The School for Brides

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  “Get to the coach,” Harold commanded, and Noelle and Sophie rushed away. He went to Eva and gently pulled her aside as Nicolas’s eyes began to roll back. Grabbing Nicholas about the knees, he hoisted him up and settled him over his wide shoulder. He didn’t waver under Nicholas’s lifeless weight.

  Eva ran her hand over her lover’s dark head, tears scorching her cheeks. She loved him, and now she might lose him.

  “Please don’t let him die, Harold,” she begged.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Harold carried His Grace to the waiting carriage. Eva and Noelle helped him get the injured duke inside, where the other women huddled together in the cramped quarters. All eyes were wide with fear over the terrifying way the rescue had ended. Yvette wept quietly in Sophie’s arms.

  The mad earl was dead. He’d been killed, accidentally, by one of his own footmen who was attempting to murder Nicholas. Knowing Lord Maddington wasn’t alive to take revenge offered little comfort to Eva at the moment. She lifted Nicholas’s feet to put them on the seat, and felt his dead weight. His shallow breathing kept her from full despair. He was alive, but for how long?

  She stifled tears. His face was so pale. If he died, it would be her fault. If only he’d stayed in London and left her to save Yvette alone.

  When Nicholas was settled on the seat, Eva dropped to her knees and opened his coat for a better look at the wound. The moonlight clearly revealed that he was losing a great deal of blood.

  “Oh, dear.” Abigail fanned her cheeks with her hands.

  “If you faint, Abigail, I’ll shove you out of the carriage,” Noelle snapped. Abigail shot her a dark glare. “Eva and her duke need us to be strong.”

  “Duke?” Abigail’s voice was a tight squeak. “We were rescued by a duke?” Muffled whispers followed. Eva paid them no heed. She’d pressed her hand over the wound, and blood was seeping through her fingers. Harold ripped open Nicholas’s shirt in order to examine the bullet hole more closely. The ragged edges of the wound brought gasps.

  “He is bleeding to death,” Eva cried as Harold knelt beside her. “He needs a doctor.”

  “Steady, Eva. Hysterics will not help your man.” Harold gently probed the area. “Take off his cravat,” he said as he pressed his hand to the wound. “We need to stop the blood loss. We’ll worry about the bullet later.”

  Eva quickly removed the cravat and handed it to Harold. He folded the cloth tightly and pressed it against the wound. “Reach behind him and see if the bullet went through.” She slipped her hand under his body and felt around with her fingertips. There was no blood.

  “I feel nothing.” Her voice caught. Nicholas was so strong and invincible. It terrified her to think she might lose him. “The bullet must still be inside.”

  Harold silently packed the wound, tearing off parts of Nicholas’s shirt as he did so. The bandaging was crude but serviceable. They couldn’t go back inside the abbey for help. Not with the earl lying dead on the lawn.

  A hand reached out to touch her head. It took Eva a moment to realize the hand belonged to His Grace. She lifted her eyes and scanned his face in the moonlight. Her heart leapt. His eyes were closed, but the corners of his mouth twitched. “I despise that wig.”

  Eva laugh-cried and pulled it from her head. Her hair tumbled about her shoulders and over his hand in a tangled mass. Whispers rose again. The courtesans had never seen her without her disguise. “I will burn it tomorrow, I swear it.”

  A sob broke from her throat as he wove his fingers through her hair and coughed. She cupped his free hand to her face and kissed his palm, wetting it with her tears.

  “No time to crumble, love. I need my feisty spinster now.” Nicholas opened his lids slightly, and her chest tightened. The light in his intense eyes had dimmed. It was a very bad sign. “Where is Maddington?”

  “Dead,” Harold said. A dog bayed in the distance, and Harold’s movements quickened. The entire household must have been roused by the shots. Confusion would give them a few precious minutes to make certain Nicholas was out of immediate danger.

  Nicholas nodded. His hand slid from her hair. “If I survive this, I’ll thank the footman.”

  Eva cupped his face. His skin felt cool to the touch. “You will survive. I’ll not have it otherwise.” She leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his slightly parted lips. “My revenge for your insufferable behavior is not yet complete. I still have a list of tortures to heap upon your arrogant head.”

