“Where the hell am I?”
She looked relieved. “I don’t know.”
“What?”
“That awful man attacked us and then we rode across country. I was so scared, but I did what you said and let Diablo find the way. We are somewhere in Wales. The people are very nice. They fetched the doctor and he fixed you up and gave you some laudanum.”
“Diablo?” Simon tried to sit up. The room swung around his head. He closed his eyes to ward off the nausea.
She pressed him back against the pillow. “Lie still or you will make it worse.”
“Hell and the devil. That b— idiot shot me.”
“He did. And Diablo is fine. He’s quite wonderful, actually. He found the way all by himself and chose this place.”
Simon couldn’t quite make sense of all she was saying. Not important. He had to get her to safety, then he could think. “I have to get you back to London before anyone—”
“No.” She shook her head. Black curls swayed tantalizingly, begging his hands to sink into their depths, cradle her head, pull her close until he could claim her lovely lush lips. He liked her kisses. When had he last kissed her properly? Days ago? Weeks? Years? It felt like years. He starved for her kisses.
“You can’t be moved.”
What was she talking about? He peered at her with a frown.
“The doctor said if you lose any more blood, you could die. The bullet went right through your shoulder. He’s worried you might contract a fever.” She shook a finger at him. “You lost a lot of blood, you know.”
Women always fussed about such stuff. “It’s just a scratch.” He tried to sit up. The bed ropes protested as he barely moved an inch. He sank back, exhausted.
“You see,” she said. “Simon, I had to use your money to pay the shot and the doctor.”
“Good idea,” he said smiling at her.
She looked conscience stricken.
“What?” he asked.
She hung her head. “They only have one room. I told them I was your wife.”
Wife. It had a nice sound to it. Naturally she looked horrified. He was the last person any sensible woman would want to marry. Oh well. It seemed she was stuck with him for the nonce. Amused by the idea, he chuckled then winced as the movement jarred his shoulder.
She indicated his bandage. “Does it hurt? The doctor said the laudanum would take away the pain.”
Laudanum. No wonder his limbs and brain felt like sheep’s wool. Too bad it hadn’t put out the fire in his loins. Not that there was anything much he could do about that in his present condition. “It doesn’t hurt unless I move.”
“Don’t move, then.”
“No, my lady.”
“My lady?”
“If we are married you, my dear, are my lady. The Countess of Travis.”
She made a wry face. “I gave our name as Yelverton. I had said it before I realized we needed to be married. So you are Mr. Yelverton.”
How like her to strip him of his title. “I see, wife.”
A confused blush stained her cheekbones. She settled in the small armchair by the window and he fixed his happy gaze on her lovely face. He intended to enjoy every moment of being married to Victoria Yelverton. His eyes drifted closed.
“Eat your broth, Simon.” Victoria said.
“Eat it?” His flushed face had the expression of a truculent little boy. “How can I eat this pap? Bring me something I can use my teeth on.”
“The doctor said broth is the best thing for you. It will do you good. Make you stronger.”
He glared at her. “Damn the doctor.” Then, as if sensing her worry, not to mention her annoyance, he sighed. “Fine.” He struggled to sit up.
What a stubborn, proud man he was. He never asked for help. She restrained him with a hand on his good shoulder. “No. You must lie still. I will feed you.”
A wickedly amused smile curved his lips and his blue eyes lit with a predatory gleam. “All right, sit here.” He indicated the edge of the bed.
Her stomach fluttered and heat flashed to her cheeks. She couldn’t prevent it when he looked at her in just that way. He’d been doing ever since he awoke, this morning.
“Soup,” she said.
He made a face. She sat sideways on the edge of the bed.
At the touch of the spoon to his lips, he opened his mouth. “You must be hungry,” she said. She dabbed at his mouth with a napkin before scooping up another mouthful. “Open.”
He cursed, but did as she asked.
This time when she dabbed at him, he caught her wrist.
A gem-hard glitter fractured his gaze. “Stop it. You make me feel like a helpless child.”
