“Damn,” muttered Aldus. “You looked dazed yet happy, Hartley. I have no doubt you would have done just that.”
“Do not do it again, Argus,” scolded Chloe. “He is family now.”
“I was but answering his question,” Argus said. “It is often easier to show what I can do than try to explain it.” The man sounded so sincere and smiled so sweetly, Hartley knew he was lying through his teeth.
“As soon as we know how Alethea fares, we will begin to visit the men on the list,” said Aldus. “I doubt we will be able to see to too many, but we can certainly make a good start. It might also be difficult to revisit the ones we have already tried to question, as they were obviously insulted by our queries.”
“They will speak with us. Let us just hope that they were all fools seduced into idiocy by a pretty woman and not traitors,” said Sir Argus. “I will not allow a traitor to forget that I just got him to confess all his sins.”
Before Hartley could offer his opinion on a man who allowed a woman to make him betray not only his country but help lead good men to their deaths, the doctor was ushered into the room by Cobb. Hartley tensed, fear for Alethea a hard knot in his belly. There was nothing in the good doctor’s dour expression to tell him if the news he was about to hear was good or bad. He stepped closer to the doctor even as Iago stood up to do the same.
“How fares my wife?” Hartley asked Dr. Hoskins.
The plump, balding man removed his spectacles and wiped them with a large handkerchief before putting them back on his somewhat bulbous nose and looking at Hartley. “The wound was high on her shoulder. I saw no damage to bone or muscle, but she did lose a lot of blood. If a fever does not take hold of her, she should heal well.”
Relief swept through Hartley so swiftly and strongly he actually feared he might swoon. He felt Germaine grip him tightly by the arm, and that steadied him. The doctor stared at him as if he knew what had almost happened, and it took all of Hartley’s willpower to subdue a blush. He supposed the man deserved a little revenge for Hartley’s nearly strangling him.
“She must stay in bed for at least a week,” the doctor continued. “No hearty food for several days, only broth. Introduce the sturdier fare gently after that. If she does take a fever, call me in. I have left some laudanum for the pain, although that aggravating maid of hers was not happy that I had given your wife some.”
Hartley was not sure what he said, but the man nodded and allowed himself to be escorted out by Cobb. A glass was pushed into his hand, and Hartley blinked in surprise when he saw that Sir Argus had handed him a brandy. He wasted no time in drinking it, however, and it helped to restore his calm. What he needed to do was go and see Alethea for himself, to make certain she was still breathing. He needed to push the sight of her bloody and unconscious from his mind.
“I need…” he began and started a little when Chloe kissed him on the cheek.
“Go,” she said. “We can see ourselves out.” She grinned a little. “I may even get home before my husband discovers I left.”
“Tell her we were here and will see her later, when she begins to recover enough for visitors,” added Sir Argus. “In the meantime, your friends and I will see to questioning Claudette’s lovers.”
“I should go with you,” Hartley said, torn between helping in bringing Claudette to justice and needing to be with Alethea.
“Not tonight. We will still have a lot of men to speak to once you have assured yourself that Alethea is healing as she should,” said Aldus. “Remember, it was a long list.”
“And Alethea will heal,” said Chloe.
Hartley nodded and left to go to sit with his wife. He stepped into his bedchamber and looked to the bed. Kate smiled at him as she silently rose from the chair by the bed and slipped out of the room. He quickly took her place in the seat and studied Alethea. She looked as pale as the linen she slept on, but her breathing was steady. Tentatively, afraid of what he might find, he touched her face and found it blessedly cool. He knew that she could still come down with a fever, but she looked remarkably hale for someone who had just suffered as she had. When he took her hand in his and kissed it, her eyes fluttered open.
“Hartley,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.
“Right here, Alethea,” he said and bent forward to kiss her cheek. “Your family will be round to visit as soon as you have recovered enough to receive them.” He was surprised to see her smile even as her eyelids slowly closed again.
“Poor Hartley,” she murmured. “Best ready yourself. They can be a trial.”
He opened his mouth to respond, only to see that she was asleep again. Still holding her hand, he settled in for a long wait. Despite how badly he wanted to go with the others to question Claudette’s lovers, he would not leave Alethea’s side until he was absolutely certain of her recovery. Then, and only then, would he put all of his time and strength into bringing Claudette and her allies to justice.
“He was torn,” said Germaine as she watched the door close behind her uncle. “He wants to join the hunt, but he cannot leave Alethea.”
“There will be a lot of hunting left to do even after she has healed enough for him to feel he can leave her side,” said Sir Argus.
“I can go in his place.”
“I think not, young lady, but I will give you points for trying. This is not something one drags a young miss into.” He held up his hand to silence her when she opened her mouth to argue. “I know you and your brother have matured far beyond your years, but you are still too young for this. On the practical side of it all, someone wants you dead. I cannot be trying to gain information we need and keep a close watch on you at the same time.”
“But it is not just you going,” she began.
“The other men are needed to guard me and for intimidation.”
Germaine scowled at him but did not argue. “I think you can be intimidating enough all on your own.”
