by Cheryl Bolen
But such consolation came without hope. Hour by hour she held his hand and stroked his face and whispered sweetly. During those long, discouraging days, she clung to her memories of the times they had spent together and regretted her coolness that had kept them apart. How she wished to have back those moments!
On the night of the fourth day she stood over him, cupping his face with a gentle hand. “Oh, my dearest Alex, how I wish I had told you that I’d come to love you. I was too proud and too foolish.” She sighed. “I’d never experienced such potent feelings for any man. You knew that. You knew me better than I knew myself.”
* * *
Through the fuzzy, cloudy disarray of his mind he was vaguely aware of a throbbing head and searing pain in his abdomen. But most of all, he felt the presence of an angel. And roses. This angel comforted him with soothing tones and words of love. As he came more fully into consciousness, he realized his angel was Georgiana—not the Georgiana who’d so heartlessly rejected him. This Georgiana called him Alex. This Georgiana said, “I wish I’d told you how much I’d come to love you.”
He wanted to tell her he was in love with her, too, but he couldn’t seem to climb from the stupor of his lethargy, couldn’t seem to open his eyes. He lay there for a considerable period of time before the cobwebs in his brain cleared. In spite of his pain and discomfort, the knowledge that Georgiana loved him gave him a bubbling sense of contentment.
She no longer held his hand, but he knew she was close. Then it occurred to him she was on his bed, beside him. His eyes came fully open. “Georgiana,” he said, but his weak voice was almost unrecognizable.
He rolled to his left. It hurt like the devil to move, but he was rewarded with the vision of her lying beside him, fully clothed in that white dress with the purple ribbands.
She smiled as her hand came up to cup his face. Her great dark eyes looked incredibly solemn as she spoke with concern. “Thank God you’ve awakened. How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been shot from a cannon.”
To his surprise, she did not sit up but continued lying beside him, nodding and stroking him—first his face, then his arm, then the back of his hand. Had a doxy done it, it would have been brazen. But when Georgiana stroked him in such a manner, it still reminded him of an angel. “Do you remember sustaining your wounds at the hands of those highwaymen?” she asked in an uncharacteristically gentle voice.
He groaned. “It’s starting to come back.” He remembered the man on foot bashing his head. Then the last thing he remembered was that same man shooting him with a musket. He’d thought he was being killed. “How did I live through it?”
“The surgeon said no vital organs were struck.”
“And you? They didn’t . . . try to harm you or your mother?” His heartbeat pounded.
“No. They left as soon as you fell.”
He nodded. “It seems I’m indebted to them.”
Her mouth gaped open and the tenderness in her voice was gone. “Whatever for?”
He gave her a sly smile. “For making you realize you love me.”
There was a mischievous glint in her eyes when she said, “You odious man!”
“Had I the strength, I’d compromise you right now, you beautiful vixen.”
Her lashes lowered seductively, and she whispered. “And I’d let you, my darling.”
It seemed impossible that a man with such grave wounds could feel such astonishing happiness. “Of course, you will be my duchess.”
“I had thought it wrong to want to marry you because you were Freddie’s brother. After all, it’s against the law to marry your deceased husband’s brother. . .”
Even though it hurt him to move any part of his body, he reached out to touch her hair. “That law only applies to widows. Do you not remember a few years back when the Duke of Bedford died suddenly and his heir married the lady who’d been betrothed to his brother? She was the daughter of the Duke of Gordon. I assure you, they’ve been accepted everywhere.”
“Oh, yes! The Duchess of Gordon’s daughter! I’d forgotten. I was still in the schoolroom when it happened.”
Her solemnity had fled like the shedding of a winter coat. She sat up. “You must eat.”
He shook his head. “I have no appetite.”
“Perhaps just some soup? Or what about porridge?”
He saw that it was dark outside. “I’ll eat in the morning. I can see you’re going to be an overbearing mistress to my recovery.”
“Indeed I am.”
Those were the last words he heard before he slipped back into sleep.
* * *
When the doctor arrived the following morning, Alex was sitting up in bed allowing Georgiana to spoon porridge into his mouth—only because it hurt like the devil for him to move his arm to feed himself. He was rather afraid the significant row of stitches in his belly would unravel. “Ah, Ferrers, my future wife tells me you’ve given me the best of care, and for that I am sincerely grateful.”
Ferrers looked from Alex to Georgiana, then broke into a broad smile. “Allow me to say, your grace, it is most gratifying to see you sitting up and talking. I’d begun to fear that injury to your head was more serious than I’d at first thought.”
“I feared the same,” Georgiana confessed in a somber voice.
“If his grace hasn’t dispelled your fears, my lady, I most sincerely will. The patient appears to have made a remarkable recovery.”
“So now, sir,” Alex said, “you must tell me when I can leave this place.”
Georgiana rolled her eyes. “He is lost without his valet.”
Eyes glittering, Alex eyed her. “As are you without your maid, my dear. Your hair is a disaster.”
“His grace is noted for his honesty—even when it’s ungallantly directed at me.”
