“Slowly,” she warned him and got a growling noise – but he obeyed.
“The wound in my face is not worth mentioning,” he said. “Down here on my hip, the blood must be staunched, and then I will be fine.” Brigid immediately patted down her own body in search of a suitable piece of cloth, but Felicity had already ripped off the scarf from her shoulders and tossed it to Joseph. She instructed him to tear it into four even pieces and give them to Brigid so she could fold them up and press the fabric bundle against the injury, until the blood flow stopped. The boxer’s blue eyes bored into hers, as Felicity pushed aside his coat and unbuttoned his vest. Her fingers found every button without having to look, and only when she had lifted up his shirt, did she interrupt their eye contact. The blood was almost invisible on the black fabric, but she could feel the sticky wetness on her fingers. Felicity took a deep breath in. Her heart was racing, but her hands were surprisingly calm, as she removed the cotton fabric from his skin.
For a moment, she felt dizzy. She was aware of the little clouds that came out of his mouth, the way he inhaled sharply, and how his lips pressed together with immense effort. Then she lowered her gaze and let go of the breath she had held in. The wound was bleeding profusely, however, it did not seem to be deep. The most important thing was to stop the bleeding and get it out of the cold as fast as possible. Felicity took the neatly folded remnants of her scarf from Brigid’s trembling hands and pressed the bandages gently against the injury. Then she instructed Joseph to go and get a hackney, and to tell the driver to wait for them in the church’s forecourt.
“Tell him that if he hurries, a generous tip awaits him.” She threw aside the first bundle of cloth and exchanged it for the next.
“Where did you learn to tend wounds?”
“You should not talk,” she scolded him softly, but then gave in. “My father owns estates where he regularly checks up on things. Sometimes my sisters and I were allowed to join him. It was only natural that we experienced country life in all its facets. Especially during the harvest, there were often accidents.”
“And you have taken care of the injured?”
“Do not be silly.” Was she just imagining it, or did the second patch of fabric take longer than the first one to get soaked with blood? “My father would never have allowed it. But I am not blind, and the mother of one of the children I was allowed to play with was a midwife. I have seen quite a few things that my father would not approve of.”
The sound of hooves sounded in her ear. “I believe Joseph is back. We will get you home now, Sir.” She purposefully chose a light-hearted tone of voice, but as expected, his mouth turned into a defensively tight line.
“I feel well enough to stand on my own feet. You and Brigid will take the hackney. Joseph can fetch me another one.”
“No.” She did not say anything other than that one word.
“Do not contradict me. I will not tolerate your being exposed to any more danger than you already have been, Lady… Feli.” For a moment, they smiled at each other. He sat up and refused the helping hand she offered.
“You stubborn, obstinate…”
“Yes?”
“Ignorant,” she ended lamely, for lack of a better word. “Which would you prefer? To be proud and bleed to death, or to live in health and well-being, but with a little offended male vanity?” Brigid had stood up and was walking towards the carriage. “What will I have to do before you listen to me?”
With a surprising amount of strength, he reached for her hand. “For my obedience, I demand nothing but a kiss,” he whispered. “Kiss me, and I shall take this coach – as soon as Joseph returns with the second one.” Again, his lips pulled into a smile, which was more than just a hint of a challenge. “It is your decision.”
Felicity did not think long, but instead leaned forward and brushed her lips against his. This is my first kiss, she thought, and almost backed away from the excitement of her boldness. But then she noticed how soft his lips felt beneath hers, and for one split second, she was unable to distinguish where her own body ended and his began.
How could such a small touch create so many different sensations inside her body? Her face was hot and cold at the same time, her breath seemed to falter in her throat, and at the same time Felicity thought that her heart was going to leap out of her chest at any moment. His lips tasted of brandy and mint. Forbidden and as delicious as precious chocolate, sweet and bitter and… and then it was over much too soon.
Chapter 14
What on earth had he been thinking – to challenge her in such a way?
Luke woke up in his room, feeling as if a carriage, including the horses, had run over him and that more than once. He remembered every single painful minute from the night before, but the moment when she had accepted his dare and kissed him, outshone all, even the painful ride in the badly suspended carriage, which Joseph had miraculously managed to get hold of shortly after the first. Felicity wanted to insist that he take the first carriage and drive home immediately, but this time, he had won the small argument. He would not have given in, even for another kiss.
The moment when her soft lips had touched his mouth, had completely thrown him off-kilter. Deep inside, he had already known that this was no longer an undertaking in which he was generously helping a young girl out of a desperate predicament. Luke had exceeded the boundary that he had set for himself. The matter had become personal, and he could not even dismiss it as a selfless act of chivalry.
Felicity’s kiss, which she had given him by her own choice, so very sweet and innocent as a kiss could possibly be, had increased the stakes – and the difficulties.
Somebody knocked. Branwell entered the room, along with John. His friend and servant carried a tray, which he set down before turning towards Luke and helping him to sit upright. John had also not come with empty hands but was carrying a small wooden chest under his arm.
“Well, how are we feeling this fine morning?” John sat down next to him on the bed and gestured towards Luke to lift up his shirt.
