear creative expletives immediately followed by shouted groans and her name.

  Florian swung a door open, bringing Henry’s room into view. A couple of nurses had gathered in the doorway, most likely hoping to appease him somehow.

  “Let us through,” Florian said, and the nurses stepped aside. Three orderlies stood next to Henry’s bed, attempting to hold him down. “Tilt his head back and open his mouth,” Florian instructed while fetching a small glass bottle from a nearby cabinet. He poured a few drops into a clean glass, added a bit of water and set it to Henry’s mouth.

  Henry sputtered and twisted his head.

  “Drink, damn you,” Florian growled. “We’re trying to save you not kill you.”

  Viola pushed her way past an orderly and leaned over Henry. “It’s morphine, my love. It will help ease the pain.”

  “Viola?” Henry rasped.

  His weak voice stabbed at her heart. “Yes. I’m right here. Now drink.”

  He breathed hard and low, wincing with each inhale, but he drank the liquid Florian offered and was soon allowed a reprieve from his pain.

  When he slept, Florian pulled aside his bandages and studied his wounds. Both were swollen and red. “Has Emily arrived yet?”

  “I’m right here, Florian.” The orderlies stepped back, allowing her better access. In her hand, she held the syringe and the tubes Florian had requested.

  “Here,” Viola said, grabbing a surgical tray and setting it on the table beside Henry’s bed.

  Florian, who’d managed to procure a bottle of gin in the meantime, filled the tray with the watery liquid and asked Emily to place the syringe, cannulas and tubing inside. “I need a scalpel,” he said, and Viola quickly produced one from a nearby drawer.

  “Can you prepare some compresses?” she asked Emily as she handed Florian the scalpel. He disinfected this as well and then proceeded to cut away the sutures.

  As soon as Henry’s chest wound opened, pus oozed out. “Help me turn him onto his side,” Florian said.

  Viola grabbed Henry’s shoulders and twisted them toward Florian while he adjusted Henry’s position on the bed. Her husband was a large man, a heavy man, and he did not budge easily, but eventually, with a little extra help from one of the orderlies, they managed the feat.

  “Prepare the syringe,” Florian told Viola once Henry was in an acceptable position.

  Emily returned with the compress Viola had requested and smoothed it out over Henry’s forehead while Viola attached the long metal cannula to the end of the syringe and placed it in Florian’s hand. Just like before, he inserted it into the wound and proceeded to suck out the liquid that had gathered there since the first surgery. A pale mixture of blood and pus flowed out, steadily filling a bowl that Emily was holding.

  “Now for the back,” Florian said. “How does it look?”

  Viola gave the incision Florian had made earlier one look and shook her head. “Not good.”

  Together, they worked to open the wound. “This one’s lower than the other,” Florian pointed out. “We’ll just insert a metal tube at an angle and let gravity do its work.”

  For the next two hours, they worked on evacuating the extravasated blood. Occasionally the fluid would stop flowing from the chest wound and Florian would once again apply the syringe. It was tedious work, but it was worth every second when the blood flowing out returned to a normal color.

  “I just have to examine him now and make sure that the blood’s not still pooling in the pleural cavity.”

  When he’d confirmed that it wasn’t, he asked Viola to prepare a poultice of crushed onion and honey, just as she’d done weeks earlier when Henry had been shot. She dabbed it onto the wounds, which Florian preferred to leave open this time, added some cotton wadding and secured them with bandages.

  “You did well,” Florian told Viola as they stood side by side assessing their work. “I know it wasn’t easy for you.”

  “It was a choice between standing idly by and doing whatever it takes to save the man I love,” Viola said. Her heart still hurt and her soul dreaded the hours to come. There was a chance he wouldn’t pull through this.

  “You should sleep while he does,” Florian said.

  She gave him a quelling look. “You know that won’t be possible.” Not when Henry’s condition had worsened during the nap she’d taken before. “I want to know the moment he wakes. I want to check on his fever through the night and make sure the compresses get changed regularly.”

  “One of the nurses could do that.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Viola placed her hand against Henry’s cheek and listened to the soft rolling snore suggestive of deep slumber. “I’ll watch over him, Florian. I won’t leave his side for a second.”

  Golden light spilled through the tall window at the end of the room when Henry opened his eyes once again. Just as before, a lifetime ago and yet somehow so recent, it shone at a woman’s back, surrounding her in a halo of gold. Unlike the first time he’d seen her, however, he knew her name now.

