A hot bath and a warm, dry gown went a long way to soothing Meg’s frayed temper over her infuriating encounter with Cade.
Seated in front of a roaring fire with a thick cotton towel over her shoulders, she combed her long wet hair, pausing intermittently to take a sip of the hot tea Amy had brought upstairs for her.
Outside, thunder crashed like cymbals, rain pounding in an unrelenting drumbeat against the roof tiles and window panes. Given the violence of the storm, she doubted it would end anytime soon.
As the afternoon wore on, she was proven right; Mallory and the dowager returned home with wet shoes and hems to declare that they would not set foot outside until the rain had ceased. With that decision made, plans to attend the theatre were cancelled, while word was sent to Cook that the family would be dining in that evening, after all.
The rain was still pouring a few hours later when they all gathered around the table for a simple yet delicious meal of boiled chicken, creamed potatoes, carrot pudding, and fresh buttered peas. Cade took his usual seat next to Meg, the two of them sharing friendly greetings for the benefit of the others before falling silent to concentrate on their dinner. As the meal progressed, Meg couldn’t help but notice Cade’s reserve, nor the fact that he drank only wine and no hard spirits.
A pear tart with a brandied ginger sauce was served for dessert. Afterward, the men agreed to forgo their usual ritual of solitary port and cigars in favour of removing to the sitting room with the ladies.
As Meg sipped a cup of hot tea, she turned her head and caught the set expression and wan cast to Cade’s face—an ashen look she had not seen for some while, she realized. A few minutes later he excused himself, murmuring that he planned to retire to his rooms.
Of course, she thought, the storm must be bothering his leg. If she’d cared to pay attention, he’d said as much earlier when he commented on knowing it was going to rain. That had to be the reason why he’d been drinking so early in the day. She ought to have realized it immediately, she mused, but had been too wrapped up in her own difficulties at the time. And then he said all those horrible things to her, and her temper had driven everything else out of her mind.
To her surprise, she realized that he must have taken her words about his intemperance to heart and was abstaining from the whiskey bottle tonight in spite of his pain. Given the circumstances, she wondered if she ought to have a decanter sent to his room. But alcohol was not the answer, nor was laudanum, she reasoned, her cheeks warming faintly as her mind rushed back to that long ago night at his Northumberland estate.
No, she thought, as she offered her own excuses to the others and left the sitting room, perhaps there is another remedy I can provide.
“Are you sure there is nothing else I can get you, my lord?”
“Not at present, thank you, Knox,” Cade told his batman as he settled into a well-worn leather wing chair angled near the fireplace in his bedchamber.
The servant’s eyebrows twitched above a concerned glance. “As you wish. Good night, then.”
“Yes, good night.”
Cade waited until the other man closed the door, only then giving himself permission to sigh and rub his knuckles over the nagging ache in his thigh. Resting his head against the high back of his chair, he contemplated the pain and whether he was a fool not to seek out the nearest source of hard liquor. But after his earlier confrontation with Meg, he’d told himself he could do without an alcoholic crutch, and do without it he would—at least for one night.
And a long night it is going to be, he mused. But he’d suffered far worse in the past, and once the storm abated, so too should the ache. Actually, in the last few weeks his condition had shown surprising improvement. He still had painful bouts, and he knew he would always walk with a limp, but the bad days—like today—were gradually becoming fewer. Perhaps in time they would fade to the most infrequent of occasions, such as extremely severe storms. For now, though, he would simply have to endure.
Sliding his spectacles onto his nose, he reached for his book and began to read, hoping the diversion would keep him from forsaking his resolution not to drink. He finished one chapter and was starting another when a knock came at the door.
He sent a scowl toward the portal and the unknown offender on the other side. Probably Edward, he decided, though why his brother would seek him out tonight, he had no idea.
Muttering under his breath, he marked the page and set his book aside before levering himself to his feet. The knock sounded again.