It seemed his pride made it impossible for him to accept help. “You must eat. The doctor won’t let you get up if I tell him you have been uncooperative.”
He moved his head impatiently, his black, tousled hair stark against the white pillow. “Let him try to stop me. We have to leave here. Ogden is probably on his way right now.”
She shook her head. “Nonsense.”
His grip tightened. “Always defending him, aren’t you? What is he to you?”
This obsessive hatred of Ogden was tiresome. “Nonsense. You don’t know he’s trying to find us.”
He let go of her, a sneer on his lips. “Oh, I know, Victoria. Believe me. What I don’t know, is what role you play in all this.”
He always thought the worst of her when it came to Ogden. “I have no role, as you put it.”
His lip curled. How she hated his cynical expression. “He’s going to great lengths to get you back.”
She glared at him. “How can he get me back, when I never went to him in the first place?”
“Do you think I believe that? I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I know you met with him secretly. How can you stomach the cur’”
“He was Michael’s friend, and is mine, and nothing more.”
“Friend?” He spat the word at her as if it tasted of poison. “He held your hand in the park. Why not simply admit he’s your lover and have done? You met him the Wednesday afternoon when you disappeared for hours. Don’t take me for a fool.”
“How dare you accuse me of lying? I went to meet Cassandra Eckford. She wanted me to help her escape from you.”
His expression eased a little, but doubt lingered in the depth of his piercing blue eyes “Then why send Quigley for you?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps, like you, he thought he was rescuing me from a fate worth than death.”
His laugh was short and bitter.
She glared at him. “Your disagreement with Viscount Ogden is no business of mine. Unless you’d care to tell me about it.” She held her breath, wondering if, for once, he would actually confide in her.
His expression shuttered. And just like that, he distanced himself. Cut himself off from her. Why that would hurt, she didn’t know. But it did. A great deal more than it should. She squeezed her eyes shut briefly. “Very well, do not eat the broth. I am sure it is of no concern to me.
She started to rise.
He grabbed her wrist, his fingers hot against her skin. “Dash it woman. Feed it to me. Let’s get this over with.”
It was something, she supposed. She couldn’t resist a small smile when he ate every bite she offered.
A heavy tread sounded on the stairs. “The doctor is here.”
Victoria cleared the tray away and moved to the other side of the bed, leaving room for the doctor.
“And how is my patient today?” Dr. Rees, a gray-haired, jolly Welshman, deposited his black bag at the end of the bed.
“He seems a little feverish,” Victoria replied.
“Aye, no doubt. You’ll have to keep him quiet for a day or two.”
“I’m still here,” Simon said in arctic tones. “I might be injured, but I’ve not lost my faculties. And to answer your question, good sir, I am perfectly well. Thank you.”
Having been impressed by the
man’s calm manner when he’d cleaned and bandaged Simon’s wound, Victoria trusted him to know what was best. “He was doing well until he refused the laudanum this morning.” She folded her hands at her waist. “Since then, he had been exceedingly irritable, no doubt as a consequence of the pain.”
“Let’s see, shall we?” Rees picked up Simon's wrist and feeling his pulse. He pursed his lips. “Thready.”
Simon glowered at him. “Thready? What does that mean?”
“Simon, shh,” Victoria said.
“Don’t shh me,” he muttered.
“Is he always such a difficult patient, Mrs. Yelverton?” Doctor Rees placed a palm on Simon’s forehead. “Husbands are supposed to listen to their wives when they are sick, young man.”
Sure her guilt showed on her face, Victoria was glad the doctor didn’t glance in her direction.
“She’s a shrew,” Simon grumbled, winking at Victoria while the doctor undid his bandage. “Won’t let me up. Won’t give me decent food.”
“Simon.” Victoria wanted to strangle him.
“Hmph,” Doctor Rees muttered and raked through his bag. He pulled out bandages, wadding and medications, along with a knife. He cut the old bandages away, his touch gentle. “He must remain in bed, Mrs. Yelverton. I will not have my good work ruined for the lack of a few days’ rest. I am relying on you to carry out these instructions.”
