Seductive Wager

by Leigh Greenwood

Kate picked up her valise and tossed it on the bed. It seemed she wasn’t going to be allowed to do anything for Brett. They might, she thought petulantly, allow her to bring him his medicine if she were a good girl. She yanked the valise open and frowned as she laid out her clothes. Everything was badly wrinkled and would have to be ironed before she could wear it.

  How dare that old crone say she was crazy about Brett. She was concerned about him naturally, but she’d rather be crazy about a goat than Brett Westbrook. He had taken her honor, and instead of making a decent show of regret, he’d said he’d like to do it again. Kate could not think of that night without blushing, and her cheeks glowed warm and pink with the memory of those passion-filled moments. Try as she might, she could not erase them from her memory any more than she could sustain her anger at Brett no matter how badly he had used her.

  Now, after all his promises to take her to London, she was trapped in some obscure village on the northern coast of France. Well, running away from him should be easy this time because he was in no condition to come after her. It might take a little planning, but she could be halfway to London before they even missed her.

  She couldn’t understand why that thought should suddenly make her feel like crying. She had never been one to give way to tears, not even when Martin’s persecution of her was at its worst. She was no match for him physically, but she certainly could use her tongue. Now her defenses were falling apart. Maybe it would be best for everyone if she went away. No one had time for a female who was constantly in tears over the cards Fate had dealt her. She winced at the allusion.

  She sniffed out loud, but instead of breaking down completely, the sound of her own misery stiffened her resolve and she determined the Situation would not defeat her. After she had eaten her breakfast and consulted with the doctor, she was going to sit down and not get up until she had come up with a definite plan. She was not going to allow Brett Westbrook, or capricious Fortune, to decide her future.

  “Voilà,” Valentine announced, unceremoniously bursting into the room and banishing Kate’s gloomy mood with abundant good cheer. “Do not say Valentine does not care for her guests,” she said, setting down a pot of steaming hot tea. “Do I give tea to anyone else? Yes, but not happily. Do I bring it myself? Jamais!” But then she infuriated Kate by opening her wardrobe and drawers so she could inspect the startled girl’s clothes.

  “You English do not know how to dress,” Valentine declared, disgusted with what she found. “You do not cherish your clothes. To you they are just things to cover your nakedness. They should be like something alive, something that brings new life to you each time you wear them, something to make you feel like someone you have never been before. But these …” She made a gesture of contempt. “They deserve to die.”

  “If I could dress you for one season, one month even, Paris would talk of you for years. But not in these rags! Bah!” She slammed the wardrobe shut. “They keep you warm, eh? They protect your modesty? So would a sack.” Kate suffered an agony of embarrassment, but Valentine wasn’t through yet.

  “And the men, do they hover around you like butterflies at a flower?” She waited imperiously for an answer.

  “I have never been to a city or attended any parties,” Kate managed to mumble. “I made all my clothes, and for the last four years I’ve seen no man except my brother.”

  Valentine’s mouth dropped open and her eyes threatened to pop out of her head. “C’est vrai? This is true? You do not tell Valentine the little fib?” Kate shook her head. “Incroyable! Can it be possible that even in a country so stupid as England such a thing can happen? Ma pauvre petite. I talk to Brett. He will take you to Paris, and Valentine will come to see he does not hide you away for himself.” An irrepressible chuckle escaped her. “He is very naughty, that one. It would be too bad if he were to gobble you up.”

  “Ah,” Valentine sighed in a suddenly altered voice, “to be young and in Paris in the spring is the greatest happiness one can know. The soul is born for the first time, and love lives as delicately as the fragrance of the blossoming cherries.” Bit by bit, Valentine’s animation was replaced by a look of quiet rapture.

  “One morning you wake with a shiver of anticipation, a feeling that today something truly wonderful will happen. You float on the lightest of clouds until suddenly he is there. You know each other at once, and in that moment you experience complete happiness. Love fills your heart and lifts you to heights you never dreamed possible until, like Icarus, you fall to earth charred by the heat of your passion. The pain of parting is very bitter, but in the winter of life you will recall the glorious spring of your awakening, and know you have been loved as few others have.”

