The Scoundrel Who Loved Me

by Laura Landon

  He didn’t think it was possible for her to see past his disfigurement to realize the powerful goodness inside him. Just as she didn’t think it was possible for anyone to see past her blindness, to realize that she possessed a mind and independent thoughts. But she would be able to see past his blemishes. The same as he’d seen past her blindness. His kisses had told her that he had.

  She was anxious to tell him so. Anxious to hear that he would be all right so she could show him that something so minor as the scars that marred his face meant nothing to her.

  As if her words had been heard, the door opened and someone came in.

  “Millie,” Polly cried. She swiftly left the sofa where they were sitting and ran across the room. “Is Thomas all right?”

  “Yes, Polly. He’s going to be fine.”

  Millie came to the sofa and sat beside Cleo. Cleo was thankful when Thomas’s sister reached for her hand.

  “The doctor is finishing up. He had to remove the bullet from Thomas’s shoulder.”

  “Did it hurt?” Polly asked in all innocence.

  “A little, poppet. But Thomas is very brave, you know. He was a hero through it all.”

  “I knew he would be. He was very brave after the fire, too.” Polly hesitated long enough to take a quick breath, then continued. “May I go up to see him?”

  “In a bit, Polly. But not right now. What you can do, however, is go to the kitchen and ask Cook to prepare a fresh tea tray for us.”

  “Oh, I can do that,” Polly said with excitement, which was followed by the patter of her feet as she left the room.

  “How is he really?” Cleo asked when she heard the door close behind Polly.

  “The bullet was lodged quite deeply into his flesh and the doctor had to dig to find it. Thankfully, Thomas lost consciousness during the procedure. But he will survive. And that’s all that matters.”

  “Yes,” Cleo answered past the lump in her throat. “Polly told me about the scars on his face.”

  Millie hesitated. “Oh, I wish she hadn’t.”

  “Why? Don’t you think I deserve to know?”

  “I definitely believe you should know. I begged Thomas to tell you weeks ago when I realized what was happening between you. I told him you deserved to know.”

  “Then why didn’t he?”

  “I think because he didn’t want your pity. But more importantly, I think he knows you would say the scars didn’t matter to you. But they would.”

  Cleo was offended. “You cannot think so little of me that you believe I put physical attributes above what is in a person’s heart.”

  “It’s not that. It’s what you would have to give up if something permanent developed between you.”

  “What does he think I will be forced to give up?”

  “Your life in London.”

  “But that—”

  Millie stopped her from finishing. “Cleo, Thomas has no intention of returning to London. He is well aware of the reaction he will receive if he does; the looks of horror on women’s faces, the turned backs, the pity in people’s eyes, and the embarrassment he will both see and feel in the way you are treated. No, he halted anything from going further between the two of you, not because his feelings aren’t sincere, but because I believe he cares for you too much to put you through such torture.”

  “Are his scars truly that wretched?” Cleo asked as the tears streamed down her face.

  “They are bad,” Millie whispered.

  Cleo sat with her hands clenched in her lap. The tea tray came, but she couldn’t bring herself to accept a cup of tea, or one of the pastries Polly tried to force on her. All she could think of was everything Thomas had gone through.

  She didn’t pity him. She told herself she didn’t. Yet a part of her did.

  He didn’t pity himself. And he would be angry if he discovered that she did. But she was allowed to pity him for everything he’d been forced to give up. And a part of her was angry because he expected her to give him up rather than offering her the option of choosing what she wanted.

  . . .

  Cleo sat at Thomas’s bedside and held his hand while he slept. At times, he would moan as he gripped her hand more tightly. At other times, he would lie still as death. She had to listen hard to make sure he was still breathing.

  More than once she reached out to touch his face. She wanted to press her fingers to his cheek and feel the scars Millie said were there. But in the end, she lacked the courage to touch him. She was afraid he might wake and realize what she’d done. So she let him sleep.

