| |
STRATFORD
Stratford had to allow Emmeline to descend first. It would have been a feat of acrobatics to change places so that he could climb down and assist her. Chivalry was only appropriate insofar as it was useful. Besides, the additional time gave his body a chance to stand down. The feel of Emmeline’s soft round bottom against his nether regions had been more arousing than he’d anticipated. That and the scent of her so close to him. She smelled so light and sweet, lemon infusing every one of his senses until it was driving him mad not to bury his nose in her hair and her skin.
She must have noticed his reaction. She must have thought it odd, too, considering she’d always made it clear she thought of him as a brother, if she thought of him at all. Is that why she had been trembling? Because he was not behaving as a brother ought? Well, he hadn’t lied when he’d said she made him nervous. He could recall countless stories of her outlandish behavior when she’d been a child. He’d been fascinated by her and drawn to her. But she’d always been younger than he by almost five years, which made her still very much a child when he was already an adolescent.
Until one summer when they were both at Odham Abbey and she was not a child. She must have been thirteen or fourteen, but she had grown since the last time he’d seen her, and she’d grown in all sorts of places where he could not allow his gaze to land much less linger. It had been impossible not to notice her large, plump breasts. But he’d made a concerted effort to look only at her face or above her head.
He was a man now and much better able to control his gaze, but it hadn’t been easy to sit with that lush derriere on his lap and not slide his hands down from her waist and over her rounded hips. It helped to remember her as the sopping wet child she had been. Except he could picture her as a sopping wet woman, her dress clinging to her curves...
Stratford forced his thoughts back to Duncan and the crisis inside Pope’s house. That cooled his ardor enough that he could climb down. Unfortunately, he had taken a bit too long, and Emmeline had already released the dog from the box. The dog ran about sniffing here and there and marking the perimeter. In the meantime, the surgeon gathered his bag and looked to Stratford for guidance. “This way then,” he said, leading the party toward the front door. Emmeline whistled to Loftus as a man would, and Stratford added that to his list of Surprising Facts about Emmeline. The most recent version of the list now had three items.
At the door, Stratford motioned for Langford and Emmeline to stand back. He hoped Nash would still be in a drunken stupor, but he could not be certain. They didn’t need Pope killing the surgeon before he could use his skills. He opened the door a crack, waited for the sound of a hammer cocking. When he didn’t hear one, he opened the door further. The entryway was empty, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
Until Pope stepped out of the parlor where Stratford had left Miss Neves and Duncan.
Pope looked in the direction of the door. “Who the devil is that?”
“It’s Stratford returning with the surgeon. I have my cousin Miss Wellesley with me. Don’t shoot.”
Nash squinted. “Why would I shoot you? We’ve been waiting for you. Hurry up then.” He reached for the door and made his way back into the parlor. Stratford stepped into the entryway followed by Emmeline and the dog. The surgeon lingered for a moment outside.
“Are you certain it’s safe?” Langford asked.
Stratford was inclined to tell him the truth—he was certain of nothing. But Emmeline must have sensed what he was about to say and chimed in first. “It’s perfectly safe. Come along now.”
She led them to the parlor, and Stratford immediately saw the situation had worsened while they’d been away. Duncan lay on the couch, covered by a blanket. His eyes were closed, and his face was pale. Stratford must have made some sort of sound because Emmeline took his hand and squeezed it. “The surgeon is here now,” she said quietly. “All will be well.”
Mrs. Brown moved forward to greet the surgeon. “Oh, Mr. Langford, thank you for coming. There has been an accident.”
Stratford glanced about the room for Nash, but he hadn’t returned to the parlor. That was probably for the best.
“I have everything ready for you,” Mrs. Brown said, ushering the surgeon to a table that had been cleared but for linens and a pitcher of water.
The surgeon set his bag on the table and opened it, then looked about the room. “It’s best if the ladies wait outside. Perhaps you too, Mr. Fortescue. Mrs. Brown can assist me, and if the patient becomes unruly, I will call for assistance.”
“I am not leaving.”
Stratford noticed Draven’s sister-in-law for the first time. She had been sitting quietly beside the couch where Duncan lay, her hand on his uninjured arm. She looked as though she’d been in a war, in her blood-stained dress.
“Miss, have you been injured?” the surgeon asked, his eyes wide.
She looked down. “No, this is Mr. Murray’s blood.”