Victoria bit her lip as Simon’s expression turned flinty.
“I’ll get up when I damned well please,” Simon mumbled.
Rees gave Victoria a stern look over his shoulder “He won’t. Not if you want him to live to next week.”
Victoria shuddered. The doctor’s quiet tones frightened her more than any yelling would have done.
“The best cure for an injury is sleep.” Doctor Rees continued pressing down on the wound with a serious expression. “I’ll leave you with laudanum for the pain and cleansing powders for the wound, in case you should need to change the bandage before I come again. If his fever remains high, I will bleed him.”
“Talk to me, you goddamn sawbones,” Simon said through gritted teeth.
“You’ll do as you’re told, young man, or I’ll send for the magistrate to investigate this supposed accidental shooting, no matter what your good wife here says.”
Simon cursed and subsided into glowering resentment as the doctor’s professional hands worked on the ugly mess the bullet had made.
Victoria repressed her nausea at the sight of black, encrusted blood around the angry-looking wound. She watched the doctor work, determined to follow his instructions while sincerely hoping it wouldn’t be necessary to put what she learned into practice.
The wound cleaned and powdered, Simon supported himself on his elbow while Doctor Rees wrapped the bandages over his shoulder and around his chest. Victoria could only imagine his pain, since he showed no indication on his face. In fact, his deep and steady breathing made him appear almost at rest. He lay back with his eyes closed when the doctor finished.
“That’s it for now, Mrs. Yelverton. I’ll call again tomorrow. Keep him quiet and still and cool. Let us hope the fever is gone by morning. After that, he’ll start to feel more the thing. Send for me if you are at all worried.”
Expressing her gratitude for his kindness, Victoria saw the doctor down the stairs and out to his trap. She returned after a quick bite to eat in the kitchen to find Simon asleep.
The tiny bedroom barely accommodated the nightstand and an armchair beside the window. She had spent last night in the chair watching Simon, and it looked as if she would do so again tonight.
Simon’s eyes were closed and his breathing regular, if a little shallow. With a view to taking advantage of the afternoon sunlight, she settled into the chair. She had borrowed a needle and thread from Mrs. Davis and, lifting the hem of her gown over her knee, she set to work to repair the only item of clothing she now possessed, her valise having been left behind on the road when they fled.
“Why did you take so long?” His voice was a soft whine, his blue eyes peeping from beneath long, black lashes.
She gasped and dropped her gown to cover her petticoat. “I thought you were asleep. I ate luncheon downstairs.”
“I’ll wager it wasn’t soup.”
She cast him a saucy smile. “No, it wasn’t. It was cold roast chicken.”
“Witch.” He shifted restlessly. “I’m hot.”
“I’m not surprised, after the way you argued with the doctor. You really should try to be more appreciative.” She got up and mixed his medicine. “Drink this and you’ll feel better by the morning.”
He screwed his face up.
She sighed. “Please, Simon, don’t make this difficult.”
“Very well. Give it to me.”
She sat beside him and tilted his head, careful not to disturb his shoulder. His eyes held her gaze as he swallowed it in one gulp.
“There,” she said. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“You didn’t have to drink it.”
She started to get up.
“Don’t go.”
“I will be right here in that chair by the window.”
He ran his index finger over her hand and slid it beneath the cuff of her long sleeve. Her skin tingled in its trail and a slow spread of warmth drifted up her arm. She drew in a sharp breath to ease the tension, to deny the danger he represented to her body. He was ill and this meant nothing.
“Stay here,” he said, with a smile that was utterly sweet. “Beside me.”
Charming. Too charming for his own good. She sighed. “All right. Anything to keep you happy.”
His eyes sparkled. “Is that a promise?”
She resisted the urge to kiss his cheek and instead, took his large, over-hot hand and patted it.
“Nice,” he whispered. His eyelids closed. The laudanum taking effect.