  The gossamer threads of her memories tore silently, and Valentine smiled unhappily. “To grow old is a thing most sad, but it is better if the youth has not been wasted.” Kate felt a sympathetic pang for this magnificent ruin.

  “But enough of me,” Valentine said briskly. “We must decide what to do about our Brett.” Just then, one of the maids came to say the doctor wanted to talk to them.

  “Tell him to come in here,” Valentine commanded, fixing the maid with a remonstrating glare. “Mademoiselle is having her tea, and waiting most patiently for her breakfast.”

  The flustered maid stammered that it wasn’t her fault, that the cook hadn’t finished the breakfast, but Valentine drove her from the room with Orders to deliver breakfast and the doctor without any more excuses.

  “They can do nothing by themselves,” she complained. “I work to train them, and then they run off and I am back where I started. It is enough to make me go back to Paris. At least there the girls come equipped for their work.” Her eyes brimmed with merriment as she watched the blood rush to Kate’s face. “All I had to do was stand at the door and collect the money.”

  Kate knew Valentine had said that just to make her blush. How could the old crone talk about being a madam as though it were nothing more than being an innkeeper? No matter how badly Valentine thought of them, no Englishman would have dared to mention the subject in the presence of a lady, much less joke about it. Kate choked back her chagrin, but before she could think of a reply, the maid returned with both the doctor and her breakfast.

  Dr. Burton looked tired and worried. Valentine settled him into one of the deep chairs and Kate fixed him a cup of tea. He accepted it gratefully, but said nothing until the maid had finished laying breakfast and left the room.

  “It’s more serious than I thought.” He grimaced. “Mr. Westbrook is a strong man, but he fainted when I cut the bullet out.” He took another swallow from his cup and looked up, his wrinkles deepened by worry. “He lost a lot of blood last night. He lost still more today, and that’ll make his recovery longer and more difficult, but he’s basically a healthy man with a strong Constitution. Normally I’d predict a rapid recovery, but the wound has become infected.”

  Kate felt stricken with guilt. She knew she should have tried to clean it.

  “It’s probably due to the long wait before the bullet could be removed. I’ve cleaned it as well as I can. It’s probably just as well he’s unconscious. Few men could stand the shock of brandy poured directly on raw flesh. My fear is he may develop gangrene. If he does, he will die.”

  Both women turned ashen.

  “I’ve given him a draught to make him sleep for the rest of the day, and I’m leaving some more with you. Use it sparingly, but don’t be afraid to give it to him. He must be kept as still as possible during the next few days. He needs absolute rest. Now, how do you intend to divide up the nursing?”

  “We don’t know anything about nursing,” Kate said, thoroughly alarmed by his report. “I mean to hire a nurse. Isn’t there someone you can recommend?”

  “I will do what I can,” Valentine interposed, “but I am not brave in the sick room.”

  “You’d fidget the man to death,” the doctor declared fretfully.

  Valentine swelled with indignation. “Valentine is
not a stupide,” she declared. “I can do this nursing. I just do not do it very well,” she finished meekly.

  “You may have to do it any way you can,” the doctor replied. “Old Marie was the only good nurse we had, and she went to live with her son when her husband died. The midwife is awaiting a birth right now, and if you allow Brigette Faneuil in this room, I’ll drop the case. She’s a drunk, and filthy into the bargain.”

  “I’ve never nursed anyone before,” Kate said, grimly acquiescing to the inevitable, “but I’ll try if you will tell me exactly what I should do.”

  The doctor studied her briefly, taking notice of her intelligent eyes and determined jaw. “You’ll do,” he said brusquely. “Not that we appear to have much choice. I’ll make some written notes in case of an emergency, but for the most part, I can tell you more easily than I can write it out.”