“I see.” The surgeon looked relieved. “Then I think it’s for the best you leave. Too many people can be a hindrance.”
She stood, a petite woman who looked quite formidable despite her small stature. “Then send Mrs. Brown away.” Her voice was firm and unwavering.
“Miss Neves, I have had some practice with this sort of thing,” Mrs. Brown said. Her eyes were kind. “I know what I am about. I will take good care of him.” She linked her arm with the reluctant Miss Neves and led her to the door. Emmeline tugged at Stratford, and he followed. A moment later they were outside, the door closed in their faces.
“I don’t trust surgeons,” Miss Neves said.
“Neither do I.” Stratford had seen his share of men die from surgeons’ quick, dirty work. But this was not a severed leg or a shattered arm. This was a simple pistol ball in the arm. “But if the surgeon had a bad reputation, Mrs. Brown would have said so or we would have heard it in the village.”
“It’s out of our hands at any rate,” Emmeline said. “I don’t know how to remove a pistol ball. Should we go wait in the dining room?” She released his hand, and Stratford had the urge to pull it back. But she put an arm around Miss Neves, and anyone could see the young lady needed shoring up more than he. The doors of the dining room stood open, and as they neared it, Stratford saw Nash standing at the table, pouring drinks.
“Brandy?” Nash asked as the three approached. “You look like you could use it.”
Stratford took two snifters and handed one to Emmeline and offered the other to Miss Neves. She shook her head and pointed at Nash. “This is your fault. I want nothing from you. If he dies, his blood is on your hands.”
Nash shrugged. He obviously couldn’t see how the gesture angered Miss Neves even more. The color on her cheeks deepened to scarlet.
“I have a lot of blood on my hands, miss,” Nash said. “More than any one man ought to have.”
“You are not even sorry, are you?” Miss Neves demanded. Emmeline tried to calm her, but she shook the other woman off. Stratford thought this might be a good time to down her snifter of brandy if she didn’t want it.
“Why should I be sorry? Duncan always was a lunatic. I’m surprised he survived the war.”
“Nash,” Stratford warned. Nash had always been callous and devoid of any sentimentality. But there was no reason to upset Miss Neves any further.
“I should shut up now?” Nash asked, looking in Stratford’s direction.
“I think that would be best.”
“Then I’ll leave the field to you.” He felt along the back of the chairs until he found his way to the door of the dining room. “I will extend my hospitality to one night. But I expect all four of you gone tomorrow.” He closed the doors with a thud and walked away.
“What an awful man!” Miss Neves cried, taking one of the full snifters and downing it. She began to cough and sputter, and Emmeline had to pat her on the back. When Miss Neves seemed somewhat recovered, Emmeline turned her gaze on Stratford.
“I must agree with Ines. Your Mr. Pope is an odious scoundrel. What sort of man shoots his own friend and then throws him out? It’s unconscionable.”
“Nash hasn’t been the same since the war and his injury. He wasn’t always so unfeeling.” Not that he was ever particularly warm and friendly. But Stratford supposed that anyone trained as a sharpshooter would have to rid oneself of feeling very early on. Else how could he shoot men on a mere order? Stratford had killed his own share of the enemy in battle. That was the nature of war. But those men had been ready to kill him. They’d seen him coming and had a fighting chance. Nash took men unaware, and Stratford had to believe that sort of job, day after day, weighed on a man.
“Why did you bring us here?” Emmeline demanded.
Stratford pointed at his chest. “This was not my idea. It was all Duncan.”
“Não!” Miss Neves interrupted. “If anyone is to blame, it is me. If I had not pretended I was someone I am not, we would not have needed to come here. If he dies, the fault is also mine.” She began to weep, and Stratford poured himself another snifter of brandy. Emmeline gave him a disgusted look and went to comfort the other woman.
“It is not your fault, and he will not die. Hush, now, dear. You have done all you could for him.” Emmeline continued to pat her shoulder and comfort her, while Stratford went to the window and looked out at the late afternoon sun. His belly growled, unhappy with only a meal of brandy. He had heard a rumor of soup, but none had been produced. Knowing Duncan’s appetite, that did not surprise Stratford. Something nudged his leg, and he looked down to see Loftus looking up at him.
“They make a great deal of noise, don’t they?” he said to the dog, patting his head. The dog whined, and Stratford nodded. “I think we all might benefit from something more than brandy. Shall we visit the kitchens?”