  A slow smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Then I shall look forward to many years of suffering ahead, madam.”

  He slumped back on the squabs and his eyes closed. Eva whimpered and reached to press her fingertips to his neck. Her body felt drained of blood until her fingers found his pulse.

  “Keep the cravat tightly pressed to the wound,” Harold said, and stepped quickly out the door of the coach. “I need to get us safely away.”

  A shout came from somewhere in the darkness. Searchers must be scrambling to look for the earl’s killer. The household would be in a panic. The coach rocked as Harold climbed into the driver’s seat and called to the horses. The coach jerked, sending Eva onto her rump as the women huddled tightly together on one seat. She quickly returned to her knees and positioned herself to put pressure on Nicholas’s wound.

  “He is a strong man, Eva,” Noelle said, and reached out to put a comforting hand on her arm. “He will fight for himself and for you.”

  Tears began anew. Eva felt warm rivulets trickle down her cheeks. “I cannot live without him, Noelle. I love him.”

  Noelle climbed down beside her and placed an arm around her shoulders. “I know you do, dearest.” She placed a hand over Eva’s, and the two of them held the bandages tight. “We will fight for him together, sister.”

  A sharp intake of breath came from behind them, followed by speculative murmurs. Discovering their Miss Black was not only in disguise but also kin to Noelle came as a shock to the courtesans. Another of Eva’s secrets was exposed.

  At the moment she didn’t care. Once Nicholas was under a doctor’s care, she could sort all this out.

  They passed through the trees and onto the road. Moonlight flooded the coach. Seconds later Sophie gasped. “I know him. He is His Grace, the Duke of Stanfield. I have seen him riding in the park.”

  Eva knew she could not take her secrets back. Her courtesans were too bright to accept weak lies. Before she could untwist the muddle in her mind and find a reasonable explanation, Noelle turned her head.

  “Miss Eva is my sister,” Noelle snapped. “I’m Lady Noelle Seymour. We have just recently become acquainted. His Grace and my sister are, uh, friends. So I ask that you kindly stop your infernal speculation until he is safe and cared for.”

  The coach fell silent except for the squeaks and groans of its wild flight and Harold’s calls to the horses. It seemed like hours before they finally came to a stop. Eva’s legs were numb from crouching, and her hands tingled where they pressed against the wound. Harold clambered down and jerked open the door. For a moment she saw the light of a single lamp outside a large house before Harold climbed into the carriage.

  “Where are we?” Eva asked.

  “We’ll have time later for explanations.” Harold bent and lifted Nicholas off the seat. It took Eva, Noelle, and Harold some awkward maneuvering to get the duke out of the coach and over Harold’s shoulder. An old man in a nightshirt, cap, and thick spectacles squinted in the lamplight as everyone tumbled out of the coach.

  “My Lord?”

  Harold brushed past him. “Send for a doctor.” The women rushed to keep up as Harold headed for a wide staircase. Eva couldn’t register anything more than that the house seemed somewhat worn as she kept in step behind her servant. All she could hope was that the owners of the manor house would not refuse to help the nine strangers who had arrived on their doorstep.

  Harold paused briefly at the top of the stairs, then turned right and headed for a room at the end of the h
allway. He kicked the door open, carried Nicholas to the bed, and eased him onto the blue coverlet. The old servant appeared in the doorway and impatiently brushed past the clutch of women.

  “I sent for the doctor, and rooms have been opened for your guests, My Lord.” He peered over his shoulder at the young women dressed as men, and blinked. “Shall I escort the, um, ladies to their rooms?”

  “Thank you, Edgar, and see that they are fed.” Harold turned back to Nicholas and began to remove his shirt. “Bring me water and something for bandages.”

  “Yes, My Lord.”

  “My Lord?” Eva stared at Harold. It was the third time he had been addressed that way. He carefully avoided her eyes as he ripped away the bandages to expose the wound. She joined Harold on the bed.

  “The man is clearly feeble of mind,” he said tightly.

