The Scarred Heir

by Denise Patrick

  His vision clouded, dark edges encroached.

  Focusing all his willpower, he pushed away from the door and took two steps into the room before his legs gave out and the world went black.

  Chapter Four

  Sarah watched Royden’s eyes glaze over, and braced herself as he slumped forward. Locking her knees saved her from crumpling beneath his much heavier weight, but she knew she couldn’t hold him much longer. She took a deep breath and splayed her hands against the solidness of his chest, testing the weight with trembling arms. The metallic smell of blood reached her and she fought rising panic.

  At least she was standing on the small throw rug. If she had to drop him, he wouldn’t hit the hard floor. Sweat broke out on her forehead as she wrapped her arms around his waist and unlocked her legs, buckling them as slowly as possible. It was only a small thump, she reasoned as he hit the floor with more force than she wanted. It would have been nice if it had roused him.

  She took another deep breath and sat back on her haunches to look at him. What she saw caused her heart to accelerate all over again.

  There was blood everywhere. His nightshirt and dressing gown were soaked down one side and the foot and leg she could see were covered. Calm down. Breathe. Unfortunately telling herself to do those things and doing them proved to be two separate issues. And the smell of blood was making her nauseous.

  “Think, Sarah, think. What did Papa say about bleeding?” She closed her eyes to block out the sight momentarily while her mind raced for information. “Pressure. Tourniquet.”

  Getting to her feet, she stumbled over to the bed and yanked the sheet off. Quickly she tore three large strips off it. Ma would understand, she hoped. Then she grabbed the pitcher of water off the washstand and one of the cloths, and hurried back to Royden’s side.

  “Blast!” The blood made the nightshirt difficult to tear, and she couldn’t raise it far enough to reach the wound. “A knife,” she muttered. “I need a knife.”

  Time was important and she rushed over to the table to find the knife he’d eaten dinner with. The floor was hard against her knees, but thankfully the knife sliced through the blood-soaked material easily.

  As she worked, she tried not to pay attention to the muscled strength in his legs, or the glimpse she had of his groin area. Her face heated and she draped the remainder of the sheet over him to preserve his modesty. Her fingers fumbled with the bandage already in place. She cursed again as she reached for the knife. The handle was slippery from the blood and she prayed she wouldn’t cut him as she slipped it beneath the bandage and sliced it clean through.

  “Don’t die. Please, don’t die.” She didn’t know why she cared so much, but she couldn’t let him die after he’d saved her. Finally the hole in his thigh was revealed and she found the blood had slowed to a trickle, but was still pooling on the floor beneath him.

  She managed to lift his leg enough to get one of the strips of sheet around his thigh above the hole. She had no idea if she was strong enough to tie it off as tightly as was needed, but right now she was his only hope.

  Fifteen minutes later, she again sat back on her haunches and wiped the sweat from her forehead with her sleeve. The bleeding had nearly stopped and relief poured through her. Now she needed help. She couldn’t move him alone and he needed to be relieved of his blood-soaked nightshirt.

  As she sat there, staring down at him, she couldn’t resist looking her fill. Despite her less than complimentary opinion of him, he was a fine specimen. His shoulders were broad and inviting. She’d been aware of the tensile strength in his arms as he snatched her back from the edge of the stairs. Long, muscled legs were reminders that he towered over her. Her attention was caught by an unusually large, disfiguring scar on the same leg he’d been shot in. It stretched from just below his knee all the way to his foot, and she wondered what could have caused it.

  She shook her head to clear it. “This isn’t the time to daydream, Sarah. Pull yourself together.”

  A quick survey of the room revealed the mess it was. Blood pooled near the door as well as where he lay. The bed needed to be remade and his supper dishes needed to be removed. The smell of blood was overwhelming. She sighed and rose to her feet.