“Allow me to say I do not find your hair a disaster, my lady,” the surgeon said. “But to return to the duke’s question, I think it best to wait until the stitches are removed.” He went to the bed.
“And when will that be?” Alex asked.
“They cannot come out until the skin has grown together.”
Alex frowned. “How many days, typically?”
“Typically, two weeks.”
“And I’ve been here?”
Georgiana answered. “This is your fifth day.”
“I daresay I could remove them myself,” Alex said. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“I did notice your grace had a number of scars on your upper torso,” the surgeon said.
“The duke was a Peninsular officer until last year,” Georgiana explained.
“So that explains your tough constitution.” The surgeon went to lift away the sheets. “May I have a look?”
Alex nodded.
Ferrers went about rebandaging the wound. “You’re healing well, but I’d advise continued bed rest until the wound closes better.” He then turned his attention to Alex’s wrapped head. “Since this wound was much shallower, I daresay we should be able to leave off these wrappings from your head.” He proceeded to unwind the linen. “I shall attempt to clean away the dried blood, since Lady Hartworth told me her daughter is prone to fainting at the sight of blood—though I will say your injuries do seem to have toughened the lady. She’s been a most competent nurse.”
Alex’s eyes met Georgiana’s, and they shared a tender smile.
Once the surgeon left, Georgiana sat in the chair beside his bed. “Don’t tire yourself by sitting up for too long.”
“I confess it feels good not to be lying down.” He proceeded to ask her a bevy of questions. Where were they? How far were they from Alsop? Had she heard of her nephew’s condition?
“Mama wrote to say Huey’s out of bed now and confined to an invalid’s chair while his broken leg and broken arm heal. She’s decidedly thrilled he shows no signs of impaired thinking – which I will own, she feared, given the lad’s mother’s mental deficiencies!”
“Was your mother overly wrought over the loss of
her jewels?”
Georgiana shrugged. “My mother’s first concern was you. Her ministrations on your behalf more than made up for my embarrassing revulsion to blood. Her grandfather was a surgeon, and she had learned a great deal from accompanying him on his rounds. And she’s in possession of the added bonus of being able to witness blood without swooning.”
“I’m very grateful to her.”
“As eager as she was to get to Huey, she would never have left you had it not been that Ferrers was so good about coming. As the world knows, I am as useless as a bottomless bucket in a sick room.”
“I beg to differ. It’s the rare gem of a nurse who never leaves her patient.”
Tears welled in her eyes and she spoke haltingly through threatening tears. “I thought as long as I was there, you couldn’t dare die.”
“Of course I couldn’t die. Not before I had the satisfaction of proving I was right in my assessment of your . . . desire for me.”
“I declare, if you weren’t so infirm, I’d throw something at you.”
“Your mother would disown you if you once again injured me. I still have a scar on my face from your little temper display, my beloved.”
“You really are too odious, dearest.”
They smiled at one another.
“Tell me if your pain worsens, and I’ll give you laudanum.”
He shook his head. “I won’t have any more of it. I saw too many wounded men in the Peninsula sacrificing their effectiveness in battle whilst in the grip of the demon laudanum.”
She nodded.
“I’ve been thinking about the robbery on the road. Did anything strike you about it? Anything odd?”
“Of course. I saw no reason for the man to shoot you. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t fully cooperated. He couldn’t have known about the few coins you held back with Mama.”
“I agree. Not only the shooting, but also the vicious ramming of the butt of his musket into my skull. It was such a mean thing to do, it made it seem as if he wanted me . . . dead.”
Their eyes locked. She swallowed. “The Fordham curse.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s what I’m thinking. I haven’t heard of highwaymen on that road in years. It’s almost as if these men were there to kill me, and the robbery merely a means of covering up their true motive.”
“You must be right! That would explain why the man who shot you said but one word. He didn’t want us to hear his genteel voice.”
“By Jove! I believe you’re right. I knew there was something niggling at my memory. That must have been it. It’s likely we might know my attacker. With the darkness, the huge black hats, and the masks obscuring their faces, it would have been impossible to identify any of them.”
“Oh, Alex,” she said, her voice forlorn, “I would so much rather it have been a run-of-the-mill robbery. This is so much more mortifying. Someone means to kill you.”
His mouth tightened. “Next time I’ll surprise him. I’ll have the upper hand.”
“It must be your cousin. If you died, he’d become a duke.”
“He’s not like that.”
“Is he exceedingly wealthy?”
“What does that signify?” The sitting up and taxing his brain were depleting the little bit of energy he possessed.
“He might kill for the wealth of a ducal fortune.”
He shook his head. “I beg you not malign my cousin. I’m sure he could never commit murder, and besides my attacker was taller than me. Robert’s shorter.”
“I’m happy to know that. But who?”
“I wish to God I knew.” His gaze darted to the door. “Do me the goodness of summoning Prine.”
She simply obeyed without questioning him.
A moment later the coachman entered the sick room.
“Ah, my good man, allow me to say how grateful I am for your excellent care. Tell me, you have a musket stashed under your seat, do you not?”
“I do.”
“Will you allow me to have it?”