“Wait a bloody damned minute, will you?” he called as he thumped his way across the room. Turning the knob, he opened the door on a forceful pull, the fresh curse on his tongue dying an abrupt death. “Meg!” he said, his fingers moving to wrap around the edge of the door frame.
“My lord.” She met his gaze for a brief instant before glancing away. “I apologize for disturbing you. I…um…did not anticipate that you might have prepared for bed already.”
Dressed in nothing more than his favourite black satin robe, he was well aware how he must appear, including the realization that the scar around his throat was visible. But considering the fact that Meg had seen him, and his scar, in a similar state of dishabille before tonight, he made no attempt to cover himself further. “I decided to retire early,” he said in answer to her comment.
“Your leg, of course.”
So, she knows, he mused, somehow not at all surprised at her having correctly interpreted the source of his volatile disposition.
“Which is why I brought this for you,” she continued before he could respond, indicating the covered dish she was holding balanced atop a tray.
He studied the blue and white porcelain tureen, his brows furrowing. “What is it?”
“A poultice for your injured limb. I have been doing a bit of investigating in your brother’s library, reading a number of the medical books and treatises on herbal remedies, and I believe this mixture may prove efficacious.” She bit the fleshy part of her bottom lip, a move that took his mind in directions it had no business going.
“At least I hope it will help,” she told him. “Shall I…um…bring it inside?”
He raised a brow, then after a long moment pulled the door wider to let her pass.
Her steps quick, she crossed into the room, the skirt of her pale yellow silk evening dress moving in a seductive swirl around her ankles. His gaze fixed for an instant on the curve of her hips and buttocks as she leaned forward to set the tray and its contents onto a table. He raised his eyes only seconds before she turned to face him.
“There,” she pronounced, moving a few steps back. “You should use it right away while it is still hot. I would suggest you place a thick towel beneath your leg since the poultice is damp and may leak a bit. From everything I’ve read, you should place it directly on the area where you are experiencing the most discomfort, then leave it on for twenty minutes to half an hour. Or at least until all the warmth is gone.”
Although his leg still hurt, he suddenly wasn’t sure if his injured limb was still the part of his body giving him the most discomfort.
Lord, what am I thinking? He considered, giving himself a hard mental shake. And why am I thinking it? It was not as if Meg was doing anything provocative. Then again, she’d never come into his bedroom before and talked about having him place a hot compress on his naked thigh. Unless he counted that one night at his estate, of course…
“Yes, all right,” he said, his voice like gravel. To distract himself, he moved to the tureen and lifted the lid, a pungent burst of steam wafting upward. “What’s in it, anyway? It smells like the brown mash the stable lads use for the horses.”
“That’s probably because it is that brown mash with several other ingredients added in, such as mustard seed and turmeric. And put that top back on before you ruin it! I got into enough trouble rousing the stable boys and the kitchen staff after hours as it is.”
“Did you really?” he asked, rather amazed that she would g
o to such effort for him, especially considering what had happened between them only that morning. He replaced the lid.
“Well, I should go, so you can try the poultice,” she said. “I hope it proves helpful, my lord. I do not like to see you in pain.”
An unfathomable sensation burned in his belly. Dyspepsia, most likely. “Do you not?”
She shook her head. “No. All creatures deserve ease, even you.” Turning, she padded on silent slippers to the door.
“Meg,” he called.
She stopped and turned back, lifting an inquiring brow.
“Thank you. You are very kind.”
A smile brightened the pale blue of her eyes. “It’s nothing. I would have done the same for anyone.”
But as he stood gazing at her, he knew she was lying. She had done this for him—and him alone.
“Good night,” he said.
“Sweet dreams, Cade.” On a whisper of silken skirts she was gone, disappearing like a wraith along the candlelit corridor beyond.
After closing the door, he studied the dish, then shrugged. Even if it did nothing for his pain, the concoction surely couldn’t hurt. Limping across into his bathing chamber, he retrieved a thick towel as she had suggested, then moved to his bed to arrange it.