The dog must have known that word because his head came up and his tail began to wag enthusiastically. Stratford tried to tell the women he would return, but he couldn’t seem to find a moment to break in, so he patted his leg to encourage the dog and went out through the servants’ door.
The kitchens were in no better shape than the rest of the house, though there had been some effort at tidiness. The problem, Stratford saw, was that there had been a fire at some point, and the flames had damaged one wall and the ceiling. Both had been shored up with heavy pieces of timber, but they smelled of charred plaster and wood and would need to be replaced before they caved in and hurt someone. Stratford poked about and found a few potatoes and dried meat. He gave the meat to Loftus, who took it to a corner to chew on. Stratford, having been in the army, knew something about cooking, and went to fetch water from the yard. That done, he heated it, cleaned the potatoes, and put them in to cook. It was simple, but no one would go hungry.
He sat, patted the dog, and watched the pot to make sure it didn’t boil over. Emmeline found him that way a little while later. “Any news from the surgeon?” he asked.
She shook her head. “He hasn’t emerged from the parlor yet. Ines has wept herself to exhaustion. I left her with her head on the table, asleep. Are you...cooking?”
He raised his brows. “Someone had to provide a meal, and Mrs. Brown has her hands full at the moment.”
She looked in the pot and nodded. “I had no idea you had such skills.”
“I’m full of surprises,” he said. She looked at the dog, who was sleeping with his weight against Stratford’s legs.
“I see that. It looks as though you won Loftus over.”
“Dried meat is the way to a dog’s heart.”
She took the seat beside him. “You’re the strategist,” she said, looking at the fire. “What do we do?”
He looked at her. Even after all they had been through the past two days—had it only been two days?—she looked lovely. She looked a bit rumpled, to be sure, but he’d always liked her with her dark hair loose and her cheeks pink from exertion. “Too many variables yet unknown to make a plan,” he said. “We wait to see how the surgeon fares and how Duncan looks in the morning and then decide.”
“Your Mr. Pope said we must leave tomorrow.”
“I’ll deal with Mr. Pope. I’ll hit him over the head if that’s what it takes, but we won’t be here long even if I persuade Pope.”
“The colonel will find us.”
“Exactly.”
She shifted. “I don’t see how he has any say over what I do. I am not his wife’s sister.”
Stratford had to admire her tenacity. “He is no more likely to let an unescorted lady go traipsing about the countryside than I am.”
“I will not be unescorted. I will have Loftus with me.”
The dog raised his head and looked at her. She smiled, reached over, and petted him. “That’s right. You know your name, don’t you?”
“Emmeline,” he began.
She held up a hand. “I do not want a lecture. My mind is made up.”
“Then you must tell your mother as much. You can’t run away from your problems. Believe me, I tried.” He didn’t know why he’d said that. He hadn’t meant to say it. And of course, now she was looking at him with those bluer than blue eyes.
“When you went into the army.”
“Most younger sons join the army or navy. That wasn’t running away. Joining a troop with a slate of suicide missions? That was running away.”
She blinked at him. “I always wondered if what I’d heard about Draven’s troop was an exaggeration. People say you were the best and the brightest.”
“And the most expendable. No heirs, only a few spares, and very few men with any family. We weren’t expected to live, and we were prepared to die.”
“I think you probably had something to do with bringing twelve of those men back.”
“We all played our parts. The point is my problems did not disappear while I was away. I came home and very little had changed.”
She shook her head. “You changed. I could see it the first time I saw you again. You were not as angry. You were more at peace—or perhaps you were looking for peace.”
How strange that she saw him so clearly. The war had driven the anger he’d always felt at the baron’s dismissal of him away. He’d stopped being defensive and looking for reasons to argue and began to appreciate solitude, peace, and simplicity. He’d always known anger hadn’t been logical, but now he could act on those beliefs and put the anger away.
She placed her hand on his arm, and he swore his skin burned through the layers of clothing. “Do you think you’ve found it?”
He looked into her eyes, and he couldn’t help but think that every time he’d ever looked at her, he’d found peace. And then he was moving without thinking. He was reaching for what he wanted, without a plan or a strategy or even the benefit of reason. His hand cupped the back of her neck. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t resist. And when he lowered his mouth to hers, what happened next was completely unexpected.
***
INES
“Miss Neves.”
Ines came awake suddenly and looked up. The room was shadowed, but there was enough of the fading early evening light left for her to see Mrs. Brown. Ines jumped to her feet. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, miss. I came to tell you Mr. Langford has finished. You can go in and see Mr. Murray, if you like.”
