That start didn’t portend well. Still, Rose returned to her place on the sofa, with Avendale at her side. Sir William took a plush chair opposite them. For the briefest of moments, it seemed he was studying Avendale intently, as though the duke were suddenly unfamiliar to him, which seemed odd considering he was his physician. Clearing his throat, he shifted his attention to Rose. “The injuries your brother sustained during the brawl are quite minor. A few cuts, scrapes, bruises. Nothing that won’t heal on its own with time.”
Relief swelled within Rose. “Good. I was quite worried. He seemed to be finding it more difficult to breathe than usual.”
Sir William nodded slowly. “He mentioned that he was finding a few things more difficult.”
Rose smiled. “You understood him? Most people can’t because of the way the shape of his mouth causes him to mumble and slur.”
“There are also growths within his mouth, within his body. He may have as many inside as he does out.”
“But you could remove them,” Avendale said.
Within Sir William’s blue eyes, Rose saw a well of sadness. “There are so many. The risks involved . . . I would hardly know where to begin. To be quite honest, I doubt he would survive any surgery—even at the hands of the most skilled physician.”
“What caused his condition?” Avendale asked.
Sir William shook his head. “I’ve no clue. I’ve never seen the like. I would like to examine him more thoroughly at the hospital, consult with a few of my colleagues.”
“Because he’s a curiosity?” Rose asked. “Because you can’t cure him, can you?”
“I can’t cure him, no.” He leaned forward. “There might be something we could learn.”
Tears burned her eyes. “No. He’s been stared at, poked and prodded enough. I won’t put him through that again. Even for medicine.”
“I can hardly blame you, I suppose.” He released a long, slow sigh. “You should probably begin preparing yourself, however, as I don’t think he’s long for this world.”
The words were like a solid blow to the center of Rose’s chest. She was astounded her lungs could still draw in breath and that her heart still pounded. The tears she’d been holding at bay broke free and rolled along her cheeks. “I could tell he was worsening. They keep growing, don’t they? Those things.”
“I believe so, yes, based upon what he told me. I could feel some inside him, but to know the full extent I would have to cut into him. I don’t think we’d gain anything by that, based upon what I can see on the surface.”
“Do you know how long before . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to say the words. He might be a monster to everyone else, but to her, he was her brother.
“I’m sorry,” Sir William said, “but that is not in my hands. I can leave some laudanum to help ease his discomforts. I can come to check on him every few days. The more I observe, the more light I might be able to shed on the matter. I want to discuss his condition with other physicians I know.”
She started to protest.
“I won’t be obtrusive,” he assured her quickly. “I will be circumspect and not mention that I am seeing him. I’ll make discreet inquiries, and perhaps I’ll learn something to ease his suffering.”
“Yes, all right.”
Sir William got to his feet. She and Avendale did the same.
“Thank you for coming,” Avendale said.
“I appreciate your sending for me. It meant a lot to your mother.”
“Be sure to send me a billing for your services.”
“Now you’ve insulted me.” Sir William turned his attention to Rose. “I’m sorry we couldn’t have met under better circumstances.”
“I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done.”
He jerked his head toward Avendale. “Keeping him out of trouble is a good start.”
With Avendale at her side, Rose accompanied Sir William to the door, watched as he strolled down the path, and climbed into a small, simple one-horse carriage that he could drive himself.
“What would it matter to your mother that you sent for him?” Rose asked, closing the door and turning back to Avendale.
“Because he is her husband.”
Angling her head, she studied him. She’d sensed some tension between the two. “Has that anything to do with your secret?”
“Has everything to do with it, and that’s all I’ll say on the matter. I assume you want to stay the night.”
“I do, yes.” She wanted to be angry with him for coming here uninvited, for forcing himself into her life, into Harry’s but she had nothing within her with which to fuel her anger. Stepping into him, she wound her arms around his waist, drew immense comfort from his enfolding her in his embrace.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m not the caring sort so I’m at a loss here, Rose. Tell me what I can do to make it better.”
She merely squeezed him all the harder, because his presence at the moment was enough.
If Avendale had any doubts that Harry was indeed a man, they were put to rest when Rose and he entered the library to find Harry sitting in a chair near the fire. He shoved himself to his feet. He had to have known Rose would come in to see him before she left, that Avendale might be with her. Pride had hoisted him out of the bed. His clothes were similar to the almost sacklike apparel he’d been wearing before only they weren’t wet, torn, and bloody. They hung rather loosely, but then how would one go about fitting clothes to that misshapen form? Leaning on a cane, he mumbled something. Avendale couldn’t quite distinguish the words.
“Harry wondered if you’d join him in drinking some whiskey,” Rose offered as though she understood his inability to decipher the words.
“I’m a scoundrel,” Avendale said. “I never turn down drink.” He thought the man’s lips twitched, and Avendale realized Rose’s brother was hindered from forming a proper smile because of the shape of his mouth, but his eyes twinkled with amusement.