Chloe laughed. “She sees you clearly, Argus.” She hooked her arm through his. “Take us home now. Then you may go ahunting.” As she waved Anthony to her side, she smiled at Germaine. “Your uncle needs to see that you are safe right now, more than he needs anything else. His wife has been shot, and he has only just found you and your brother again after three years of fearing you were dead. There will be time enough for you to run free and put a few gray hairs on his head.”
Germaine stood with Bayard and watched the guests leave, taking Aldus, Iago, and Gifford with them. “A very odd family our uncle has married into,” she murmured as they moved to return to the drawing room.
“Fascinating, though,” Bayard said.
“Very much so. And loyal to each other.”
“You trust them. I can feel how much calmer you are. I was not sure you were going to trust Uncle’s new wife.”
“I was still wary about her right up until she was shot. Watching her purposely push me aside and take the bullet meant for me took away the last of my wariness. Now I am just trying to understand exactly what is going on between her and our uncle.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean she says she married him because she wanted him, and he married her for an heir, a companion, and to help run his house.” She nodded when Bayard made a loud scoffing noise. “Exactly. I think our uncle is being just like a man.” She ignored her brother’s soft protest. “I shall be interested to see just how long it takes our thick-skulled uncle to see that he loves her.”
“To see it or to tell her?”
“To tell her.”
“A guinea says a fortnight.”
“Eight days.”
They both spit in their palms and shook hands, and Germaine said, “May the best man win.”
Bayard grinned. “In the end, I believe the winner will be our uncle.”
Chapter 13
Soft moonlight and candlelight illuminated the room as Hartley stared down at the woman on the bed. The bandages twined around her shoulder and chest were an obscenity to his
eyes. She had been hurt while in his care, and that enraged him. Three days of battling with the emotions tearing through him had not dimmed that rage.
He was in deep, deep trouble. The emotions he struggled with were not those caused by a liking or mere physical attraction. Lust was certainly there, strong and hot as fire, more sweet and more fulfilling than any he had ever tasted. That alone should have warned him that he was stepping into far more than an affable, convenient marriage. As he thought over all he had felt and done since meeting Alethea, he had to marvel at his own blindness. All the signs were clear to see once one knew what to look for. He loved her.
Hartley almost laughed, and not just because it had taken him the three days since she had been shot to figure it out. He was filled—heart, soul, and mind—with an emotion he had scorned. He could hear himself arrogantly informing Iago that he did not believe in such an emotion as love, and all his fatuous reasons why. Now that he knew what it was, his dim memories of the times his parents had been together told him that they had loved. Their example was probably why, after long thinking himself a confirmed bachelor, he had so easily thought of marriage the moment he met the right woman—Alethea.
Sitting in the chair by the side of the bed, he took her hand in his. In his arrogance he had believed that when he married her, liking her, even enjoying her company, and the fierce passion they shared would be enough to hold the marriage together and make it a good one. Now he needed more. He wanted her to love him as he did her. How to accomplish that was the question. He was skilled at convincing a woman to give him her body for his, and her, pleasure, but he had never tried to win a woman’s heart. Never wanted to. Hartley could do nothing but pray that Alethea had married him for more reasons than he had married her, deeper reasons, ones that flowed from her heart and not her head.
He tensed when she stirred, her hand clenching in his. She would live, but she was going to be in pain for a while yet. Even the three days she had spent drifting in and out of consciousness would not be enough to have eased that pain by much. There would also be two ugly scars marring the ivory perfection of her skin. They did not make him desire her less, but each time he saw them, he would be starkly reminded of how easily he could lose her. He brought her small, soft hand up to his mouth and kissed her palm. When he looked at her face again, her eyes were open and clear.
“Is there much pain?” he asked as he moved to help her sit up enough to drink some of the cider Kate had left by the bed. “The doctor left you some laudanum.”
“I loathe that foul medicine,” she said, alarmed at how the simple act of being lifted slightly and having a drink had left her panting and trembling with weakness. “Kate has a potion of herbs that works as well. Is she here?”
“No. She was here all night, and I sent her away for a while, to have a rest from being in this room watching you sleep.” Hartley sat down again. “She stayed with you while the doctor tended your wound. I was requested by the doctor to tie her up and gag her until he had finished with you, but I declined.”
“Telling him what to do, was she?”
“In some very colorful language. When the doctor ordered me out of the room, I left her there as my revenge. Do you want some of Kate’s potion now?” he asked, hoping to divert her attention before she asked why the doctor had banned him from the room.
“Not yet. I will be fine for a little while. Why were you banned from the room? Were you also trying to tell him what to do?”
“No.” It struck him as just his luck that now was the first time she remained sensible enough to recall everything he said, and question him. “I was thrown out because I tried to strangle him.” He shrugged when she stared at him in shock. “You screamed. I acted. He was not pleased.”
Alethea laughed and then winced at the twinge of pain it caused. “Poor man.” Recalling all that had happened in the garden the evening she had been shot, she whispered, “He was going to kill Germaine.”
“I know. She told us. At first I did not believe her, but there was no arguing her conviction.” Hartley shook his head. “She did try to gain my attention earlier, but I paid no heed. We were all so sure this had been another attempt on you, that it was because you had not left or because Claudette had heard that we were married.”