Ines gripped Mrs. Brown’s arms. “He’s alive?”
“Yes, of course. He’s awake too and asking for food.”
Ines felt her knees buckle, and she had to sit back down. She hadn’t killed him. She wouldn’t spend the rest of her life punishing herself for his death. She began to rise again and then realized that it was still early. He might still develop a fever and die. But she couldn’t allow that to happen. She would do everything she could to keep him from taking a fever. She stood. “I need to see him, Mrs. Brown.”
“That’s why I came to fetch you, Miss Neves.”
Ines followed Mrs. Brown to the parlor, taking a deep breath before stepping inside. Then she squared her shoulders, opened her eyes, and put on a smile. She walked into the parlor and smiled in earnest. Duncan Murray really did look better. He was sitting up, the blanket pulled mid-chest, with a clean bandage around his arm. His color was better, and he was arguing with the surgeon.
“My father and my grandfather both drank whisky for everra ailment. Everra Scotsman kens whisky can cure anything.”
“I am not a Scotsman, Mr. Murray,” Mr. Langford said, “but I maintain you have had enough to drink and would be better sticking to tea or broth.”
“Christ and all the saints! The man is trying tae kill me.” He noticed Ines and pointed to her. “That makes two of ye.”
Ines ignored the reference to her brother-in-law. “How is he, Mr. Langford?”
“See for yourself, miss. We revived him a bit with a tonic, but he will need plenty of rest the next few days.”
“I am not certain that is possible, senhor. Mr. Pope has said we must be out of his house in the morning.”
“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Brown said.
“Should I speak with the man? Mr. Murray should not be traveling, if it can be avoided.”
“It will do no good,” Mrs. Brown said.
“I, for one, dinnae want tae be shot again. He’ll aim for the heid this time,” Murray said. “If we had a coach, I’d leave tonight.”
Ines rubbed the throbbing spot between her brows. “But we do not have a coach, senhor.”
“We’ll leave it tae Stratford. We’ll need two coaches. One tae take ye and Miss Wellesley back tae London, and one tae take me tae Scotland.”
Langford, who had lifted his surgeon’s bag, set it back on the table. “You cannot possibly be proposing that you travel alone to Scotland, sir. You shouldn’t be traveling at all, much less halfway across the country.”
“I will go with him,” Ines said.
“No,” Murray said even before the words were out of her mouth. “I’ll order Stratford tae take ye home.”
Ines put her hands on her hips. “You may give all the orders you like, senhor, but I will see you home safely. It is my fault you are injured, and it will be my fault if you die on the way to Scotland.”
Murray furrowed his brow as though she were speaking in Portuguese again. Langford lifted his bag. “Well, I see that is settled then. Miss Neves, if I might have a moment of your time, I will instruct you on how best to change the bandages and clean the wound.”
She went with the surgeon, listened to his instructions, and gave him her assurances she would do exactly as he’d specified.
“I am trusting you with him, Miss Neves. He feels much improved now, but he will need your help for the next day or so. The wound is fairly minor, but even a small wound can become infected and fever may set in. If that happens—”
“I am to take him to a doctor immediately. I understand, senhor.”
The surgeon looked about, his kind eyes sharpening on the dilapidated entryway. “I always wondered what it looked like inside the great house,” he said, almost to himself. “It’s a shame, isn’t it?” He cleared his throat. “I am aware it is vulgar to speak of payment, but I do not suppose I will receive any response if I send my bill to Mr. Pope. Could you direct me to someone who might be able to pay for my services?”
Ines frowned. She hadn’t thought of this, but of course the man would need to be paid. What an idiot she was! And she had no money. She had not expected to travel any further than a street over from Draven’s house in London. “Give me a moment,” she said, turning to go back into the parlor.
Mrs. Brown was fussing with the pillow behind Murray, and he waved her off when Ines returned. “I hope ye were nae serious aboot traveling tae Scotland, lass.”
“Never mind about that now,” she said. “I need coin to pay the surgeon. He has no faith if he sends the bill to Mr. Pope, it will ever be paid.”
“Typical,” Murray said. “First the man shoots me then he makes me pay for the privilege of staying alive.” He gestured to his coat, which was in a heap on the floor, having been cut off his a few hours earlier. “If ye dinnae cut it tae shreds, my blunt is in the pocket.”
