“Next to my room,” she told Molly then turned to the doctor. “Will he live,” she asked as she held her breath.
The doctor shrugged his shoulders. “It will depend, Infection is our biggest concern now. But he might survive.”
Amanda watched Lord Warwick being carried out of the room as her insides turned over. He would not die. She would make sure of it.
Chapter Two
The bedroom door closed behind the doctor as he and his assistant departed, Molly was showing them out. Amanda however did not want to leave Lord Warwick’s side. For some unknown reason, her insides told her that she must stay by his side.
The man needed her. A fact that sent a warm, comfortable feeling through her.
Her stomach turned over at the idea of being alone with him, here, in this bedroom. The ladies of the ton would howl with indignation if they ever found out.
Reaching down, she fluffed his pillow, pulled the blanket up to his chin then sat in the chair she had moved next to his bed.
Removing her spectacles, she made to wipe them on her dress when she realized the lower corner was smeared with blood. Lord Warwick’s blood. Cringing inside, she quickly cleaned them. You must put aside this revulsion, she told herself. There would be much greater tribulations over the next few days than blood on her spectacles.
Would he live? The worry refused to leave her.
Leaning forward, she studied him. Handsome, he had always been breathtakingly handsome. High cheekbones, a strong forehead. The perfect symbol for British nobility. She thought back to the few times they had danced together. The man had towered over her, his broad shoulders blocking out half the room.
Of course, every woman in the ballroom had found him attractive. She could remember more than one woman following his every move with a look of hunger. The memory made her smile. Such silliness. The man was a proven rake with absolutely no interest in matrimony.
But then, many of them had probably been thinking of something other than marriage.
Now, wounded, sleeping, the man looked so vulnerable. His pale face haggard. The soft yellow lamplight making him look sallow. His brow scrunched up in pain and stress. A sight she would never have believed possible. He had always seemed so intimidating. So confident. Yet, here he was brought low.
So not like the man she had known. As Olivia’s family friend, her contact with Lord Warwick had been casual. Discussions about trivial matters, the occasional dance. Amanda had made sure to not allow herself to be seduced by his charm and good looks.
No, a man like the Earl of Warwick was to be avoided. At least when it came to any thought of romantic involvement. Despite his good looks, his wealth, his social standing. No, those were unimportant, she had reminded herself more than once. More form over function.
Besides, Lord Warwick had shown absolutely no interest in her. No flirtatious banter, no meaningful looks or hidden smiles.
Nothing, no reaction. He had always treated her as if she were his maiden aunt. Cold, formally. Like the perfect gentleman she knew him not to be. How unattractive must she be to not even interest a known rake?
The thought built a small anger in the bottom of her stomach. While she had absolutely no interest in Lord Warwick, that did not mean he should have none in her.
Shaking her head at the silliness of her thoughts, she leaned forward and rested a hand on his forehead. It was a little warm. Her heart lurched at the thought of infection. It was early yet, but the doctor had repeatedly said it was their greatest worry.
The door opened to have Molly discover her bent over Lord Warwick, her hand on his brow.
Molly paused for a moment as she frowned. “I have cleaned the hallway, mum. There was more blood than a butcher’s shop.”
Amanda shuddered at the image.
“These were in his pockets,” the maid said as she held out her hand.
Amanda retrieved two copper pennies, a pencil stub, and an ivory clad pen knife. Not a workman’s tool, she realized as she turned it over in her hand. Why had he carried this? It was rather rich for a workman and might have revealed his true worth.
“I burned his clothes,” Molly said, “They were too far gone to even be turned into rags. I’m not spending my night removing blood from a stranger’s clothes.
Molly stepped up next to the bed and look down at the man. “Who is he Mum?” she asked. “And don’t be telling me you don’t know. I saw how he looked at you. He knows you Mum, and you him.”
Amanda swallowed hard. She had feared this.
“The Earl of Warwick,” she told her maid. Holding her breath while she waited for Molly’s reaction.
The maid gasped and took a step back.
Amanda smiled to herself. “He won’t bite, I promise you.”
“An Earl, mum? Are you sure?”
Amanda nodded. “He is a friend of Mr. Caldwell and Miss Olivia’s, sorry, Lady Bradford. I have met him several times. He was Lord Bradford’s best man when I stood with Olivia at their wedding.”
Molly nodded as she continued to study the man in the bed. “He is a handsome one,” she said with a smile.
“But, Molly, no one must know that he is here. No one, do you understand?”
“Why? Surely his family will want to know. You can’t keep a Lord all to yourself, Mum, it just isn’t done.”
Amanda shook her head firmly. “No, he asked me, while you were obtaining the doctor. No one must know. I gave him my word. And I must insist you do the same.”
Molly frowned as she slowly nodded. “Of course mum. But you know what people will say if they learn you were keeping a man, a Lord at that, here in the house.”
Amanda frowned. “The man is wounded. Bedridden.”
Molly laughed gently, “That won’t stop the biddies from talking, Mum. You know them. They do love a story. And from what I hear, it is even worse where he comes from. His world has all those rules.”
“Well, we will have to make sure no one finds out, won’t we.”