A couple minutes later he stretched out atop the mattress with a very comfortable pile of goose down pillows at his back. Opening the tureen he’d moved to his night table, he lifted out the steaming poultice, then with a cautious breath set it on his bared leg.
Breath hissed between his teeth, the heat nearly as intense as having a shovelful of smouldering coals dumped onto him—or so he imagined. Yet his skin didn’t burn, warmth spreading through his thigh in a deep, penetrating wave. As the initial shock faded and his muscles began to relax, the sensation turned from uncomfortable to pleasant, heat radiating further into his damaged flesh. A sigh eased past his lips—only this time from a sense of relief rather than misery.
To his distinct surprise, the merciless ache that had plagued him since first light that morning slowly began to recede. At length he reached down and tugged the coverlet over his other leg and a portion of his torso before reclining again more fully against the ocean of pillows behind him.
Closing his eyes, he gave himself over to the comforting warmth, wondering vaguely if this was how injured horses felt when they received similar treatment—the scents of mash and mustard and the other exotic ingredients Meg had used teasing his nostrils.
Sinking further, he drifted in a state somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, memories and half dreams sliding through his mind without reasoned awareness or control.
A fist struck him, pain exploding in his skull as his head snapped back on his neck. A second blow fell only seconds later, the taste of fresh blood blossoming with a metallic sweetness against his tongue.
“Enough,” said a voice, the command silky and emotionless. “Let’s give the major a chance to speak. Surely, he has something to say.”
Cade suppressed the need to groan but stayed silent, refusing to give even that much of a response.
“He must want us to play a bit more with his little friend, hmm? I’m sure she has some spark left in her yet. Can you hear her, Byron? Even now she’s moaning in eagerness to have another one of these fine soldiers between her legs. Shall we give her another taste of what a real man can do?”
But her moans were those of incoherent agony; even her earlier hysterical weeping had ceased.
“Stop,” Cade said through swollen lips. “Stop hurting her.” Something burned his eyes, wetness leaving cool trails against his cheeks.
“Are those tears, Byron?” the voice told him in precise, upper-class English. “You can end this, you know. You have only to share the information we require, and I personally guarantee you will both be set free.”
But they would not, Cade knew, realizing that the only freedom either of them would ever know again was that of death. It was only a matter of hours now, maybe not even that long, before they both passed into the grave.
Maybe if he’d told them earlier, she would still be whole and untouched. If he’d betrayed his honour and country, they would have left her in peace. But even in his current state of physical and emotional anguish, he knew there was nothing he could have done to save her. He’d condemned her to death by the simple act of knowing her.
His eyelids were forcibly wrenched open as her screams began anew, as the English traitor, whose features he could not see, made him watch.
He began screaming, too.
“Shh,” whispered a gentle voice, not the hated one, but another—soothing, familiar, female. Her hand stroked over his hair, along his cheek. He turned into her touch, needing it, needing her.
“Meg?” he whispered.
“Shh,” she crooned, feathering her lips over his forehead and temple, rubbing her satiny cheek against the roughness of his own before angling her mouth to meet his. His arms came around her as they kissed, the passion between them as hot and untamed as a tinder set against dry wood.
Impatient, he lifted her so she sat astride him, her arms and legs entwined around his hips. She made no protest at his boldness, pressing her body closer, opening her mouth to accept the dark possession of his kisses and the ravenous ardour of his roving touch.
Yet it wasn’t enough. He wanted more.
Reaching for the neckline of her nightgown, he ripped the delicate fabric, silk falling to shreds inside his hands. Tossing the pieces aside, he gorged himself upon the lithe curves of her naked flesh. Cupping her breasts in his palms, he stroked her before moving along the silky length of her back to her finely rounded bottom. He kissed her with wild abandon, wondering if his brain would go blank from a surfeit of pleasure.