  He slept for two days, neither waking, nor deep in a restful sleep. Finally, on the third day, he tossed on the bed and the pain woke him. Thankfully, Barnaby was in the room with her.

  “Lie still, Thomas,” Barnaby said, rushing to the bedside. “Try to hold him, my lady,” he ordered.

  Barnaby placed Cleo’s hands where he wanted them. She pressed on Thomas’s shoulder to prevent him from rising. After a few moments of struggling, he collapsed onto the bed with his breaths coming in hard, gasping pants.

  “Cleo,” he said in a raspy voice.

  “I’m here, Thomas.” Cleo ran her fingers down Thomas’s arm until she reached his hand, then twined her fingers in his.

  “Are you… safe?”

  “Yes, Thomas. You saved me. You protected me with your … yourself.”

  “Here, Thomas. Drink this,” Barnaby said.

  Cleo heard Thomas swallow, then cough on whatever Barnaby had given him.

  “Did you… catch whoever… shot at us?” Thomas asked.

  “No. He got away.”

  Cleo wondered again why anyone would want to shoot at them, but deep inside her, she knew they hadn’t wanted to kill Thomas. They’d wanted to kill her. And the shooting had something to do with Carlson Randolph’s death.

  The events of that horrible day came back to haunt her. She tried to remember more of that day, but she couldn’t. It was as if her mind refused to allow her to remember.

  “Thomas wasn’t the intended target, was he,” she said softly. “I was.”

  A yawning silence engulfed the room. She didn’t expect Thomas to answer. He was too weak to respond. But Barnaby could tell her.

  “Yes,” Barnaby finally answered. “You were undoubtedly the intended victim.”

  “Why? Does this have something to do with Carlson Randolph’s death?”

  “We think so, yes.”

  “But I didn’t see anything. The killer was too far away for me to recognize him. And even if I could describe the man who killed Carlson, I don’t remember anything.”

  “Except our killer doesn’t know that. He believes that you saw him and are able to identify him to the authorities.”

  “But why now? Carlson’s murder happened more than a year ago.”

  “Perhaps because the killer thought that you might die. Everyone knew that you’d been injured that severely. The fact that your parents recently came to London without you may have prompted the killer to discover your fate.”

  Cleo considered what Barnaby said. “Now he knows where I am. I have to leave. I can’t put all of you in danger.”

  “No,” Thomas said. “You need… to be… here.”

  “Thomas is right, my lady. You can’t leave. You are safest here.”

  “But what about you? And Polly? And Millie? I can’t put them in danger.”

  “Don’t worry, my lady. Nothing will happen to them. I’ll make sure it doesn’t.”

  Cleo heard the conviction in Barnaby Linscott’s voice. She only hoped he was right. She only hoped he had the resources to make sure nothing happened to any of them. She doubted she’d be able to forgive herself if something did.

  Chapter Seven

  Thomas slept most of the following two days. Each time he woke, however, Cleo was at his side.

  He tried to carry on a conversation with her, tried to reassure her he was improving, but his traitorous body refused to help him. He ended up losing
consciousness half through a sentence. Finally, on the third day, he opened his eyes feeling as if he might manage to keep them open for more than a moment or two. She was sitting in her usual place beside his bed.

  He turned his head enough to be able to watch her and was thankful she couldn’t see him. It gave him an opportunity to study her without her knowing.

  His blood warmed as it surged through his chest and rushed down to his belly. Her beauty overwhelmed him each time he looked upon her. But each time, she revealed herself in a different way. One pose might convey quiet confidence, and then with the slightest change of position she became regal, or tender, or the embodiment of joy and grace. The only feature that imposed upon her beauty at this moment was the worried expression on her face. He hated it because he knew he was the cause of her worry.

  He wanted to reach for her and hold her hand. He needed to touch her so there was a physical connection between them, but he knew that wasn’t a wise move. Creating a distance between them had been difficult enough the first time. He didn’t want to undo the progress he’d made and be forced to start again from the beginning. Instead, he turned away from her and stared at the ceiling.