  “The first thing is to prepare a herb poultice to draw out the poisons. It must be changed at least three times a day. Be very careful to cleanse the wound with warm water laced with brandy, and be sure to use a fresh bandage. As few people as possible should touch the wound. It may need to be drained, but I’ll take care of that.”

  “I hope he will stay quiet, but he already has a slight fever and I expect it will mount over the next few days. Try to keep plenty of liquids in him. You can bathe his face, or even his whole upper body, but the best thing you can do is keep him still. His body will do the fighting for you.”

  “The wound should be inspected regularly in case the infection gets worse. I’ll come if I’m needed, but I’m too old to be running back and forth all day, and I’m not a nurse. Any questions?”

  Valentine was so upset she could barely shake her head, but Kate had herself under control. She was scared, but now that she knew what to do, she was able to face it. Brett’s only hope lay in her ability to accept these duties calmly and carry them out. She tried to smile, but her face felt wooden.

  “I’ll take the night hours, and Valentine and Charles can handle the day. That way you’ll only have one of us to teach. Please be as specific as you can about what I’m to look for and what treatment to undertake. I’ll do better if I know what I’m seeing, even if it’s something dangerous.” She stopped abruptly. “Please, Doctor, tell me how he really is. Will he get better? Will he live?” she asked in a hollow voice.

  “With careful nursing and good luck, he will recover completely. A small scar where the bullet entered and a bigger one where I took it out ought to be the only signs he was ever injured. There may be some stiffness in the Shoulder. The bullet nicked a bone and I removed some splinters, but it missed the lung. He’s lucky to be alive at all, so maybe his luck will hold. We should know within forty-eight hours. I think we’re going to come through all right. Just be calm and keep your wits about you and hell have nursing that’s as good as he could get from anybody else.”

  Kate was so grateful for his kind words that she felt like crying, but she told herself she had no time to waste on tears. Everyone was depending on her, and if she couldn’t take a few kind words without her eyes filling, she’d never manage to keep her nerve if Brett got really ill.

  “Do you know how to make a poultice?” Kate asked Valentine.

  “Mais non! Never do I go into the kitchen. But the very fat Nancy can make one, and I will set the girls to making bandages. Merde! And I took such care to buy the very best. If I did not love Brett like my own brother, I would not turn my inn into a hospital with sheets being ripped to bits and poultices brewing in stew pots. Nothing like this ever happened to me in Paris, and there they shoot each other all the time.”

  “Quiet, you shameless hussy,” commanded the doctor in not very stern reproof. “You know you love every bit of excitement your little heart can stand.”

  “Quelle horreur! You say such things about ce chére Valentine? Bête noire!”

  Kate looked from one to the other expecting Valentine to throw something. But she just stood there, eyeing the doctor in a speculative fashion, and Kate decided if Valentine was an example of the average Frenchwoman, she would never understand them and the sooner she returned to England the better.

  “I’ll leave everything about the kitchen and household to you, Valentine. Charles can watch Brett while I sleep, but he must not leave the inn. Mark can run any errands required. Is there somewhere he can sleep?”

  “Certainement. He can sleep in the room next door. Then he can hear Brett all the time.”

  “Good. Now I’m going to finish my breakfast. I’ve barely eaten for two days and I’m starving. I’m going to spend the morning with Brett then sleep all afternoon. You and Charles can divide up the time as best suits you. I’ll take over after dinner.”

  “Could you come see Mr. Westbrook then, Dr. Burton? You can tell me how he’s doing and what I have to do during the night. And please come as soon as you can in the morning. I’ll probably be frantic by then, wondering if I’ve done the right things. Valentine, if Nancy would prepare that poultice now, maybe the doctor would show me how to apply it before he leaves.”

  The doctor had listened to Kate give her Instructions in considerable admiration. It was obvious she was still scared, but she had conquered her fear and was already organizing those around her. He smiled warmly. “That’ll be fine, miss. I’ll be delighted to help if you’ll allow me another cup of tea.”

