A Dangerous Man (21 page)

Lady Cunningham came up beside Richard and placed her
hand on his arm. "Leave her to me, Your Grace. My maid and
I will get her out of her wet clothes."
"

"No! I will do it myself." He lifted his gaze to Lady Cunningham's. "Please, forgive my rudeness, madam, but I am
worried. I would not leave her."

I understand" Lady Cunningham gave his arm a reassuring squeeze, then ushered everyone from the room.

Richard unfastened the buttons of Leah's gown. He chafed
her arms, her legs, her hands, then wrapped the blankets
around her like a woolen cocoon. "Please, darling, open your
eyes. I want to see your beautiful, green eyes"

Lady Cunningham returned, carrying on a tray a steaming bowl of broth, a pot of tea, and an assortment of medicine
bottles.

A footman followed with extra blankets and a change of
men's clothing in his arms.

"This is Robert," Lady Cunningham said, nodding at the
servant as she set the tray on the bedside table. "He will be
just outside the door should you need him. The doctor has
agreed to stay the night. I dispatched a servant to your house to gather some clothing and such. These will have to do for
now. I do hope they fit. They belonged to my husband when
he was much younger, and much thinner."

Richard gave her a weak smile. "Thank you for your kindness, Lady Cunningham"

"Yes, well ... if you should need me . .

Richard nodded. He waited for Lady Cunningham and the
footman to leave before he stripped off his wet clothes and
grabbed the borrowed garments. The shirt pulled across his
shoulders. The breeches left his knees exposed. But at least
they were dry, not that he cared.

Nothing mattered, save for his wife.

He pulled a chair next the bed, stroked Leah's cheeks with
his fingertips. Her skin was so cold, despite the blankets and
the blazing fire. Not knowing what else to do, he climbed
onto the bed and gathered her into his arms.

"Oh, God, Leah, I don't want to lose you now."

Rachel smiled at Margaret as the two women stood beneath
the portico waiting for their carriages. Nothing could depress
her high spirits, not the soggy night air that would render her
hair a tangled mess, nor her companion's grim face. "What is
wrong with you, Margaret? Our plan worked perfectly, yet
you stand there looking as if someone has stolen your favorite
brooch"

Margaret leaned her hand against the nearest Doric
column, as if she needed the smooth marble to help her stand.
"I wanted to drive the girl into the arms of another man, not
kill her."

"Do not be absurd. The child will be fine." A gust of wind
spattered rain across the stone floor. Rachel pulled her cashmere shawl around her shoulders. "She has suffered a
simple bump on the head. Why, Alison is forever tumbling
here and there with nary a care. The chit will be up and about by tomorrow, with only a few scrapes and bruises to
mark her injuries."

"I hope you are right," Margaret said, edging toward the
steps leading into the carriage drive, as if to escape Rachel's
presence. "Did you see his face? He loves her, even if he has
yet to realize it."

"Nonsense!" Rachel would never consider it. Caught up in
carnal lust, yes. But not love. Rachel was the woman he
loved. Not some worthless slut pulled from the laboring
masses. "She is a piece of fluff who has caught his fancy."

Margaret's dark-eyed stare held more than a hint of suspicion. Her lips moved, then she shook her head, as if she
couldn't voice the accusation rolling around the tip of her
tongue. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "But I do not want
to hurt her. Not physically. That was not part of the plan."

"Of course not," Rachel said, shrugging her shoulders.
"Neither do I. But we cannot let this inconvenient accident
deter us from our course. We must march onward toward our
goal."

Margaret gave a sulky nod. "What of Prescott? Once I left
the ballroom with Richard, I never saw him again."

The torches along the wall flickered in the breeze. The
flames danced golden over Rachel's skin. How much longer
would she have to wait to feel Richard's hands running over
her breasts, making her burn in her most secret places?