  Cautiously opening the door, she peeked out. Her attacker was gone, but the dish and tray still lay in the middle of the hall, the remnants of Royden’s pudding splattered across the floor. She cleaned up the mess and, leaving the tray and dishes in the room, ran down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  Della was there, washing dishes in the large sink, while Ma sat at the table looking at a list of something. Both looked up when she entered.

  “Jessie, I thought I tol—whut happened to you?”

  “One of the Tiverton men caught me outside his lordship’s room. His lordship saved me, but his leg started bleeding again and he fainted. I need the doctor.”

  Sarah spoke in a rush, words tripping over each other in her hurry to explain as she headed toward the back door.

  “No.” Ma took charge. “You set yerself down right here.” She turned to Della, who stood watching with eyes as big as saucers. “Which o’ yer brothers is here tonight.”

  “Mick,” was the immediate reply.

  “Go an’ git ’im.”

  Moments later Mick was in the kitchen. “Run and git Doc Kiley. Tell ’im ’is lordship’s been hurt again.”

  Once Mick was gone, she turned to Sarah. “You sit right there until Doc gets here.”

  She left the kitchen and Sarah put her head down on the table, shoulders slumped in exhaustion, her thoughts in disarray.

  He’d kissed her. Lord Royden had kissed her, and she hadn’t protested. What was wrong with her? He was a married man. How could she let him kiss her—and enjoy it?

  Heat washed over her and her lips tingled as she remembered the feeling. If he hadn’t passed out on her, she might have let him kiss her again. Two years ago, she would never have let him close enough to kiss her, and she wasn’t certain he would have tried given how she felt about him. But tonight…

  It was the reaction from being attacked and nearly falling down the stairs. The realization of what nearly happened had scrambled her wits and allowed him to take advantage. Now that she was thinking clearly, it wouldn’t happen again. It couldn’t. He was a married man. He belonged to someone else now.

  Yet, shaking the memory of those cool, firm lips against hers proved futile. Even his scent filled her nostrils. The scent of…blood. Her head snapped up and she looked down at her bloody hands. Stumbling out to the pump in the back, she scrubbed the blood from her hands and ran wet hands over her face just in case. She returned to the kitchen to wait, once again putting her head down on her arms folded on the table.

  A hand on her shoulder shook her awake. She raised her head and blinked at the sight of Ma. The kitchen torches had been doused and the only light was that from the banked fire. She blinked again.

  “Go on up to bed now, Jessie-girl,” Ma said. “Doc says his lordship is doin’ fine. He said you done well bandagin’ him up.”

  “There was a lot of blood,” she mumbled. “Will…will he be…all right?”

  “Not as much as it looked like,” was Ma’s reply.

  Sarah got to her feet. “Have to go and clean up first,” she said groggily. “The room is a mess. Can’t wait ’til tomorrow.”

  “All done. I had Sally help me afore she and Della went home.” Ma turned her in the direction of the stairs. “Now, you go right on up to yer own bed, ye ken?”

  Sarah nodded. She was too tired to argue. Tomorrow there would be plenty of time to sort things out and check on Royden again.

  The sun was barely making an appearance when Sarah was faced with another dilemma. Standing beside her bed, she looked at the dark brown dress she’d worn the day before and frowned. It was stained and crusted with blood. She could probably sponge it out, but that didn’t solve her problem of what to wear until it was dry, since the other dress she usuall
y wore was at Mrs. Avery’s being laundered.

  “There’s no choice,” she told herself as she opened the trunk sitting beside her bed. She hadn’t even thought about the dresses inside in two years, but now she hoped Betsy had packed something subdued among the muslins and silks.

  Digging through the rainbow of fabrics, she was curious about Royden’s reaction if she wore one of her brighter dresses. He’d never seemed to care what she was wearing before, but she had the feeling he might appreciate something different now.

  “What is wrong with you?” she scolded herself. “He’s married. And you don’t need to worry about him ever again.”