“I’ll pour,” Rose said. “Avendale, will you fetch the chair from behind the desk so I have a place to sit?”
He did as she asked, but he had no plans to let her sit in it while the other chair appeared more plush and comfortable. She brought over the glasses on a small tray. Avendale took one, then watched as Harry did the same with a hand that was beautiful and elegant, and he wondered if it might have been kinder if there was nothing about him that was shaped to perfection.
Rose lifted her glass. “To London’s finest physician.”
They clinked their glasses, each took a sip. Avendale indicated where Rose should sit, and once she did, he and Harry settled into their chairs.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here this afternoon as promised,” Rose said. “The duke and I went to Cremorne Gardens last night, and I drank a bit more than I should have. I slept in I’m afraid.” She eased to the edge of the chair. “It doesn’t look at all like our garden. It’s a place for enjoying all sorts of pleasures. Shall I describe it for you?”
He gave an exaggerated nod, and Avendale realized his head was far too large for subtle movements. He listened as Rose described Cremorne in such minute detail that he could see it in his mind almost as clearly as he had last night. No, more clearly. He saw all the things he’d overlooked, taken for granted. The colors, the sounds, the smells, the tastes—even the things she’d touched. Banisters, benches, the pavilion.
He thought about how absorbed she’d been at the theater. He understood the reason behind it now. She was striving to bring the world to her brother, a world he couldn’t visit without consequences.
Harry would ask questions that were almost inarticulate, yet she would provide answers that seemed to satisfy. Avendale concentrated on the sounds, focusing until he was able to decipher the words, to know by her response to Harry that Avendale had indeed managed to master the guttural murmuring. But mostly h
e watched her: the light that shone in her eyes as she shared the places she’d visited, the excitement in her voice. The joy on her face as though she truly adored her time with her brother, adored him.
Avendale felt small and petty because he’d resented her time away from him in the afternoon, had wanted to deny her this. If only she’d told him . . .
But of course she hadn’t and why would she? From the moment they’d met, by word and deed, he’d led her to believe that he wanted nothing more from her than a romp in his bed. Because bastard that he was, that had been all he wanted.
He’d wanted to be lost in her heat, her fire, her passion. He’d acquired it, only to discover it wasn’t enough. Never in his life, had he been so unsure as to exactly what it was he did want. He’d been focused on absolute pleasure at any cost. Now he wondered if the price had been too high. For who would care if he were suddenly unattractive, without means, without power?
They’d been visiting for less than an hour when Harry seemed to wither and shrink. Setting aside her glass, Rose got up, crossed over to him, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “We’ll leave you to sleep now.”
After she stepped away, Avendale moved in and extended his hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Longmore.”
“Harry,” he replied, the word still slurred, but Avendale’s ears must have become attuned to the tortured sounds because he clearly understood what was being said.
“Harry, then.”
The man’s hand, warm and strong, closed around Avendale’s, and Avendale thought it more unfair that the remainder of Harry’s body had betrayed him as it had. Nature could be both wondrous and cruel, creating immense beauty and then offsetting it with ugliness. Perhaps it did it so people would never take beauty for granted.
Avendale followed Rose from the room, closing the door in their wake. In the hallway, she turned into him and he folded his arms around her.
“Will you come over tomorrow?” she asked.
“I’m not leaving, Rose.”
She craned her head back to meet his gaze as though she didn’t quite trust his words, as though she didn’t quite understand their meaning. He skimmed his thumb along the edge of the darkening bruise. “I’m rather insulted that you’d think I would.”
Slowly she shook her head, staring at him as though she could not find the words. He envied the ease with which she’d spent an hour talking to her brother, and yet with him, she measured words as though she thought he would judge each one. “I haven’t what you need here.”
“You’re here.”
Instead of relief or even warmth at his words, which sounded far more sentimental and foolish than he’d intended, she appeared all the more worried. “I have no servants, no one to wait on you.”
“I suspect I can manage. You won’t convince me to go so you might as well save your breath.”
“You don’t have to worry that I’m going to leave London. Harry is far too weak to travel. I see that now. I think trying to take him to Scotland would have killed him.”
So that’s where she’d been planning to traipse off to the night he caught her loading her carriage. Was there someone there to care for her? No, if there had been she’d have gone there long ago. His money would have tided her over for a while, but eventually she would have had to resort to another swindle in order to survive. Or perhaps she would have found legitimate means.
She clutched his arms, gave him a little shake as though she recognized that he was sorting things out, and she needed his complete attention. “He’s dying. Sir William said as much. He’s not long for this world. Help me, Avendale, help me make whatever time he has left as pleasant as possible. Afterward, you can ask anything of me and I’ll comply. I’ll stay with you as long as you want. I’ll sign papers attesting to that. I’ll sign them in blood. Life has been so unfair to him. I just don’t want him to have to worry anymore.”
“Anything at all?” he repeated.
“Anything.”
“For as long as I want?”
“For as long as you want.”