“Of course, your grace.”
Alex might be in a fragile state, but he needed to be able to defend himself and the woman he loved.
After Prine brought the musket, Alex sank down to a reclining position, his eyelids lowering.
“Oh, my dearest, I’ve tired you excessively. Please rest. We can discuss this later.”
* * *
He dreamed about horses. One horse, to be precise. Oddly, this horse was in front of Georgiana’s house in Cavendish Square. It was a beauty. Chestnut with white stockings. Great head. Sixteen hands. What made this beast even more memorable was its whorl. Right on its withers. The magnificence of the beast was even more remarkable given that it was the property of that pompous piece of baggage that dressed himself like a colour blind fop, Lord Hickington.
When Alex awakened, the room was in darkness. He sat up and faced Georgiana.
“Hungry?” she asked in a tender voice. “It’s time for dinner.”
“As a matter of fact, I’m ravenous.” This was the first time post shooting he’d felt like eating. It must be a sign that he was on the road to recovery.
As he watched her glide from the chamber, a deep sense of heady possession rushed over him. How fortunate he was to have won the lady’s affection. How fortunate he would be to claim her as his wife. Were it not for the fact someone was desperate to kill him, he would be the most fortunate man in the three kingdoms.
Gloom was settling over him when she returned a few minutes later. “Our meals will be brought up shortly,” she said. “I’m so happy you’re finally able to eat.”
He barely listened. He was trying mightily to remember something, something about that night the vile man in black tried to kill him. Something significant, he was certain. For some reason, his recent dream and the actions of that night were intrinsically tied together.
“When the food comes, do you fancy me feeding you?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I’m tired of being treated like a bloody invalid.”
She gave a little giggle. “But you are an invalid!”
He laughed too. “Right you are. Again. But I can still be tired of it.”
“It’s only been two days since you’ve regained consciousness. I can see you’re going to be a most difficult patient.”
When the food came, she placed a tray in front of him. Then she put her own tray on the table near the fireplace, drew a side chair up to it, and returned to cut up his mutton. “I believe we should try to minimize the repetitive actions that might aggravate your stitches.”
He was powerless not to watch her with surging pleasure. How he loved this woman! When she returned to her table, he looked at the musket that was propped against the wall beside his bed. It was comforting to know that if he had to, he could protect this woman he loved more fiercely than he’d ever thought possible.
They ate in silence. With each chew, his thoughts swirled around the whorl on Hickington’s horse.
Then he remembered. It was like sunshine bursting through a blackened sky. Only there was nothing sunny about this. As Alex had fallen to the ground that night, clutching his bloodied chest, he’d noticed the whorl on the gunman’s horse. Hickington’s horse.
“I know who killed my brother.”
Chapter 20
Her eyes widened. “How can you possibly know such a thing?”
“Because I know horses better than a mother knows her offspring.”
“Whatever can you be talking about?’
He explained about the whorl on Hickington’s horse. “And as the murderer shot me that night, the last thing I remember seeing was the whorl on the fine beast. In the exact same spot where it was on Hickington’s horse. An impossible coincidence.”
“You’re saying Lord Hickington’s the man who tried to kill you?”
He nodded. “The same man who murdered my brother.”
“But why?”
“Need you ask?”
She did not respond for a
moment. “You can’t really think the man would kill in order to obtain my hand in marriage? I told you there’s nothing that could ever persuade me to wed that man.”
“You may know it, but he obviously doesn’t.” Now that Alex thought about it, he recalled some talk at White’s about Hickington owing Lord Landsdowne money—money he’d not been able to repay. “As lovely and desirable as you are, my dearest, you have one more attraction that Lord Hickington no doubt wants to get his hands upon.”
“My dowry!”
“Twenty thousand, is it not?”
She nodded solemnly.
He stuffed the last of his mutton into his mouth and threw off his covers.
“Pray, what do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
“I’ve got to go to London.”
She leapt from her chair and came to stand in front of him. “You most certainly will not! You’re not fit for traveling.”
“My dear woman, I’ve ridden horses over rocky terrain with injuries as bad as this.”
“But then you didn’t have to worry about leaving a heartbroken lover should you die.”
He tossed a mischievous glance at her, his eyes glittering. “I wouldn’t be so certain about that.”
“You odious man.”
He nodded. “I know, you could throw something at me were I not nearly mortally injured.”
“You’re a mad man if you can even contemplate exposing yourself to such brutal rigors of travel in the condition you’re in.”
“You have little understanding of a soldier’s constitution.” He went to push past her.
She eyed his boots in the corner, raced to them, and plunked herself down on top of them.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
“You’ll not be going without your boots, and I’m not moving.”
“You’d have me possibly reinjure myself lifting you?”
“You’d dare not!”
A loud rap banged at his chamber door. Their puzzled gazes met. “Come in,” he said.
In strode Sinjin and Wycliff.
“What the devil?” Alex said.
Georgiana sprang to her feet. “Thank God you’ve come. This deranged man is trying to go to London tonight. The surgeon has said it wouldn’t do for him to attempt travel before next week.”