  At the bottom of the trunk, she found two black bombazine dresses. She’d forgotten she was supposed to be in mourning while Royden had been trying to court her. The reminder of why caused her to pause for a few moments.

  When her uncle first told her of her father’s death, she’d refused to believe it. Even when the solicitor came to see her and gave her the same information, she refused to believe it. The dresses had been ordered without her agreement and she’d refused to wear either of them. In retrospect, she could have probably avoided the entire debacle with Lord Royden if she’d only accepted her father’s death and gone into mourning. At nineteen, however, the loss of her only parent had been difficult to absorb.

  For most of her life, she and her father only had each other. When her mother died in childbirth shortly after Sarah’s sixth birthday, her father stepped in and readily became both parents. Miss Treacle, her governess, often shook her head over their antics, but never did she try to come between them. With the innocence of a child, she’d often wished her father would marry Miss Treacle, but it never happened.

  The dresses were much more stylish, but still two years out of date. Once she was dressed, she looked down at herself and wondered what Ma would think. Despite being black, the dress was obviously not something designed to work in. It displayed more skin above the bodice than she preferred, and left her arms bare. She sighed. It would have to do until she retrieved her other dress.

  “My, don’t you look purty,” Ma remarked when she entered the kitchen.

  She grimaced. “I don’t want to look pretty, Ma. I need to wash the blood out of my other dress so I can wear it again. Do you think Mrs. Avery would launder it for me? She wasn’t due to have my other dress cleaned until the end of the week.”

  “More’n likely. You ken take it down to her and ask.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Sarah kept herself busy for most of the day. After running her dress down to Mrs. Avery and discovering that her other dress wasn’t ready to be picked up, she stopped back by Betsy’s cottage then made certain she was busy in other places when the doctor came by. She did not want to be coerced into seeing Royden again.

  She didn’t know why, but he was beginning to unnerve her. Perhaps it was his charm. Or the new easygoing persona he had developed. Or maybe it was the vulnerability she sensed about him that tugged on her heartstrings. Whatever it was, last night’s kiss had only magnified her newly evolving feelings. And that was beginning to make her uncomfortable.

  She had to remind herself he was the enemy. He’d schemed with her uncle to steal her inheritance. Now that he was married, she needn’t worry about that any more. So why was she beginning to wonder if she should have married him after all?

  Max looked up from his book as the door opened to reveal a young woman carrying a tray. His heart sank in disappointment when it wasn’t Jessie.

  The savory aromas coming from the tray diverted him as the young woman set it on the table beside the bed. Despite his antipathy for laudanum, the doctor insisted he take a small dose which had kept him asleep for most of the day. This would be his first meal today and his stomach was letting him know in no uncertain terms that Jessie was not important right now. Perhaps he’d inquire about her when someone returned to retrieve the tray.

  He shouldn’t have kissed her. He knew better. She disliked him, or at least the person she thought he was. And she thought he was a married man. Could he drop any lower in her eyes?

  By the time someone came to retrieve the tray, he’d resolved not to ask about her. He was, therefore, genuinely pleased to see Jessie enter his room.

  He studied her as she closed the door and turned to him. She looked different, more like the lady Mrs. Merriweather said she was. As she crossed the room toward him, he realized it was the dress she was wearing. Something fashionable, but made up in mourning black. Very different from the brown dress she’d been wearing yesterday and the day before, despite the apron she had on over it. And it fit as if it had been made for her, displaying curves and a small amount of bosom.

  “How is your leg today?”

  Her voice washed over him, soothing nerve endings he hadn’t realized were ragged.

  “The doctor says I’ll live.”

  She busied herself gathering up the crockery on the tray. When she picked it up and headed for the door, he forced himself not to call her back. As she reached it, however, she suddenly set the tray down on the table nearby and turned back to him.

  “I-I haven’t thanked you for…for saving me,” she began.

  When he said nothing, she moved back toward him and sat in the chair beside the bed. Her agitation was obvious, but he waited for her to continue.

