If He’s Wild

by Howell, Hannah

  Alethea blinked at her cousin, her mind scrambling to understand what she had just said. “I am not carrying Hartley’s child. ’Tis too soon.”

  “All it takes is one time. Leopold is very fond of saying we are like rabbits.”

  “How flattering. How can you know I am carrying, be so certain of it, when I do not?”

  “I just am. It came to me just now when I clasped your hand. I suspect your woman’s time is late, but you have been too involved in all of this intrigue to have noticed it. Trust me in this—you are with child. Wait a while to tell him if you wish. I will say nothing.”

  She did wish. Alethea believed Olympia, could even sense the glow of wonder and delight over the thought of being a mother burst to life inside her. She would still wait, however, and not just to be certain. Hartley needed to heal, regain his strength, and give her some sign that he now sought more from her than the sort of comfortable marriage he had envisioned when he had proposed. She wanted a union of love, and now she had only a few months to build one.

  “Have you studied this? Read books on the great inquisitors?” Hartley asked Claudette as he fought the urge to tense, to brace for the pain he was about to suffer. “Or does this sort of cruelty come naturally to you?”

  “I do what I must to get what I need,” snapped Claudette.

  “You do this for money, greed, and some twisted sense of power. You think this makes you stronger than the poor sod you brutalize. Tying a man to a chair, then cutting him and breaking his bones while he is unable to defend himself, is the act of a coward. Enjoying it is the act of someone truly sick in mind and soul.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Hartley saw the shadowy figures of what he prayed were his rescuers slip ever closer. Even if it cost him a toe or two, he would keep Claudette’s attention full on him. Her three lackeys followed her lead, their attention firmly fixed on her. They obviously believed themselves secure within a well-guarded building. Hartley had only known Sir Argus for a short time, but he was already certain that that man could get in anywhere he wished to, exactly when he wished to.

  “I see how it is. Because I am a woman, you think I must be soft and submissive.” Claudette laughed. “You are as big a fool as all men. A woman is as capable of doing what must be done, no matter how bloody or cruel, as any man. I suspect you would never call a man who tortured information out of another man sick in his mind.”

  “My dear, vicious lunatic, I most certainly would.”

  “As would I,” said a deep voice as a hand grabbed the wrist of the hand Claudette held her knife in.

  What happened next happened so quickly, Hartley doubted he would have seen it all even if his eyes had been clear and not swollen. Claudette struggled, but Argus had her hands tied behind her back in no time at all. Her three henchmen were swiftly subdued by Iago, Aldus, Gifford, and three men Hartley did not recognize. Argus’s men, he supposed, and was light-headed with relief.

  Aldus began to slice off the bindings holding Hartley to the chair. “Damn, old friend, they have made a fine mess of your good looks.”

  “Just as they did to Rogers and Peterson,” Hartley said.

  “Exactly, although not nearly as thoroughly, thank God.”

  “Thank God indeed.” Hartley looked at Claudette, and, even though he knew it was a childish thing to say, it still felt good to say it. “Told you so.”

  “Get Alethea,” Argus said to Gifford, “as well as something to carry Hartley out of here, as he cannot walk out. We will also need a little help with the prisoners.” Argus handed Gifford a note he had obviously had prepared before coming to Hartley’s rescue. “And have one of my men take this to the Wherlocke Warren. Everyone is staying there while Radmoor’s townhouse is being enlarged. They will know what to do.”

  Modred stepped forward as Gifford left and looked at Claudette, the color slowly leeching from his face. “This one is the darkest soul I have ever looked into. Her sister’s soul was cold and empty. This one is so eaten up with hate, jealousy, greed, envy, and anger it is as if she is diseased and rotting from the inside out.”

  Hartley hissed in pain as Aldus tried to wash some of the blood from his face. “Modred, do not soil your heart and mind by looking into hers. She confessed enough to me to hang her.” He looked at his broken fingers and then at Claudette. “I would like my ring back. She took it.”