He looked more boy than man at this moment. Young, vulnerable and so very different from his normal hard, arrogant self. Her heart filled with a rush of tenderness. He had saved her from the disgusting Quigley and almost been killed in the process. Not to mention that he was so impossibly handsome. It was no wonder her heart raced each time he smiled at her.
When it pleased him to cast his lures, she had no more defenses against his practiced seduction than Cassandra Eckford had. And what about his new mistress waiting in Italy?
She gazed at his beautiful face, running her fingers over the tanned skin of his hand until her back stiffened and her eyelids grew heavy in the fading light. She got up and lit the candle. He would sleep for a while longer. She piled the jug, glasses and soup dish on a tray and took it downstairs.
Mrs. Davis beamed at her appearance in the doorway of her spotless kitchen and announced she had put out dinner for her in the parlor.
Dinner already? The afternoon had disappeared without her being aware of it.
The table in the parlor was set for one. One plate, one glass, one cup on the tea tray. This would be her life once Simon went back to London. Life for one.
Alone, but hopefully not lonely. Julia would write and Victoria would make new friends once she found employment. There must be work in Shrewsbury and, if not there, then perhaps farther south in Bristol. She would not go back to London in case Simon tried to search her out.
In the meantime, they were stranded together in the wilds of Wales.
There would only be one man like Simon St. John in her life. Brave and reckless and as wicked as sin. A man who cared for nothing but his own pleasure. She’d heard the rumors. But apparently one woman had found a chink in his armor. A woman he kept locked away. Miranda. Victoria’s heart twisted.
She pushed her plate away.
Mrs. Davis, plump and red-faced from the kitchen stove, arrived to clear away the dishes. “All finished, ma’am?” she asked, her Welsh accent musical. “Now then, Mrs. Yelverton, you’ve hardly touched my nice game pie. You need your strength to take care of your poor young man up there.”
He would never be her man. “I’m sorry. I’m not as hungry as I thought. I must be tired.”
“Ah then, you’ll be wanting to retire. I’ll fetch you a tray to take up for Mr. Yelverton.” Mrs. Davis bustled away with an armload of dishes.
A log rolled onto the hearthstone in a hiss of sparks. Victoria got up and poked it back with a fire iron. She gazed unseeing into the glowing embers.
Travis wanted to be her lover. How strangely decadent it sounded. Exotic. Wicked.
And what she did want? She had no family to care if she was ruined. She certainly had no wish to marry. If truth be told, she was already ruined after spending two nights alone with a bachelor, even if Ogden said nothing about her visit to St. John Hall. Was it not a dreadful shame to have lost her reputation and yet never have had one iota of the pleasure ladies of the ton whispered about behind their fans? Some of those ladies would give their eyeteeth to be in her situation.
She could not really be thinking of becoming his mistress? No, she could not go that far. She didn’t want to be dependent on a man ever again, not as a daughter or sister or wife and certainly not in that way. But she would, just once, like to know what the carnal relationship between a man and a woman was all about. If she was very careful, no one would ever learn about her and him, hidden away in the depths of the Welsh foothills playing husband and wife. For this was where whatever happened would both begin and end.
Heat rushed from her head to her toes. Longing filled her. Did she dare?
Mrs. Davis returned with a jug of water and a bowl for washing on a tray, and heart beating wildly, Victoria carried it upstairs. She eased open the bedroom door.
Her stomach tumbled over at the sight of Travis sleeping spread-eagled on his back. The sheet barely covered his hips. His huge torso, marred by the heavy bandage, was a sight to behold. But it wasn’t his upper body that stole her breath, she’d been witnessing the sculpted curves of his bronzed arms and chest for the past two days. No, it was a far more interesting view sending her blood rushing along her veins. He’d kicked the sheet so far down the bed it revealed the flat, hard plane of his stomach and an intriguing navel surrounded by crisply curled dark hair, which followed a straight line towards... Victoria swallowed. Thank God for the sheet.
Tempting Sin Page 21