  Eva had no time to press. Caring for Nicholas had become her focus. She and Harold cleaned away the blood. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle as it dried around the wound. Somewhere in her exhausted mind she registered the sound of a boy’s voice advising Harold that the doctor was attending a difficult birth and would be delayed indefinitely.

  Harold nodded grimly and dismissed the lad. He returned to the bed, his face tight. “We will have to remove the bullet ourselves.”

  Eva shook her head. “I’ll not have His Grace die during a botched surgery I helped perform. There has to be another doctor.” She probed the wound and felt the bullet below the skin. Thank God it hadn’t gone deeper.

  Harold stared into her face. “There is no one.” He dipped the bloody cloth into the basin. “Do you trust me, Eva?” She paused for only a blink, then nodded slowly. He was one of the two people she trusted completely. “Then let us get this bullet out.”

  Working with quiet efficiency, Harold dug the bullet from the flesh just below Nicholas’s rib cage. The duke thrashed on the bed in his delirium but did not regain consciousness. Harold then stepped back while Eva closed the wound with tiny stitches. When the duke was finally bandaged and settled beneath the coverlet, she slumped in the chair, her face in her hands.

  Harold slipped quietly from the room.

  Nearly two hours later, Nicholas stirred. Eva rose from the chair to place her hand on his head. So far fever had remained at bay. Infection was always a worry despite Harold’s skilled bullet removal. She sat beside Nicholas and took his hand. His eyes flickered open.

  “Your Grace?” she brushed his hair back from his eyes and scanned his beloved face. He was pale, yet some color was returning to his cheeks. His lower lip was slightly swollen, and several black-and-blue smudges resembling the shape of knuckles rimmed his right eye. “Can you hear me?”

  “I feel like I’ve been kicked by a mule,” he rasped, brushing his hand over his ribs. He grimaced. “Did you allow a butcher to tend me?”

  Eva smiled. “It was Harold. He took the bullet out.”

  He snorted, “Doubtless, with a dull, rusty blade.” Nicholas shifted weakly and straightened his legs. Eva helped him into a more comfortable position, then tucked another blanket around him. “I should thank him for not burying the blade in my belly.”

  “You should.” She brushed hair out of his eyes. “He did a fine job. I think he has warmed to you.”

  One eyelid dropped closed as he peered sidelong at her. “Warmed may be overstating his feelings. I would settle for no longer wanting to snap my neck.”

  With a shrug, Eva rubbed gooseflesh on her arms. She tried to ignore the rush of affection in her heart and to remain stoic. Now that he was safe, she pulled back, intending to shield herself from further hurt. Nothing had truly changed between them. Love couldn’t close the chasm separating them.

  “He is very protective, and you were a beast. Forcing me into your bed! Did you expect him to invite you to billiards and conversation like you were old friends?”

  “Touché, love.” His hand snaked out and closed over her thigh. A shiver thrilled up her leg. The warmth in his eyes set her heart beating erratically. Clearly the bullet wound hadn’t dampened his ardor. “I was not at my best.”

  She kept her eyes carefully averted from his lower extremities, thankful the coverlet hid his nakedness. She wasn’t certain if she could withstand the sight of him without his clothes. It had been days since he’d touched her, and she ached to be in his arms.

  “If you don’t mind riding atop, you are welcome to join me in love play, sweet.” Eva startled, and realized he must have seen the raw hunger in her eyes. Warmth crept across her face. “I’d not push you away.”

  It took all her strength not to do as he asked. Every emotion, every part of her wanted to throw aside caution and give herself fully—mind, body, and soul—to him. But there was still the matter of her future.

  He’d become her joy, and she struggled under its weight. There were limits to what part she could play in his life, and she wasn’t happy with the restrictions. So she ignored the comment and changed the topic.

  “You are a hero, Your Grace.” She stood and returned to the chair. She locked her hands together to stop their trembling. “If not for your timely intervention, the earl would have captured or killed us all.”

  “It was you I was worried about. When your man Harold came looking for you, I knew immediately that you’d ignored my wishes and gone to mount a rescue. Stubborn chit!” He scowled. “We came straightaway. I left Harold to guard the coach. I’ve been inside the abbey several times for house parties and knew I could find my way in the darkness. He would have slowed my progress.”