“I do not know how you are feeling,” Luke replied. “But I can tell you that I feel well.”
“I would like to see that for myself.”
“Not necessary,” Luke objected. “I already told you both last night, it is but a flesh wound and the injury to my face is hardly worth mentioning.” He lifted his right hand and touched his cheekbone. “It is dry and…”
“And nothing will distort your looks anyway, I know. However, since you do not want to see the doctor, at least let me have a look at your side. Or would you rather take the risk of getting an infection? Go ahead, tell me, so I can inform our father that he either has to marry again and produce another son, or legitimise his bastard son to carry on his title.”
It was a sign of John’s concern that he belaboured his status as an illegitimate son. Luke sighed. He really was lucky that John and he were not only brothers in their shared name, but also in their hearts.
Even Branwell, who had been silent until then, showed himself with a scowl in front of the bed. “Your brother is right,” he agreed. “Do I have to remind you of the damage that gangrene can cause?”
“All right,” Luke gave in, pulled aside the blanket, and pulled up his shirt. He did not like these two making such a fuss over him, but he conceded that they had a valid point.
“So, has your service in the navy managed to hammer some reason into your damned thick skull, after all?”
His brother removed the bandage and asked Branwell for the bowl with warm water. Surprisingly tenderly, he dabbed the edges of the wound, removing every last speck of dirt that they might have overlooked the night before. “I do not like to repeat myself, but you were very lucky. In one or two days you should be back on your feet, providing you do not do anything stupid.”
“I cannot remember appointing you as my personal physician.” Luke could not help himself. “Anyway, why do you carry a box with medical instruments around with you?”
“That is a long story,” John replied. “Maybe, if you manage to stay in bed for long enough to listen, I will tell you all the details.”
Branwell, who was examining the contents of the box curiously, pulled out a shiny instrument that sent a chill down Luke’s spine. What did his brother do with a bone saw? “Does our father know that you are studying medicine?”
Now it was John’s turn to look guilty.
“I think you know the answer to that question.” The two brothers exchanged a glance of mutual understanding. The duke would be outraged if he discovered that his bastard son was planning on pursuing a career.
“Maybe you should hope that one day he will need your medical expertise, as I do now.” Luke attempted to ease his brother’s tension. “Or you perform a bloodletting on him and wait until he is too weak to object.”
“I don’t think much of that method,” John replied. “In fact, my experiments have shown that bloodletting only offers the patient short-term relief before it weakens them. The loss of blood does not eliminate the cause of…” He looked at Luke and then stopped in his tracks. “I apologise.”
“It is all right,” Luke replied. “Have I heard you right? There are actually people who entrust their lives to you?”
“I see that you are well enough to make jokes. You probably won’t need my services anymore.” He got up and turned towards Branwell. “He may eat light foods, but do not allow him to get up before tomorrow morning.”
“Will do, Sir John,” Branwell said, and began to remove the bloody bandages.
“John.” Luke stopped his brother. “Thank you.”
“Always at your service,” John replied ironically, before he became serious. “Are you certain that you will not need my help to find the person who shot you?”
“No, I am not at all certain about that,” Luke admitted. “Just give me some time. I have to… take care of a few things, but then I would be glad to know you are by my side.” He closed his eyes, not because he was in pain, but because he wanted to spare himself and his brother the embarrassment that would undoubtedly follow his sentimental words. Only when he heard the quiet click of the closing door did he open his eyes.
“I need to write something,” he advised Branwell. “In fact, quickly. You can save your objections – I know what I am doing.” He interrupted Branwell’s immediate protest.
It was time to tell Felicity the truth.
A bad day was threatening to end in an even worse evening.
Felicity had retired to her room with a ‘headache’ to ponder on the events of the previous night. She had written five letters to ‘the priest,’ intending to have Joseph deliver the one good letter straight to Mr Scott. However, she had ripped them all up into tiny little pieces. Now, her mother stood in the room, demanding that she get dressed, because Lord Layton wanted to meet her at Almack’s.
“The fresh air will be good for you,” her mother had insisted, and waited until Brigid had dressed her. What fresh air? The short distance from the front door to the carriage and then from the coach to the overheated club rooms, could hardly count as a walk. With a sigh, Felicity turned towards the ensemble that Brigid had chosen for her. The dress in dove-grey and the matching accessories, were amongst her favourites, but at the sight of the scarf, she almost burst into tears. Not knowing how he was feeling and whether he was recovering from his injuries, was, in an elusive way, worse than any uncertainty regarding the blackmailers.
At least, she now knew that the two were indeed after money. When the woman had approached her and told her right to her face, that she would pay for the death of Viscount Greywood, the foul breath from the woman’s mouth had caused her to take a step back. She had been prepared to see a knife in the woman’s hand, but instead she had gone on her merry way, and then the man had approached her. Fortunately, he had not come close enough to Felicity for her to notice the odour surrounding him. He had instructed her to come to the same tavern where Greywood had died, the following Friday at half-past eight in the evening. He told her to bring one hundred guineas and stipulated that she must bring it herself. If she were to send a messenger with the money, she would read about her being to blame for the viscount’s death in all the newspapers the next day.