He could not imagine what it would be like to love someone that deeply, to be willing to give up one’s own hopes, plans, dreams for someone else’s happiness. It was beyond the pale, beyond his grasp. What was not beyond his grasp, however, was how badly he still wanted her. Already he had begun to regret that their bargain kept her with him for only a week. Now she was presenting him the opportunity to hold her near until he tired of her. A better man than he would have felt guilty for taking advantage of the situation. He supposed there was something to be said for his character that at least he recognized that he should feel some remorse. But she was offering what he wanted, and he didn’t have to give up anything he cared about in order to acquire it. Only a fool would have turned down her offer. He was no fool.
“It seems we’ve struck another bargain,” he said.
Her smile of gratitude was as bright as a thousand stars beaming in the heavens. “You won’t regret it, I promise,” she said, and he found it telling that she thought another promise was needed to seal the first. “However, I still want to stay here tonight, so I can look in on Harry periodically.”
“As I said, I’ll be staying with you. I sent my driver back to Buckland after he fetched Sir William. He’ll return for me in the morning.”
“You knew I’d want to stay.” She said it with surprise.
Not that he blamed her, as he was taken off-guard as well. He had known. He hadn’t really given it much thought, and it was unsettling now to realize that he’d had no doubt regarding what she’d want to do. He hadn’t needed to ask. He’d simply known. “It was logical.”
She gave him a skeptical look before saying, “Would you like a tour?”
“Upstairs, perhaps. I’ve already seen everything down here.”
Straightening her shoulders, she became the confident, bold woman with whom he was familiar. “I should be angry that you broke the terms of our agreement. You were not to bother me when I was here.”
“On the contrary, you were gone more than the allotted time. I was well within my rights to seek you out. I may be a scoundrel, but I do honor bargains made, expect others to do the same.”
She began walking toward the foyer, and he fell into step beside her.
“Did you get me drunk on purpose last night?” she asked. “To ensure I slept the day away?”
It shamed him to admit the truth. “It might have crossed my mind that with enough drink you wouldn’t be up to going out today.”
With a wry smile, she slid her gaze over to him. “Even though they were the terms of our original understanding?”
“I’m a selfish bastard, Rose. I want what I want when I want it.”
They reached the stairs. She went up two steps, before turning to face him, stopping him in his tracks. At eye level, she wasn’t shy about assessing him. She’d done the same thing the first night, and just as he had then, he wanted now to puff out his chest. “You do realize with our new bargain that I shall spend more than an hour a day with Harry. I shall spend a good deal of my evenings with him.”
“I understand the terms and that I shall get the scraps.” But eventually he would get the entire feast. He wondered why it filled him with a sense of sadness, not for himself, but for her. He didn’t want grief to visit her, but it would, and he wanted to be on hand to console her—which also confounded him because he avoided emotional entanglements like the plague. “But I intend to stay near. I’m making an investment here, and I’m in the habit of keeping a close eye on my investments.”
Her lips curling up into a smile brought him a sense of relief. He’d feared it would be days, weeks before she smiled. That she was doing so at his expense was irrelevant. She slid a hand around his neck and leaned in. “Your command of sweet words continues to astound me. I’m surprised women aren’t swooning at
your feet at every turn.”
She pressed her lips to his, and he wished that he had sweeter words, that he had mastered the art of kindness. He lifted her into his arms.
“Not here,” she said quietly.
“No, not here.” He’d known that and yet been unable to resist holding her near. He carried on, taking her up the stairs. When he reached the top, he asked, “Which room?”
“The first one on the right.”
He should have known she’d prefer looking out on the gardens to viewing the street. He should have known a lot of things. Should have noticed the sadness in her eyes, the small lines that marred her brow. Should have recognized that her walls were thicker and stronger than his, that they encompassed others.
He strode into a room that astounded him with its simplicity, especially when compared with the library. Ever so slowly he lowered her feet to the bare wooden floor, eased away from her, and walked through the room. Cheap furniture. A bedstead, a wardrobe, a dressing table, a bench, a stepping stool, a sofa. A small table that held a bottle of brandy and one snifter. Nothing more, nothing excessive, nothing that pampered. When he turned around, she had one hand wrapped around the bedpost at the foot of the bed.
“I told you that it wasn’t quite up to your standards,” she said.
“I’ll survive one night.” He strolled over to the window, gazed out. Darkness had fallen. He couldn’t get a good look at the garden, but he could make out the brick wall. While in an expensive area, the property was small. Neighbors could indeed spy on them. He took so much for granted. Privacy most of all.
“When I walked through downstairs, I didn’t find a ballroom,” he said.
“I lied about that as well. I wanted to you to think that I possessed more than I did.”
Closing his eyes, he wondered if there would ever come a time when she didn’t lie to him about something. To gain what she wanted, she spun lies as easily as one stirred sugar into tea. He couldn’t forget that, and yet he wanted to trust her, to take a chance that something real could exist between them. Her footsteps echoed over the wood. Glancing back, he saw her kneeling before the hearth.
The Duke and the Lady in Red Page 18