  “Harold must have balked at your orders.”

  Nicholas grinned and yawned. “The wishes of a duke trump those of a servant.”

  Eva sighed. “I am positive you played the card well.” She could imagine the two men chest to chest, huffing and braying for the highest rung on the ladder. But there was nothing Harold could do against the duke. He would’ve been very angry to be left behind.

  “I am very happy I did.” Nicholas plucked at the bandage. “He saved my life. If anyone deserves our thanks, it is Harold.”

  For saving Nicholas, Eva would be forever grateful to Harold. He had proven his loyalty and friendship when she needed him most.

  “Well, I’m happy you’ll survive to return to London, marry Lucy, and have a dozen children. And I will match my courtesans and become a very stiff and dour old spinster as I ease into my dotage.” Not even the lightness in her tone could ease the depths of her sadness. She wanted to curl up in a corner and cry. “Complete with a horrid wig and spectacles.”

  “I fear your plans will not come to fruition, love,” Nicholas said. “I see no lonely spinsterhood in your future. Nor do I intend to wed Lucy. Not now, not ever.”

  Eva stared.

  “I’ve decided my future lies with a certain fiery courtesan with beautiful amber eyes and hair that drives me mad with desire,” he continued unabated. “She is the only woman who will be sharing my bed from this day forward.”

  His words made no sense. “Clearly you are suffering the ill effects of your injury. You are required, not by law, certainly, but by an ancient code, to wed a woman of impeccable breeding and to father children of pure bloodlines. I am not that woman.” She drew back and set her chin at a stubborn angle. “There are too many bastards in this world already. As one myself, I will not bring forth any others.”

  Nicholas snorted. “Have I asked you to bear my bastards, my dearest Evangeline?”

  “You have vowed we will continue to share a bed.” She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “Unless I prove to be barren, the chances are very high you will eventually plant a fertile seed inside me.” Her cheeks warmed. “I will not have my child live the fatherless life I’ve lived.”

  “I may have already done the deed.” He dipped his gaze to her stomach. “I did not take my normal precautions.”

  She shook her head firmly. “I do not carry your child.”

  Settling his green eyes on her, he scratched a
round the bandage with a finger. He grimaced from the movement.

  “You are entirely too stubborn for your own good. I cannot believe that after growing up with my father and watching my mother suffer for her love, I have allowed you to capture my heart.” He smiled softly. “I want you to be my wife, Eva.”

  Had the chair not been beneath her rump, she would have fallen into a heap on the floor. “Your wife?” she squeaked. “You are clearly delirious from blood loss. I cannot wed you. I’m the bastard daughter of a courtesan. I have lived my life hiding that fact and saving courtesans from my mother’s fate. I cannot be a duchess. It would be scandalous.”

  Annoyance tightened his mouth. “I care not where you came from or who your parents were.”

  Eva jumped to her feet with a cry. “I care. Society cares. Once the gossips learn who my mother is, they will rip us both apart and push Mother into a darkness she can never escape.” She backed away and pressed her clasped hands to her mouth. “We will not mention this again, Your Grace. Ever.”

  With that, she raced from the room.

  Nicholas listened to Eva’s retreating steps through the open door, his ire rising with each footfall. He’d finally come to the conclusion that he loved her and wanted to wed her, and she’d rejected him most soundly.

  The woman was indeed stubborn down to her perfect toes. Shaking her until her teeth rattled wasn’t an option in his weakened condition. Neither was dragging her off to Gretna Green and forcing a marriage. Knowing Eva as he did, forcing her to do anything usually didn’t end well. She was entirely too independent. And he loved her for that, and all the other aspects of her character he’d once found trying.

  “Your Grace?”

  He looked up and saw Eva’s sister standing hesitantly in the doorway. She was lovely in yellow, though the dress had seen better times. If he had a lick of sense, he’d offer for her instead. Lady Seymour had grown up in privilege and wouldn’t balk at becoming a duchess. She could keep his home and entertain guests and bear him loads of children.