  “Yes. A souvenir,” Modred said. “She has others. Many of them. She sees each one of them as a sign of her victory over a man or woman or someone she thought belittled or insulted her in some way.” He frowned for a moment. “They are all in a chest, one she packed to flee the country once she had finished with you. Stowed in a cabin on the Raven. It is due to set sail on tomorrow night’s tide. From here in the city.”

  “What are you saying?” demanded Claudette, staring wide-eyed at Modred. “’Tis lies! All lies!”

  “No. The jewels she took that day on the beach are there as well. If you can match her souvenirs to the dead, you will have enough proof to hang her ten times over. Ah, and papers. She already has something to sell to our enemies, Hartley. She just hoped for more. And I see that she badly wished to make you suffer for marrying our Alethea. She had a lot of plans for hurting Alethea as well.”

  Hartley could tell from the terrified look on Claudette’s face that everything Modred was saying was true. It was unsettling to watch him so easily pluck all of Claudette’s secrets out of her mind, but Hartley was glad of that eerie skill. Now they had more than enough, more than just their word on her guilt and what she had been caught doing to him.

  “Get him away from me!” she screamed, trying to back into Argus for protection even as he did his best to elude her touch.

  Modred looked at her three men. “She meant to kill you, too, you know. No witnesses. Best not drink that wine she gave you unless you wish to escape the hangman by poisoning yourselves.”

  The three men looked at Modred in open-mouthed wonder, touched with a strong hint of fear. Then they turned as one to glare at Claudette. Chaos ensued as they fought with their captors in an attempt to get to her. Four of Hartley’s men rushed in to help put an end to the struggle. And behind them came Alethea.

  Hartley drank in the sight of her as she rushed to his side. The way she stumbled to a halt only a foot away and all the color left her face told him that he looked as bad as he felt. The arms she had held out to embrace him fell limply to her side, and he saw the glint of tears in her eyes.

  “I will heal, Alethea,” he said as Aldus knelt to undo the bonds at his ankles.

  Alethea forced herself to nod. “Of course you will, and I know a number of people who can help you do so, and quickly.”

  “Already sent for, sweetheart,” said Argus, stepping up to put an arm around her as one of Hartley’s men took over holding Claudette. “They will undoubtedly begin to arrive at your home very soon.” He winced as Claudette was dragged away, her screams on odd mix of denials, curses, and bloodcurdling threats. “Modred,” he called to the young duke, who looked as if he was about to empty his belly. “You did us a great service today. I believe we had enough to hang her, alongside her sister, if only for what she did to a marquis, but what you pried out of her and Margarite will answer a lot of questions. Thank you. Now, do not get anywhere near that bitch again.”

  “I will be very glad to obey that command, Cousin,” Modred said.

  “Thank you, Modred,” Alethea said.

  “For you, Alethea.” Modred bowed and then slowly walked away.

  “He will be fine,” Argus assured Alethea as she watched Modred carefully exit the building.

  A cry from Hartley drew her attention back to him. She started to move toward him, but Argus held her back. All her fear and worry for him, and she had not yet been able to touch him.

  Despite the care the men moving him to the litter took, she could see the agony it caused him and was not surprised at the damp rush of tears on her cheeks. His hands and face were swollen and
deeply bruised. His chest and arms were covered with so many shallow cuts she doubted she could count them without being physically ill. As soon as he was settled on the litter the men had brought in for him, Argus released her, and she ran to Hartley’s side. He was pale, panting, and covered in sweat. She doubted he would remain conscious for much longer and considered that a mercy. Careful not to bump the stretcher or touch his battered body, she knelt by his side, leaned forward, and kissed his forehead, the only part of him that remained unscathed.

  “Love you,” he said, his voice a hoarse, whispery remnant of what it should be. “Feared I would never get to say it.”

  Alethea was still frozen in shock by his words as she stumbled to her feet so that the men were able to lift the stretcher. With a groan that held all the pain he had to be suffering, Hartley gave up on consciousness. She was grateful when Argus returned to her side and wrapped his strong arm around her, for she was very close to collapsing.