  “Viola.” Her face was the loveliest there was, perfection itself with her pretty gray eyes and rose-colored lips. “I’ve missed you.”

  With tears rolling over her cheeks, she reached for his hand and bent to place a kiss on his lips. “Your fever has gone,” she murmured softly, “and your wounds are healing. You will recover, Henry
. You will be well again and . . .” Her voice broke and she bowed her head over their clasped hands, kissing his with sweet adoration. “I’ve never been so scared in my life.” Her head came up and she met his gaze. “We need to keep you out of hospitals in the future. These past few days have put a terrible strain on my heart.”

  “Days?”

  “It’s been three since you were brought in.” Her expression grew serious, transforming from the concerned wife to the diligent nurse. “How are you feeling?”

  Henry gave his attention to his body and considered. “There’s an ache in my chest and my back, but it’s manageable.” He frowned. “Why is there an ache in my back when I was stabbed in my chest?”

  Viola explained while he listened, impressed by his brother’s skill and Viola’s ability to assist him. “I always knew you were more than a nurse,” he told her. “You’re irreplaceable, Viola, both to me and to Florian.”

  “I should let him know you’re awake.” She went to the doorway and called for a nurse to fetch him, then returned to Henry’s bedside so she could give him another kiss.

  “The medicine you administer is truly invigorating, Viola.” He managed to wrap his arm around her waist while she leaned over him. “I hope you don’t treat your other patients like this.”

  She grinned down at him with sparkling eyes. “You needn’t worry. This particular remedy is reserved exclusively for you.”

  He kissed her again, but in his eagerness, he stretched his abdominal muscles, pulling at his wound, and was forced to fall back with a groan. “Maybe you can take pity on me for a while and not kiss me quite so passionately?”

  “Of course. I’m sorry. I just . . . got carried away.”

  “I do tend to have that effect on you,” he said with a smile. “But the effect you have on me is not very useful under the current circumstances.”

  She dropped her gaze to his lap. Her eyes widened. “But you’re hurt and in great discomfort and . . .”

  He chuckled. “My body doesn’t seem to care about that. Or is it my brain? I’m not really sure at this point.”

  Thankfully, he’d managed to quell all hints of his ardor by the time his brother walked into the room. “Good to see you smiling,” Florian said. “The last time you were awake you were cursing us all to high heaven.”

  “It must have been the pain talking. I’m sorry if I was rude or offended someone.”

  “Don’t be. We’re used to such experiences by now, though I’m not sure I’ve ever heard anyone yelling about King George’s bollocks before.”

  Henry winced. “I can only hope word doesn’t reach him.”

  “I’ve already spoken to the staff and they’ve assured me they’ll hold their tongues, though I cannot vouch for the other patients.” Humor flickered in his eyes and Henry knew his brother was having a bit of fun at his expense, the rascal. “You’ll need to stay here a few more days, but after that you ought to be able to return home under Viola’s supervision.”

  Henry reached for Florian’s hand and clasped it tightly. “Thank you. I owe you my life.”

  “More than once now, I’d say. Any chance we can minimize your visits here in the future?”

  “I’ll see to it,” Viola said.

  “Good.” Florian glanced at them each in turn. “I’ll be back later in the day to check on you.”

  He started to leave but Henry stopped him with a quick question. “Is there any news about Robert?”

  Florian turned back to face him. “The wound he sustained when your wife shot him has been treated by one of our surgeons. He’s currently recuperating while under guard. Bow Street is waiting for my permission to have him discharged.”

  Henry looked at Viola. “You shot Robert?”

  “Well, I wasn’t going to watch him kill you,” she said with exasperation.

  “It was precisely done,” Florian said. “She incapacitated him while ensuring he wouldn’t expire by aiming at his pectoralis major, the muscle that reaches across the chest from the shoulder. It forced him to drop the blade and could make movement difficult for him in the future, though I daresay it will be a short future, all things considered. The officer I’ve spoken to says the information you gathered on Beatrice Cartwright’s death and Robert’s recent attempt on your life will surely condemn him.”

  “Is it strange that I find no pleasure in knowing that?” Henry asked after Florian was gone. He glanced at Viola. She gave his hand a squeeze while adding a wistful smile. “My conscience cannot align itself with seeing my school friend hanged even though I know the man he’s become deserves it.”

  “I am equally torn and I think that’s a good thing. It would be cause for concern if we were happy about it.”