  “I-I’m certain you saved my life. And…and I wanted to say I am in your debt.”

  Understanding dawned. She might be grateful for his assistance, but she didn’t want to be beholden to him. Did she think he would expect something from her in return? He wasn’t magnanimous enough to brush it off. He might need a favor before he left.

  Yet, watching her nervously pleat and unpleat the fabric of her apron, he felt a rush of both tenderness and fury that his help had been needed at all.

  “Did you know him, or was he just a drunken patron in the wrong place?”

  “I don’t know his name, but he has been here before.” She looked down at her nervous hands. “There’s a group of miners from Tiverton who come here occasionally. The first time they came when I was here, one of them tried…tried to…”

  He was glad the chair was closer to his perch than it had been the day before. He reached out and covered her fingers with his own. “Were you hurt?”

  She shook her head. “But ever since then Ma and Da always keep me out of sight when they’re here.”

  Her fingers were cold under his, but she didn’t pull them away.

  “Last night Ma told me to bring up your pudding and stay with you until they were gone, but I…”

  His lips quirked and he stilled them, not wanting her to see his amusement. “But you didn’t want to spend so much time in my company.”

  She took a deep breath and let it out as she looked back up at him. Her lips were compressed into a straight line. “Of course not. You might have changed for the better in the last two years, but it doesn’t make up for the ruin you created of my life in the first place. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here at all.”

  If he hadn’t known how much she disliked him, he would have been taken aback by the fire that now blazed in her eyes.

  “Perhaps you would have changed me for the better had you married me.”

  She jumped up from the chair, knocking it over in her haste. It hit the wooden floor with a loud clatter.

  “How dare you suggest such a thing! Don’t forget I heard you and my uncle discussing dividing my fortune once we were wed. I heard my uncle say accidents happen and that it would be a pity if I was hurt or lost while searching for my father.”

  There were tears in her eyes now and, as he watched, one solitary tear slipped down a petal-soft cheek. His heart lurched.

  “You never intended to help me find him, did you?” She was trembling now, and her voice shook. “You and my uncle were only interested in getting your hands on my father’s fortune, but couldn’t unless I was wed. It was fortunate I knew the terms of my father’
s will, or I would have feared for my life.”

  She must have realized she was nearly shouting, for she stopped and took another deep breath. As she wiped away the tears that spilled down her face, she said, “Don’t mistake concern for an injury for anything other than the consideration I would extend to anyone in your position. Because of you, I have lost two years of searching for my father. For that, I will never forgive you.”

  Then she whirled and hurried from the room, only stopping long enough to collect the tray on her way out.

  Sarah hurried down the stairs to the kitchen, praying with every step that Ma was out in the big room helping Da tonight. There were few overnight patrons tonight, so the kitchen wasn’t busy. When that happened, Ma would make occasional forays into the big room to lend a hand.

  She breathed a silent sigh of relief when the kitchen was empty. It shouldn’t have taken her long to clean up the crockery she’d brought from Royden’s room, but tears blurred her vision. Moreover, her heart hurt because her tears weren’t the same angry tears she’d shed in his room. No, these were tears of sadness and self-pity because she was beginning to care for him. And she hated herself for it.

  Once finished, she hurried back up to her tiny attic room. It wasn’t luxurious by any standards, but it was hers. Inside she could close her eyes, shut out the rest of the world, and imagine she was back at home. At Statler Hall, her family’s home in Kent, and her papa had returned hale and hearty. There she was no longer an orphan, her presence no longer suffered by relatives who only wanted what her father might pay for her upkeep. There she was cherished and loved, doted on.

  The tears came fast and furious as she remembered what she’d told Royden. He had told her he would help her find her father. That they would honeymoon in France just so she could look for him. But the promise had been empty. He’d lied to her, and she wouldn’t have known any better if she hadn’t inadvertently eavesdropped on the conversation between him and her uncle.