She found the purse full of coins as well as a wallet with notes. She took them both out to the surgeon and paid him. When she was finished, she actually felt quite proud of herself. She had handled all of this business herself. And Draven thought she was not ready to live on her own above a shop. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She had made a mistake regarding Mr. Murray, that was true, but she was doing her best to make it right. She would see him safely home to Scotland. She owed him that much.
And she would not think too much about how she would much rather be in Scotland, facing the ire of Murray’s mother, than back in London and stuffed into one of Mr. Podmore’s carriages. She was not yet ready for this adventure to end. And she could not possibly go back to London after having spent two days and two nights with Duncan Murray and still not have been kissed. If anyone found out—and this was London, so of course everyone would find out—Draven would have a difficult time convincing any of the stuffy middle class merchants to marry her.
And that thought made Ines smile. Podmore would be absolutely appalled at the idea of her having run away with a disreputable Scot. They would all shun her, which meant she might finally get the freedom she’d been hoping for.
And if she had a little fun on that road to ruination then all the better.
She marched back into the parlor and found Murray alone. He’d managed to send Mrs. Brown away, and now he eyed her suspiciously as she set his money on the table near the couch. “Ye look pleased with yerself.”
She nodded. “I have never paid anyone before. Catarina always handled the finances for the shop. I feel happy.” She moved a chair to face him and sat. “And since I am responsible for what happened, I will reimburse you the fee for the surgeon.”
Murray held up his hand.
“Do not refuse. I have money. Our lace sells well, and I receive a tidy sum every week. Benedict never lets me spend any of it.”
“He wants tae take care of ye.”
“Not every woman wants to be taken care of, senhor. Some of us want a taste of adventure.”
Murray’s look of suspicion turned wary. “Is that why yer insisting on coming tae Scotland with me?”
“I would be lying if I said that was not part of the reason.”
He leaned back. “I appreciate yer need for adventure and yer wanting tae keep me alive, lass. But I’d rather nae be kent as the man who ruined yer reputation.”
“Oh, you need not worry about that.”
His brow lifted. He looked so handsome when he did that. “Because yer a shopkeeper and dinnae have tae worry aboot reputations?”
“Because I want you to ruin my reputation, senhor.”
He shook his head. “I think more than my arm was wounded. I’m nae hearing ye right, lass.”
“You heard me.” She slid off the chair and moved to sit beside him on the couch.
“I dinnae think that is a good idea.”
“You do not know what it is like to have the most uninteresting men in the world knocking on your door and wanting to walk with you in the park or take you for ices. Then all they can speak of is carriage wheels or shoe patterns. I want to stab my eye out, senhor.”
“I have some idea what ye mean. I just spent weeks in London looking for a bride. I never kent there were so many ways tae discuss the weather. But I think ye should go back tae yer chair.”
“I want to check your forehead and make certain you have no fever.” She reached out and he feinted to the right.
“I feel bonny. Nae need tae touch me.”
She pressed her hand to his forehead anyway. “I promised Mr. Langford I would check for fever every hour.”
He winced, as though her hand burned him. But she didn’t remove it. Their eyes met. “As ye see, lass. Nae fever.”
She nodded and leaned over him.
“Now what are ye aboot?”
She ran a hand down his shoulder, pausing at the white bandage. “Making certain the dressing does not need changing.”
“It has nae been on but an hour, lass.”
She made a sound of assent but leaned closer to inspect the linen. She was aware this brought their bodies in contact, and that Murray stiffened. “Do you know something, Senhor Murray?” she said as she examined the bandage.
“What’s that, lass?” he asked, voice tight.
“I have never been kissed.” She heard his quick intake of breath and met his gaze. His expression was pained.
“Why are ye telling me this?”
“Because when you feel up to it, I want you to be the first man to kiss me.” Satisfied with what she saw, she straightened and then stood. “I suppose I should find Mr. Fortescue and tell him we will need a coach in the morning. And perhaps Mrs. Brown can help me clean this dress.”
Murray just stared at her, his mouth open.
“If I leave you for a moment, you will not decide to walk around, will you, senhor? You will sit and rest?”
He still didn’t respond, just stared at her.
“Good. Then I will be back in a moment. Perhaps I can find you something to eat as well.”
She was almost to the door when he called after her, in a hoarse voice, “And whisky, lass.”
“Of course. I imagine you do need a drink.”