  Henry agreed. To rejoice over Robert’s fate would make them as callous and unfeeling as he was. Henry blew out a breath and settled back against his pillow. This conversation had depleted his energy. “Do you suppose some food might be possible?”

  “Of course. Are you very hungry?”

  “Ravenous.”

  She grinned and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’m pleased to hear it,” she told him and went to make the request.

  Viola was standing outside on the terrace overlooking the garden she and Henry had created when he came up behind her and wound his arm around her waist, pulling her into his warmth. Two months had passed since Robert had stabbed him and he’d managed to make a full recovery.

  “This will look lovely next year when the plants are fuller and flowers start to bloom.” Viola tilted her chin up, intending to look at him, but he pressed his cheek to hers, preventing her from doing so. A hint of afternoon stubble grazed her skin and a smile stretched her lips. She’d never been happier.

  “Lady Beatrice’s parents have come to call,” Henry murmured. “They’re waiting for us in the parlor.”

  Turning in his arms, Viola welcomed the kiss he gave her and let him escort her back inside. They entered the parlor together, greeting their guests just as a maid arrived with a tea tray. She set it on the sofa table and exited the room.

  “We want to thank you,” Lady Clarendon said. “What you’ve done—” Her voice cracked and her eyes grew suspiciously moist, prompting her to avert her gaze.

  Her husband, the earl, placed an arm around her shoulders in a show of comfort. “Tremaine was sentenced an hour ago. He will be promptly stripped of his titles and locked away until his hanging.”

  “Did he confess?” Henry asked.

  Lord Clarendon nodded. “He spoke of Beatrice and Miss Olivia Jones without remorse. Indeed, it appeared as though he failed to comprehend why anyone would fault him for what he had done. Especially in Miss Jones’s case.” The earl shook his head. “Frankly, I believe he’s getting what he deserves.”

  Viola agreed even though it was difficult coming to terms with the fact that a person she’d once shared the same roof with, played cards with, conversed with, would soon be executed for heinous crimes he’d committed. Or perhaps it was simply hard to accept how blind she had been. Her biggest regret would always be letting him use her affection for him against her. She glanced at Henry and was once again overwhelmed by the love she harbored toward him.

  “I am just glad his father is not alive to witness his downfall,” she said. “That would have been a shame.”

  Later, when they were once again alone together, Henry led her into the parlor where Rex and Newton were curled up together, side by side, near the fire. “I thought we might make another go of The New Game of Human Life.” His words were light, but the wicked gleam in his eyes suggested seductive intentions.

  “The last time we played we ended up on the sofa and forgot the game completely.”

  “You didn’t seem to mind.” He gave her a heated look and went to retrieve the game from a cabinet behind the sofa.

  Embers sparked to life upon her skin. She stepped further into the room, drawn to him in a way she had long since stopped trying to resist. “That’s not the poi
nt.” Serving him the sharpest look she could manage, she said, “I am merely drawing attention to the coincidence. It was very convenient for you, considering you were losing.”

  Bent forward over the table and in the process of placing markers on the game board, Henry stilled. His eyes rose slowly toward hers and the edge of his mouth lifted into a roguish smile filled with pure masculine pride. “Winning is all about turning the situation to your advantage, Viola.” Straightening, he came toward her and Viola’s pulse quickened.

  When he reached her, he wound one arm around her waist and pulled her securely against him. “Perhaps we should leave the game for later.” He brought his free hand up to cradle the back of her head.

  “Perhaps,” was all she could say. Her limbs had gone week, her mind slightly drunk on the powerful sensations he wrought with his touch, and all she wanted right now was for him to kiss her.

  And then he did, confirming the need he had for her in his life and a love that grew stronger with each passing day. He was her husband, the man she anticipated growing old with, soon to be the father of her child, and as Viola kissed him back, she savored the joy he’d brought to her life. It was greater than anything she’d ever known, indescribable in its perfection, its sweetness and its purity. Simply put, it was utterly divine.

  Chapter 29

  Snatching up his black beaver hat, Carlton Guthrie straightened the sleeves of his burgundy velvet tailcoat and exited The Black Swan where he’d made his home for the last fifteen years, ever since his falling out with Bartholomew. Pleased to know that particular man was now six feet under, Carlton smiled as he stepped down onto the packed dirt road and turned into the morning mist.

  Not a single gaslight brightened this part of town, this poverty-stricken place where criminals made their beds. They were the forgotten, an afterthought of the City at large left mostly to their own devices. Passing a woman asleep in a doorway, he bent down and placed a pound in her hand.