  “She hurt him so badly,” she whispered. “I do not think there is a part of him that is not either broken or bleeding or bruised. How can he recover from that?”

  “He is a strong and stubborn man,” Argus said. “And, do not forget, nearly every healer in our family who can come, will come, and will be taking a turn at ensuring that he recovers fully. The cuts are shallow, and, from what little I could see, the bones were cleanly broken. He is alive, Alethea. Be grateful for that. Find your strength in that.”

  She did her best to heed his words. When Hartley was carried into the house, the immediate need to try and calm Germaine and Bayard helped her regain her strength. Alethea left them with Argus and the others as soon as she felt she could and rushed to Hartley’s side. Although she had no healing gift, she was able to help with the bathing of his wounds and bandaging the worst of his injuries while the healers in her family each took a turn doing what they could for him. The strongest of the lot were Penelope’s half brother Stefan, who paired up with the boy Delmar, her cousin Felix’s natural son.

  By the time they had all left, Olympia hurrying after them to make certain they got all the food and drink they needed to restore the strength lost in healing, Alethea’s hope for Hartley’s recovery was growing. Hartley had not awakened, but he slept peacefully even though they had been able to get only a small amount of Kate’s potion down his throat. She pulled a chair up beside the bed and decided that, even if all the healers had done was to ease his pain, it was enough.

  It was very late when Germaine and Bayard slipped into the room. Alfred followed them and set a tray of food and drink down on the small table in front of the fireplace. After a stern look at her that said she had better eat, he left. Alethea stood up, stretched, and then moved to sit at the table. She realized that she was hungry, her appetite returning as her fear for Hartley began to fade.

  “Does Alfred understand that you are now a marchioness?” asked Germaine as she took the seat opposite Alethea, leaving Bayard to sit watch by Hartley’s bed.

  Alethea smiled. “Of course, but I am also the girl he has known since she could barely walk. And the Pughs have served the Vaughns for hundreds of years. They are, in so many ways, as much family as servants.”

  Germaine nodded and looked toward Hartley. “Uncle looks much better than he did when he was carried into the house, even with all the splints, bruises, bandages, and cuts. He sleeps as if he feels no pain. How can that be after what was done to him?”

  “The healers did it, and I fear I cannot explain it. Since his fingers, left arm, and left leg are splinted, I cannot even be sure just how much of him they have actually healed. Yet he sleeps free of pain. That can only be good.”

  “Your family has so many different gifts. Is there anyone in your very large family who does not have one?”

  “Some have one that is so very weak it is nearly useless, but only a few. We do not marry amongst ourselves, or very rarely do, and not because the church frowns on it. We all have the never-ending hope that we can breed it out of us, but that has yet to happen.”

  “I would cease trying. For most of you, the gift you have been given seems to be doing more good than harm. Even for poor Modred, whose bad luck appears to have started with whoever gave him that name.” Germaine grinned when Alethea laughed, but quickly turned serious again. “He looked pale and shaken but also very pleased with himself. He helped, and I think that matters a great deal to him. It gave him some pride in himself.”

  “Yes. Yes, it did. Chloe said he needed to do it. I am just sorry that he had to prove himself on two such evil women. Is he resting now?” When Germaine nodded, Alethea sighed in relief. “I just pray that he suffers no nightmares due to what he saw in Claudette.”

  “I waver between wanting that woman dead and being appalled that I could wish for such a thing. All the time we were in France, the thought of making that woman suffer kept me strong. Now? Now I feel a little ashamed of that. Yet she should suffer for what she did to my uncle, to my family, and to so many others.”

  “Agreed,” said Alethea, “and we must believe that she will.”

  “In hell?”

  Alethea shrugged. “We can only hang her once.” She studied Germaine. “Do you wish to go to her hanging?”