  “The one with the angel face collects her wits quickly,” Valentine observed, no less impressed than the doctor. “She will not let him die. Me? I go to the kitchen to dispute with Nancy. Bah! She is so fat she does not know if she walks on one foot or two. Poultices,” she scowled. “Such nasty things. And to think I gave up Paris for this.” She turned dejectedly toward the door. “Jacques would laugh to see me now. Mon Dieu, how he would laugh. Pagh!” she snorted, a martial light in her eye. “I will cut his throat, the little rat. No one laughs at Valentine.” Her mincing Steps became firm once more, and Valentine closed the door behind her and sailed down the passage to do battle with the mistress of the kitchens.

  Chapter 11

  An hour later Dr. Burton was gone. He had applied the poultice to the wound and bandaged it again, instructing Kate on how to keep it moist. She had had to fight down her nausea when she was confronted with the raw flesh oozing poisons, but knowing so much depended on her helped steady her nerves and calm her stomach, and she was able to listen to and remember most of what the doctor said. She tried to fix the smallest details in her mind so she could notice any change in Brett’s condition. She didn’t dare forget anything.

  Nothing happened to disturb the remainder of her morning. She had lunch in her own room and lay down afterward. She expected to fall asleep right away, but instead found herself still tossing about half an hour later, haunted by the fear that Brett would die as a result of her ignorance and neglect.

  She could see his face, so calm and peaceful yet so deathly pale, and she thought she wouldn’t have minded his thoughtlessness if only he were well. She thought of his powerful chest hidden by bandages; now only the muscled arms were uncovered, the arms which had closed around her like bands of steel, crushing her to him while he bruised her mouth with passionate kisses. She could still feel his lips on her neck and ears, remember the touch of his hands on her body, recall the bliss of surrender to his assault and the fearful ecstasy of the pinnacle of their passion. Only now was she beginning to be able to admit to herself that she, too, had found pleasure in that night. She still blushed to think of her brazen entreaty, of her bold welcome, but she also knew that what she had experienced in his arms was something very rare that was given only to a special person.

  A smile played across her lips and her body relaxed into the soft feather mattress. She remembered how incredibly handsome he looked when he was happy, the lithe grace of his trim body, and the seductive charm of his movements. It was unfortunate they were always at odds with each other. Maybe when he got well again they could try for a better understanding. True, he had treated
her abominably and she could never trust him again, but she didn’t really dislike him. Her plan to leave as soon as he could take care of himself was unchanged, but while he was desperately ill and dependent on her, she would stay.

  Panic gripped her the moment the door closed behind the doctor, but she forced herself to settle back and take up one of the books she had borrowed from Valentine. Reading enabled her to keep a close watch on Brett and at the same time keep her fears at bay. Charles came in at eleven o’clock to help change the poultice. The wound was draining heavily and the flesh around it inflamed, but it did not look critical.

  To Charles fell the unenviable task of telling Nancy that another poultice would be needed before morning. He was gone so long that Kate began to fear Nancy had refused point blank, but he finally returned saying the woman would make the poultice at three o clock.

  “How did you manage it?”

  “It was Valentine,” Charles told her, unable to suppress a smile. “When I explained what I wanted, Nancy started shrieking in some kind of French I didn’t understand. When I asked if she’d teach me how to make the poultice, she chased me out of the kitchen. I almost collided with Valentine who was standing in the doorway swathed in a voluminous nightgown, her hair twisted in little paper pigtails which stood out all over her head and her face smeared with a heavy cream. She rounded on Nancy, and somewhere in the middle of a fantastic exchange of Gallic curses, they arrived at the understanding that Nancy would make the poultice and Valentine would give her some piece of jewelry she’s been mad to have for years.”

  “Couldn’t you learn to make them anyway, just in case Nancy refuses again?” Kate asked, hoping the fight would smooth over. Brett needed the help of both women.

  “Nancy won’t let me anywhere near the kitchen. She only gave in because Valentine threatened to make them herself.”

  “You’d better get what rest you can,” Kate said, refusing to waste her time worrying about Nancy until she had to. “I’ll call you when it’s morning.” Charles went back to his room and Kate prepared to wait.