“You must learn to pay heed to Germaine. And Bayard. They are now much older than their years. Nor are they the children you remember from three years ago.”
She was right. In his mind’s eye, he still saw Germaine and Bayard as the young children who had left with their father over three years ago. Time and tragedy had put an end to the bright-eyed innocence they had carried that day. Hartley knew he had to learn to respect the maturity his niece and nephew had gained during their travails in France.
“I doubt we shall know everything that happened to them,” he said.
“Probably not, but that might be for the best. It is done, and to hear of their fear or pain now would only make us angry and feel helpless to change what cannot be changed. Did you catch the man who shot me? It was the same man who beat me.”
“I know, and I fear we will not, not after three days of hunting him down and finding no sign of him.”
Alethea stared at Hartley, trying to force her mind to make sense of his words. Her shoulder was on fire, her body ached all over, and her head felt as if it was stuffed with wool. It was difficult to follow the conversation they were having, even more difficult to participate in it, but she had thought she was doing well enough. Yet she could have sworn that he had just said they had been hunting her assailant for three days. That made no sense at all.
“Three days?” she asked.
Hartley kissed her on the cheek. “Three days. You did not fall ill with fever, but you did hate to wake up. The times that you did so you were lucid, ate a little, drank a little, and spoke clearly. Then you would go to sleep again. I worried over it for a while but then decided it was simply your way of healing. And, perhaps, due to the potions Kate kept pouring down your throat. We moved you in here yesterday.”
“That makes sense, I suppose. I just wish I could recall doing all of that. I might have said something wondrously profound, and now I shall never know.” She smiled when he laughed.
“Kate will be here soon to help you clean up a little and change the linens. I will have to leave then to rejoin the hunt for the man who shot you. Pierre Leon is proving very elusive, but I am getting quite a bit of help from your family.”
“Oh dear.” She frowned as a memory flickered in her mind. “You told me that once, did you not?”
“On the night you were shot, right after the doctor left. You showed great sympathy for me.” He kissed her on the nose when she grinned. “Chloe came once but is only a step away from birthing and now sends demands to know how you are faring. Lady Radmoor, Penelope, has wandered round a few times, but the last time she sat here with you her husband arrived and dragged her home, as she is also very large with a coming child. She has a herd of boys and young men with her, plus one little girl, and they now come round in clumps.”
“Clumps?” Alethea badly wanted to laugh but held it back, knowing it would hurt.
“That is what it seems like. They are young but bring some added measure of safety to Germaine and Bayard simply by adding to the numbers always around them. And they are good company as well. There is also a solicitor and a tutor, Andras Vaughn and a Septimus Vaughn.”
“Good Lord, the Wherlocke Warren crowd. Penelope is a viscountess now, if I recall correctly.”
“Yes. I recalled the scandal the moment she said her name and began to introduce all those boys and the little girl. For a family that tries to stay within the shadows of the world, you appear to have a true skill at falling into some very public brangles. And then there is your cousin Sir Argus.”
“Oh. I think he came up here. I saw him briefly and thought I was dreaming.”
“Not at all. He stopped here to see how you fared for himself, and you told him he needed to
trim his hair, that he looked like some damned poet.”
This time Alethea could not stop her laughter. “Ouch! That hurts. Do not make me laugh. Poor Argus.”
“Nonsense. He laughed so hard I was surprised that you just went back to sleep. Slapped me on the back as he left the room and said that Chloe was right—you would be fine.” He frowned at Alethea. “Just how old is Argus?”
The question was so sudden and so apart from all they had talked about, it took Alethea a moment to grasp the answer. “Oh, I believe he recently turned thirty. Why?”
“Good God! The man has two sons, and the eldest is fifteen.”
“Argus likes to say he was an early bloomer.” She grinned at his shock and patted his hand. “He had little direction as a child, but take note that there are no more natural children after Olwen, who is eleven, I believe. He also takes good care of his boys and sees them whenever he can. For being no more than a child himself when he became a father, I think he does well by them.”
“He does. He is also a very frightening man when he wants to be. We have been questioning Claudette’s lovers, and I fear there has been one who now faces a possible charge of treason. He was not a fool—he was an ally. Others were just idiots, and Argus wants to be sure they are not put in a position where they can hear or see anything too important again. But we are not finding out much about where to look for Claudette.”
“She has disappeared?”
“Her lodgings are not completely closed or cleared out, but she is nowhere to be found.”
Alethea really wanted to keep discussing the hunt for Claudette, but she was glad when Kate stepped into the room. She heard her stomach grumble with welcome at the scent of soup and bread. Despite the pain she still felt, a warmth spread through her when he stood up and brushed his mouth over hers.
“I will return later,” he said, “and, if you are awake, I shall regale you with how the hunting goes.”
Alethea watched him go and then grimaced when Kate approached her with a determined look. Although Alethea detested needing help for the simple chore of relieving herself, she did not complain. The embarrassment she suffered was greatly eased by a wash with scented soap, a clean nightdress, and clean linens on the bed. She settled herself very carefully against the bank of pillows Kate had placed at her back, not wishing to jar her wound in even the smallest of ways.
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