“Yes, Mum,” Molly said as she turned to look at her employer. Frowning slightly, she shook her head. “You need to change clothes, I will sit with him.”
Amanda cringed, she was used to the younger woman asserting herself, but never this critically. Then, looking down, she realized why. Her dress was covered in blood.
“You don’t want him waking and seeing you like that, Mum,” Molly added.
Amanda shuddered as she imagined Lord Warwick waking up to find her disheveled and less than presentable. No, the man already thought so little of her. No need to confirm his bias.
“Just a moment then, I will return shortly.”
“Of course, Mum,” Molly said as she turned to fluff his pillow. “It isn’t as if we will be going anywhere.”
Amanda turned at the adjoining door with her bedroom and looked back at her patient. Would he live? Her stomach turned over at the thought of losing him. A realization that surprised her. She would never have believed that she would care this much for Lord Warwick, but the thought of losing him just felt too wrong.
No, she would not allow it to happen, she thought as she hurried into her room to change. The sooner she was done, the sooner she could return to his bedside.
.o0o.
Lord Johnathon Warwick, the Seventh Earl of Warwick drifted in a world of blackness. A blackness visited by angels. Chestnut-haired angels with sparkling eyes surrounded by gold spectacles. An angel with a tender touch that kept the demons away.
As he drifted, he fought to remember. The night sky. Black. Almost as black as this new world. An explosion of pain. Why?
The reason escaped him. But deep in his soul, he knew it was important. Then, before he could find it. He floated back into nothingness.
Again, awareness returned to him. He had been wounded. Shot. Men who wanted to stop him from finding out the truth had tried to kill him. Why had they failed? How had he escaped? Again, he let his mind wander to that night. He had come there to meet a source. A man who could tell him
the truth. A report, a piece of paper.
But when he had entered the alley, his source lay there next to the brick building, his neck twisted in an unnatural angle. As Warwick had kneeled to investigate, a sound behind him caused him shift just as two explosions shattered the night.
Then what? No, nothing, he couldn’t follow the tracks of his memory. He must leave the blackness. Gritting his teeth at the pain he knew would come, he slowly allowed his eyes to flutter open.
There it was, the pain in both his should and his hip. A scorching, throbbing pain that tried to drive out everything else.
“You’re awake.” A soft voice said from the chair next to the bed.
Warwick shifted, sending another bolt of fire through his right shoulder but he needed to identify that voice, he needed to know who controlled whether he lived or died.
There, in the soft candlelight was his angel. The woman who had drifted in out of his awareness. Miss Amanda Wates. A goddess of tender mercy and probably the only person in the world he could trust here in London.
A thousand memories rushed back into his mind. The pain of being shot. The surprising realization of finding himself still alive. The long slog to Amanda Waters’ door, just a block from his meeting place.
The shock on her face when she had first seen him. A combination of surprise and something else. Something he couldn’t quite place.
He remembered the firm way she had taken charge and the feel of her soft breasts across his legs as she held him down so that the surgeon could dig around his insides.
Then, there was more, her soft touch as she changed his dressing. And more, something else that he couldn’t pull from his brain. Some memory that refused to return no matter how hard he tried.
“Miss Amanda,” he croaked as his throat seized from disuse.
“Here,” she said as she jumped up. “You need water.” Placing a hand under his neck, she helped lift him so that he could drink from the cup she held to his mouth. A throbbing ache radiated out from his shoulder.
Warwick, closed his eyes as the cool liquid slowly slid down his throat. It was as if life itself was returning to him.
“How long?” he managed to squeak out.
She smiled softly and said, “Three days,”
Three days. No, it could not have been that long. How could so much time disappear without him knowing? Then, a sudden fear coursed through him. “Who knows?” he asked as he held his breath.
The young woman frowned for a long second and then slowly shook her head. “No one but my maid. You told me not to tell anyone.”
He sighed heavily as he let his body sink into the bed with relief.
“The doctor has come to check on you several times,” she said. “But he does not know your name. He thinks I do not know who you are either. If he thought I was nursing an Earl, believe me, I would have been charged a great deal more for his services. As it is, he believes you are a common workman, a laborer who was shot for some unknown reason.”
Warwick’s insides began to grow nervous again.
“I have not sent word to our mutual friends, Nathanial or Lord Bradford. Again, at your insistence. A fact that still bothers me, I might add. But you were adamant.
Warwick smiled at her and nodded slightly. “Thank you, Miss Amanda,” he said as he rested a hand on hers and looked up into her eyes. “Thank you,”
She blushed prettily then put the cup of water on the table next to the bed, suddenly unable to meet his gaze.
He was safe, he realized. Safe to continue. A tiredness washed over him as he was able to relax. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to drift off. He was safe, his angel would watch over him.
Sometime later, a long time later he believed, he returned to find a new angel there. The maid, he realized. Trying to knit. He watched from shrouded eyes as she backed out of her row and tried again.
Pretty, young, but not his angel.
Her eyes shot up to catch him watching her. She gasped and jumped back in her seat.
“I will get Miss Amanda,” she said as she scurried out of her chair.