Felicity had no idea how she could get that kind of money together so quickly. She doubted that even her father kept an astronomical amount like that inside his strongbox, not to mention that she could barely manage to conceal the theft. Another worry was that she was supposed to sneak out of the house unnoticed at that particular hour. It was far too early in the evening to escape from the house unseen! Before she could gather her senses and ask him what would happen if she did not follow his instructions, the man had walked off. After that, the events had gotten out of hand.
“You look just wonderful, my darling.” Her mother tried to cheer her daughter’s spirits, as they climbed out of the carriage. Almack’s was the only club that allowed women access to its rooms. “And if you are still suffering from a bad headache, then I will allow you to refrain from dancing. What do you say about that?”
“Thank you,” Felicity replied curtly.
A supper with Lord Layton was the last thing she wanted.
Even if he had not crossed himself off her dancing card for all eternity by making his presumptuous remark a year ago, there were just about a thousand things she would rather do. Amongst these thousand things, the question of how ‘the priest’ was faring, was by far the most important! Since the previous night, she had not been able to think about anything else. It was not just the danger or injury he had faced, but also – if she were honest with herself – his undeniable presence. He was so… different from the other people she knew, and, amongst men, he was exceptional. There had not been the slightest hesitation in his movement when he had thrown himself in front of her! His generosity, his nobleness, and his relentless willingness to help, made him a true gentleman – much more than any one of the other men of her acquaintance.
Not once had he scolded her or made her feel small and unworthy – quite unlike his highness Lord Layton, who had not held back in voicing his contempt. Was there really no way she could escape meeting with him, together with the well-meaning gazes of those present? It was probably out of the question to pretend she had that ever-handy headache and then to sneak out of the house, and another option just did not occur to her. She had no choice but to endure the dinner with her head held high, and to ignore the lord as much as possible.
Even though it was an exclusive club that allowed access to London’s leading ladies, Felicity felt that Almack’s was nothing more than a marriage market for the upper class. She could do without it. After all, she had other worries! If she and her only ally did not come up with some kind of solution soon, her parents’ plans would be foiled anyway, regardless of whether they had selected Lord Layton or another of the elite peacocks for Felicity.
Her heart jumped. Would ‘the priest’ marry her? How would she feel as Mrs Scott? Felicity pushed this notion as far from her mind as she could, as they entered the rooms of the club.
“Lord Layton is expecting us for supper,” her mother informed one of the servants, and they were immediately guided towards the rooms where dinner was being served. It took several minutes for them to reach their destination, because they were continuously held up by her mother’s acquaintances, who felt the need to chat with her. Thankfully, Felicity was ignored for the most part, except for the usual polite greeting. She detested being at Almack’s from the bottom of her heart. If Lord Layton truly wanted to win her hand in marriage, he would have to put a lot more effort into his pursuit. In truth, it was almost impossible to compete with ‘the priest,’ who had risked his life for her. No other man (and certainly no arrogant lord) could compete with him.
“Lady Felicity?” The calm male voice sounded familiar to her, but it took her a moment before she recognised the man in front of her as Mr Hawthorne. His dark suit and confident posture made him lo
ok like a lord. What a shame – Felicity had liked him better as an ordinary man. She wondered how Mr Hawthorne had managed to gain entry to Almack’s. He had neither the social status, nor was he, as far as she knew, at least, particularly wealthy. The ladies who were in charge of Almack’s were very strict in their rules. They would not have granted him access in his capacity as a detective, since no scandal was desired in Almack’s. Did Mr Hawthorne enjoy access because he knew one of the higher-class members?
“What a pleasure to see you again.” He bowed perfectly above her hand. Fortunately, her mother was busy greeting the Earl of Ashford, and the servant waited patiently beside her.
“Thank you,” Felicity replied and pushed her thoughts aside. “It is a pleasure indeed, Mr Hawthorne. How are you?” Despite his occupation, and the fact that he had questioned her just a few months ago about Rupert Greywood’s death, she smiled at him shyly.
“Excellent… and how are you?” No gentleman would ever examine a lady as carefully as he was doing, and although his eyes did not rest on her face, for a moment she felt like a butterfly that had flown straight into the net of a collector.
While she was searching for an answer, she saw that her mother had finally fobbed off the chatty earl and started to move on.
“Goodbye, Mr Hawthorne,” she said quickly, stepping aside in the hope that he would understand.
“Lady Felicity.” He made a curt bow. Ignoring the astonishment in his eyes, Felicity followed her mother with a lowered head. The encounter with the Bow Street Runner had upset Felicity more than she was willing to admit. She turned her head and saw Mr Hawthorne walking towards the smoking lounge. He was the man she would have confided in, if ‘the priest’ had not entered her life. For a moment she imagined running after him and telling him everything, but then she heard her mother’s impatient little cough. In the next moment, Mr Hawthorne was gone, and the opportunity had passed. Felicity took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. One thing after the other. For now, she would have to focus on surviving dinner with Lord Layton!
The Three Evesham Daughters: Books 1-3: A Regency Romance Trilogy Page 34