Opening his robe, he positioned her for his penetration, spreading her thighs wider to seat her as fully upon himself as she could go. Her breasts bounced, her lips parting on an inhalation of ecstasy as their gazes met. He stared into the lake blue depths of her eyes and shuddered with emotions he didn’t dare let himself understand.
“Meg,” he murmured.
She smiled and kissed him, stroking his cheeks with the backs of her fingers. “I have a secret, my lord,” she whispered. “Do you want to know what it is?”
For a second he thought about saying no, wanting to bury his aching flesh inside her and make everything else, except her, go away.
Instead, he nodded, compelled almost against his will.
“Lieutenant McCabe asked me to marry him. I am going to be his wife!”
Cade came awake with an abrupt start, flailing for a moment inside the mass of pillows scattered around the bed. A light coating of perspiration beaded his skin, a throbbing erection jutting upward from between his legs, poking out from the folds of his robe.
At the same moment, he became aware of something cold and damp lying against his thigh. Glancing down, he found the poultice, the lumpy mass having slid off his leg onto the rumpled towel. Muttering a curse, he picked it up and dropped it into the bowl on his bedside table.
God, he thought, it had all been a dream, nothing more than a dream. As usual, he’d begun with a variation of the old familiar nightmare he’d been having since those terrible days in Portugal. As for the rest…Lord, it had all felt so real.
He ran his palm over the empty coverlet as though seeking confirmation that Meg hadn’t been there after all. But the cloth was cold, his fantasy nothing more than prurient wishful thinking. Even now he ached, wanting her. Or at least a woman, he told himself.
He’d been celibate too long, that was all, and Meg had been on his mind before he fell asleep. The dream meant nothing—no more real than her phantom declaration about marrying the lieutenant.
His gut tightened at the recollection. Ignoring it, he climbed out of the bed. Shucking off his robe, he tossed it to the foot of the mattress, then yanked back the covers. Slipping between the sheets, he willed himself to sleep. But slumber was a long while coming, even w
hen he realized to his surprise that his thigh had stopped hurting.
CHAPTER 13
A sennight later Meg curtsied to her partner as another set came to an end, the last notes of the contra dance fading away to leave behind the rhythmic hum of human conversation.
Opening the ivory-hued fan that had been painted with pink roses to match her dress, she waved the silk-covered staves in front of her face. Even that tiny breeze came as a welcome relief, the ballroom packed with so many members of the ton that it was difficult to keep track of who was in attendance and who was not.
Moving off the dance floor, she refused her partner’s offer of a cup of punch before politely excusing herself from his company. Once he was gone, she scanned the room in search of Mallory, feeling oddly in need of a friendly, familiar face. Not that she lacked for friends and acquaintances of both sexes these days, but there was something very uplifting about Mallory.
Lady Mallory was one of those rare people blessed with a kind spirit and a happy nature. In all the weeks she had known her, Meg couldn’t recall hearing a single cross word pass the young woman’s lips. Mallory was sweet and diverting and always a pleasurable companion.
She was also Cade’s sister, and with Mallory at her side, it was unlikely that Cade would feel compelled to seek her out and act the attentive fiancé. Not that he was likely to do so at this hour of the evening anyway, she supposed, since he had departed some while ago for the card room. Nevertheless, she wasn’t in the mood to don a false smile and pretend to be promised to a man whom she was destined never to wed.
Despite her feelings on that subject, however, she was glad to see that Cade’s health was showing signs of improvement. Just this morning his mother had remarked on the hale colour in his cheeks and the fact that he’d gained back a share of the much needed weight he lost after his ordeal on the Continent.
His limp remained, of course, but Meg believed he was experiencing less pain overall—and most definitely less pain than on the night she’d brought him the poultice. Although he hadn’t mentioned her remedy again, she’d been pleased to receive a visit from Knox, who sought her out to inquire about the recipe. With several specific instructions on how to properly measure and heat the concoction, she was gratified and happy to pass on her knowledge.
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