  “Have you left my side even once over the past few days?” he said softly after a long while.

  She started, then leaned forward in her chair and reached out her hand. She ran her fingers across the covers in search of his hand. When she found it, she twined her fingers with his.

  “You’re awake,” she whispered in a rasping voice that matched her tear-filled eyes.

  “Yes. Finally.”

  “I’m so glad. Polly was terribly worried over you. She was afraid you might never wake.”

  “What about you, Cleo? Were you worried, too?”

  “You know I was, Thomas. I’m indebted to you for saving my life.”

  “That’s not true. I didn’t save your life. I took a bullet because the coward was a lousy shot.”

  A slight smile lifted the corners of Cleo’s mouth. “Then I wish he would have been an even lousier shot and missed you, too.”

  “Did Barnaby locate the man who shot me?”

  “You mean who intended to kill me,” Cleo said. “The answer is no, he didn’t. Whoever it was is still out there.”

  Thomas hesitated before he spoke. “I take it you know that you’re in danger.”

  “Yes. Barnaby told me. I assume that’s the reason I was sent here. The reason I came with the major and was told that I would be more comfortable staying with Barnaby and Millie in the country until Father was finished with House business.”

  “Are you angry?”

  “That I stayed here? No. That everyone lied to me? Yes. Although I’m not sure what I would have changed. I can hardly be on my own,” she said on a sigh, “and no matter where I went, everyone around me would be in danger.”

  “We’ll simply stay out of sight until Randolph’s killer is captured.”

  “When will that be, Thomas? Do you even have a clue as to who it might be?”

  “We will soon. Your uncle is going through Randolph’s accounts to determine who might have owed him a great deal of money. Killing him would certainly cancel the debt.”

  “I only wish I could remember more of what happened that day.”

  “Perhaps you will.”

  “When? After the killer is successful in killing someone close to me?”

  Thomas didn’t have a chance to answer her. There was a rap on the door and Millie and Barnaby entered the room. Millie rushed to his bedside and kissed him on the forehead.

  “You’re awake. I’m so glad.” She kissed his forehead a second time.

  “I feel like I’ve slept so long I won’t have to sleep for the rest of the year.”

  “My guess,” Millie said, “is that you won’t stay awake for the rest of this afternoon.”

  Millie’s comment caused a chorus of laughs.

  “You’re probably correct.”

  “Would you like something to drink?” Barnaby asked.

  “Yes. Something strong.”

  Cleo’s expression turned more serious. Thomas reached for her hand and squeezed her fingers. “It’s not that bad,” he said. The guilt he saw on her face tore at his insides.

  “How did you get away from Polly?” he asked his sister.

  “She’s occupied with the new puppies for a while,” Millie said. “But as soon as she discovers you’re awake, nothing will keep her from barging in here.”

  “I want to talk to you before she gets here, Barnaby. What have you found out about our shooter?”

  “I got a message from Sam today. He thinks they’ve identified Randolph’s killer as an up-and-comer by the name of Daniel Welfore.”

  “Daniel Welfore? The man who’s building the Emporium in Covent Garden?” Cleo said.

  “Are you acquainted with him?”

  “No,” she said. “But Carlson told me about his venture. He seemed to like the fellow.”

  “Evidently not that well if he killed him,” Thomas added. “Does Major Bennett know why he was killed? Was it money?”

  “That’s always possible, but Sam has doubts that money was the only reason. According to what Sam could discover, Welfore was well set. A rising entrepreneur. He can’t think that Welfore committed murder over some paltry gambling debts.”

  “Then what?” Thomas asked.

  “Only Welfore has the answer to that.”

  “So what’s going to happen now?”

  “Sam should arrive by the end of the week. He’s going to post a perimeter guard, as I understand it. Keep the property accessible, but watched.”

  “Do you think it’s enough ?” Thomas asked.