  “Not so much wish it, but need to. She stole my family from me, save for Bayard and Uncle. I need to be there for my father, for Theresa, and for the babes. I also need to know that she is truly dead.”

  It was difficult not to argue that plan with the girl, but Alethea simply patted Germaine’s hand and then turned to the chore of finishing her meal. They could sort it all out when the time came. At Bayard and Germaine’s insistence, Alethea sought out her own bed. She wanted to stay by Hartley’s side, her fear of losing him still running deep and strong, but she also knew she needed to sleep. As Hartley recovered, caring for him would require a great deal of strength and courage. All her instincts told her that he would not be an easy patient.

  Once Alethea was tucked up in bed, she found sleep hard to come by even though she was more tired than she had ever been in her life. Hartley’s words kept pounding in her mind, demanding she think about them. Love you. He had definitely said those words, but she was not sure how much faith she should put in them. He had been in pain, dazed with it, yet exuberant over his rescue. Emotions had been running high, and that could have prompted the words. He might also not have meant them as she so dearly wanted him to.

  Alethea closed her eyes and worked even harder to clear her mind of all thoughts fighting to deprive her of sleep. She would wait to see what he did and said in the days to come. If he did not repeat the declaration, so be it. Alethea would accept that it had been spoken in the heat of the moment or a delirium born of the pain he had been in. Then she would do her best to make him say those words again while he was awake and clear of mind. Only then would she choose to believe him and gently place her heart in his hands.

  Chapter 19

  With a few final flourishes, Hartley signed his name to the last of the documents his secretary had brought to him from his solicitor. He had been a fool not to make out a new will the moment he had married Alethea. The troubles they had been wrapped up in were really no excuse for such a lapse. Now it was done, and, if anything ever happened to him, she would be financially secure, all her rights as his widow and the mother of whatever children they might have thoroughly protected. Before it had been uncomfortable to contemplate his mortality, but after having faced death, he was all too aware of how quickly and unexpectedly it could touch a man on the shoulder.

  He held up his right hand and wriggled his fingers, and then he did the same with the left. Only three weeks had passed since he had been rescued from Claudette and her men, and he was nearly as good as new. In the last week it had only been weakness and a need to regain the strength lost that had held him back from a full recovery. Hartley might not understand what the healers had done, but he was grateful beyond words for it. His arm and leg had also healed rapidly and were growing s
tronger by the day. He could all too easily have ended up crippled in some way. It was a miracle he would thank God for every day. And, despite their refusals of any payment, he had seen to it that each Wherlocke and Vaughn who had helped him heal so well and so rapidly had been duly rewarded for their efforts on his behalf.

  Now he could begin to turn his attention to his wife, he thought, and grinned. She had said nothing about his declaration of love just before he had become unconscious that day. Hartley decided she had convinced herself that it had been made due to the high emotion of the moment and was not heartfelt. He was determined to show her just how wrong she was. The wooing had already begun with small gifts and long talks alone in the garden as he had recuperated. Now that he was completely healed, he could begin to woo her in the bedchamber as well as outside it.

  Germaine slipped into his office, and, quickly yanking his mind out of the bedchamber where his willing wife waited for him with nothing more than a smile on her face, he smiled at Germaine. The time he had spent healing had also served to bring him, his nephew, and his niece closer together. They had wept together when the jewels Claudette had stolen from the compte that day on the beach were returned. Bayard and Germaine had wept for their father, a woman they had grown to love, and their two young half siblings. Hartley had wept for the sister he had lost so long ago, the senseless death of the man his sister had loved, and the pain she would have felt if she had known how her children had suffered. In that shared moment of grief, they had finally become a true family.

  “They are hanging Claudette and Margarite today,” Germaine said as she stood before his desk and nervously played with a colorful stone he had collected as a child during a walk on the beach with his father.

  Hartley inwardly cursed, for he had hoped that she would not discover that. He should have known better. In the three years she had hidden and worked in France, Germaine had picked up a few skills most young ladies did not have. One thing she was very good at was ferreting out any information.