“Wait,” he said, reaching out with his left hand to take her wrist, stopping her from leaving.
The young maid looked down at his hand then into his eyes. Her glance was guarded, hesitant.
“Thank you,” he mumbled through cracked lips.
She relaxed and shook her head. “it’s not me you should be thanking,” the young woman said. “It’s Miss Amanda who has been caring for you. If I hadn’t made her go get some rest she would be here still.”
“Miss Amanda?” he asked
The maid nodded sharply. “She wouldn’t let me get someone. Insisted she do everything herself. A right fine nurse she would make, I believe.”
Warwick frowned as faint memories filled him. Amanda giving him water. Wiping his brow when he burned with fever. Once, he had woken just enough to find her changing his bandages. The cool air had chilled him, but she had worked quickly and he had drifted off again before she even knew he had wakened.
Another time, she had been forcing him to swallow a warm broth. The determined set of her eyes had let him know that she would accept nothing except full compliance.
His angel.
The maid studied him for a moment and then gently pulled her hand away from his grip.
Amanda had cared for him. How unusual, not what he would have expected from someone with her refined expectations.
As he tried to remember more, the maid returned with Amanda. His angel, he thought as she looked at him hesitantly. Her hair was mussed and her dress wrinkled. As if she had woken from a quick nap and come to him without taking time to prepare herself.
Then, as if remembering her duties, she rushed to his bedside and lay a hand across his brow.
“Will I live?” he asked, half in jest.
She smiled sweetly down at him. “Perhaps. Your fever has broken and your wounds are mending.”
“They itch,” he said. “I am told that is a good sign.”
Again she smiled as she nodded. “Yes, and I must confess, it was in some doubt. But you appear better. A lot better.”
The relief in her voice did something to his insides. She had been concerned. Obviously upset at the thought of him dying under her roof. For some reason, the thought made him feel good. As if he were special.
He let her help him sit forward, her hand behind the back of his neck felt like a warm comfort as she helped him raise up enough to take a drink of water.
“I am told that I have you to thank for my care,” he said after he had finished taking a drink.
“Yes, well,” she said with that pretty blush of hers. “You wouldn’t let me tell anyone else. Remember?”
He nodded as his good arm lifted to touch his chin. “Who shaved me?”
She blushed briefly. “I did, I used my father’s blade.”
He continued to rub his chin and cheek then smiled, “Better than my valet, excellent.”
The young woman blushed again.
“So, no one else knows I am here. No one knows I survived the shooting?”
“Molly knows,” Amanda reminded him. “She guessed a great deal of it very early on. But I assure you, she will not tell anyone.”
“Not unless I need to,” the maid mumbled under her breath as she retrieved the water cup to get more.
Warwick shot the maid a quick look who returned it openly. A look that told him if he hurt her mistress she would inform the world of who he was and where he lay. Smiling at her, he nodded. Message received.
Molly nodded back, giving him a last stern look before she left the room.
Amanda frowned after. “I assure you, Lord Warwick. She will not tell anyone. Even our cook doesn’t know who you are. Like the doctor, she believes you are a simple workman.”
He lay back on the bed as once again a tiredness threatened him. He felt as weak as a kitten. A feeling that he must get past if he was to finish what he must.
“N
ot Lord Warwick,” he said as he closed his eyes. “You must call me John. No chance of a mistake. Just John. John Tolliver … family name. I will call you Miss Waters or … Amanda.”
The tiredness returned. “It that acceptable?”
She nodded slightly and said, “Of course John. I understand.”
He sighed internally as he started to drift off. “Thank you, Amanda.”
She smiled softly as she touched his forehead again, gently pushing the hair from his eyes.
“My angel,” he muttered to himself as he once again drifted into the blackness.
Chapter Three
Miss Amanda Waters was torn in a dozen different directions. Surely she should notify someone. Friends, family. Yet the man was truly worried about someone finding out that he had survived.
Molly thought she was a fool. “Men who get shot are up to no good. Even Lords,” she had told her as she brought in another bowl of warm broth. Amanda’s insides had tightened up when she realized her maid was right. Upstanding men did not get shot. Not in London. Not unless it was on the dueling fields and there were none of those close to her home.
No. the man was not to be trusted, she reminded herself. There were too many mysteries. Too many unknowns.
Who was this man? she wondered, not for the first time. There was the British Lord he presented to the ton. Yet he went about in workman’s clothes. His reputation as a rake was sell established. No, she must never forget that aspect of him.
There were his contacts with the criminal element. She well remembered during Olivia’s kidnapping how he had marshaled men up and down the coast. Smugglers, charging them to be on the lookout for Olivia.
Why would such men listen to him?
Now, here he was, shot and worried about anyone finding out that he had survived.
Why? Was she in danger by protecting him? It wasn’t just herself. Amanda needed to think of her staff. What would happen if the man’s attackers learned he was here?
Sighing, she put the book down and studied him. So handsome, with a definite hint of danger. Of course, being shot would do that for a man. But there was something else. Something that bothered her.
Challenging A Rake (A Rake's Redemption Book 4) Page 2