  “He’s doubled manpower through the night. Should be enough to catch the fellow.” Barnaby paused, then smiled. “I also think we’ve discussed this as much as we’re going to. I hear your sister’s footsteps rushing up the stairs.”

  Before Barnaby could say more, the door opened and Polly rushed into the room. Any serious discussion came to a halt after she arrived.

  Thomas allowed his sister to hug him mercilessly, then lifted his gaze to Cleo. She wore a closed expression, one that hinted of worry and concern. Clearly, she was struggling with the idea that she’d brought danger to their very doorstep.

  . . .

  Thomas had insisted that he was well enough to get out of bed the next morning, even though both Cleo and Millie tried to argue otherwise. He told them that he needed to walk to keep his legs from cramping. Cleo thought that was probably true. She waited for him in a small drawing room, hoping they could walk through the walled garden at the rear of the house. She wanted to talk with him.

  While Cleo waited, she thought of how her relationship with Thomas had changed. Now she knew the reason he’d told her that he wasn’t her prince charming. And it wasn’t that he didn’t care for her. He did. He foolishly thought he was sparing her from falling in love with a man who was horribly disfigured.

  Didn’t he know? It was already too late for that. She was already hopelessly in love with him. She’d fallen in love with him the moment she realized he didn’t care if she was blind.

  They were both flawed, but it didn’t matter to either of them. He’d accepted her blindness because it was a part of who she was. And she would accept his scarred face, because it was a part of who he was. Now, she had to convince him that what he looked like didn’t matter to her.

  She stopped her pondering and lifted her gaze when she heard Thomas’s footsteps nearing the room.

  “Good morning,” he greeted from the doorway. He sounded wonderfully strong.

  “Good morning.” Cleo was unable to stop a smile from lifting the corners of her mouth. Just the sound of his voice caused her heart to stutter in her breast. Knowing that he was near her made her flesh tingle.

  “Have you been waiting long?” he asked stepping near her.

  “No. Not long at all.”

  “Good. I’m afraid it took me long
er to dress than I thought it would.”

  “I imagine so. It must be difficult with bandages on your shoulder and not being able to move your arm as easily as you did before you were wounded.”

  “I definitely discovered new limitations,” he said, “although my sword arm is in fine fettle, I dare say.” She felt him step closer and heard the forced joviality in his voice. “And I’m here now. Ready to walk in the garden and slay any dragon that dares cross our path. Are you ready?”

  Her heart lifted at his gallantly silly attempt to cheer her.

  “Yes. I stood at the window and the sun warmed my face. It must be glorious.”

  “It is.” He helped her to her feet, and tucked her hand into the crook of his left elbow. It felt different, though, not his usual relaxed stance.

  “Nevermind the sling, my lady. It’s just to keep my arm from dragging on my shoulder.”

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, realizing then why his arm felt so different. It must be held close to his chest with a cloth sling. “Then perhaps I shouldn’t—”

  She began to slip her hand away from his elbow but his right hand came down over hers.

  “The wing is merely trapped, my lady, not broken. You may drag all you like and you shall not hear a word of complaint from me.”

  “Oh I couldn’t!”

  She heard him sigh.

  “Then let’s just switch.” She felt him walk behind her and come close on her left side. “Take my right arm, my lady, and we shall improvise.”

  And with that he led her to the French doors that took them out onto the terrace. It was remarkable how her world shifted, merely by walking at the gentleman’s right. It was fresh, new. The simplest change but with the most liberating yet tottering feel.

  She walked with him across the terrace and down three steps, hugging closer to him as if walking on his right had completely flummoxed her sense of balance. But he was there, secure and strong.

  She found herself nearly breathless with the startling change this made in her sightless world.

  Cleo slowed. “Is there a bench nearby?”

  “Yes, just up ahead.”

  “Could we stop? I don’t want you to over exert.” It was a shameless excuse and she felt no guilt at all for using it.