"Prescott left just after he and Leah danced. That boy is so
green, he wore his heart on his sleeve all through their waltz.
It was perfect" Rachel laughed aloud. "Mark my words, Margaret. The gossipmongers will have plenty to keep them busy
tonight."

Leah heard voices floating in the darkness. She tried to
open her eyes, but her lids felt swollen and wouldn't part, as if someone had sewn them together. She persevered and finally managed to drag them apart.

The room swam before her eyes in a misty haze.

Richard's face appeared above her, his mouth twisted in
a fearsome frown. She should tell him not to scowl so
fiercely-he was ever so handsome when he smiled-but she
couldn't seem to find her voice. Her mouth was dry, her
tongue felt thick. The only sound she could hear was a roaring in her ears, like ocean waves whipped up by a hurricane,
the wind swirling through her head, the deafening pounding
of the tide against a rocky shore.

The canopy above the bed caught up in the swirling storm
spun rapid circles around her head. Her stomach heaved. Her
heart beat faster, her throat convulsing until the nausea passed.

Richard disappeared. Another face appeared above her. A
stranger this time. He spoke to her, but Leah couldn't attend
to his words. A vision of Richard with another woman clutched
in his arms swam before her eyes. Leah moaned and sank willingly into the sweet, painless void that hovered beyond the
light.

The next time she opened her eyes, morning sunlight filled
the room. An open window let in a humid breeze-and the
clatter of horse hooves striking cobblestones on the street
below her window? That wasn't right. Her room overlooked
the gardens, not the street, and the Chinese wallpaper and
crimson draperies confused her. This was not her room.
Where was she?

Do not panic, she told herself as she drew a deep breath,
her heart starting to race, her skin tingling with cold and fear.
She lifted her head, but it set off a fearsome pounding, like a
chisel striking her brain. The small movement threatened to
send the contents of her stomach swishing up her aching
throat.

She swallowed quickly to keep from retching.

Someone was clutching her hand. She turned her head by
slow degrees, breathing deeply between each torturous inch
until she saw Richard sitting on a chair pulled close to the side
of the bed, his head resting on his arms, her hand clutched in
his fist.

She wiggled her fingers, and even that small movement
sent a spasm of pain up her arm. Bloodshot eyes popped
open. A dark growth of hair bristled his cheeks. Shadows and
lines etched the hollows of his cheeks and the creases of his
lips.

Then he smiled. Slow. Soft. Tender.

One hand reached out to stroke her brow. "How do you
feel?"

Some vague memory tugged at her awareness, reached
through her confusion, but Leah couldn't seem to grasp it.
She tried to return his smile, but her head hurt too much to
risk moving even her lips. Her fear must have shown in her
eyes.

He smoothed his knuckles over her cheek. His gaze shifted
away for a moment. When he looked back at her, a grimness
hardened the lines around his mouth and eyes. "You fell and
bumped your head. Do you not remember?"

Another brief flash of memory, lost in the fog. Leah
reached for it, but it dissolved before she could catch it.

A feeling of foreboding crawled over her skin. Perhaps she
did not want to know. Perhaps it was better this way.

A soft knock sounded on the door before it opened.

Leah expected her aunt's cheerful smile to greet her, not
the tall, stately woman who stood in the doorway with a
breakfast tray in her hands. She looked vaguely familiar, but
Leah could not remember where they might have met.

"How is our patient this morning?" the woman said.

"Finally awake," Richard replied. "And her belly is furi ously grumbling for food, which is rather a good sign, do you
not think, Lady Cunningham?"

Leah's cheeks burned, but she could not form a thought,
much less speak a word.

Lady Cunningham smiled. "Well, then, I will leave this
tray. I fear there is nothing too substantial on it. Clear broth
and honeyed tea for today. If you are feeling up to company
this afternoon, perhaps I could read to you?"

"That would be lovely," Leah managed, but she was too
disoriented to truly understand the words.

"I shall see you then," she said, then walked from the room.

Richard took a napkin from the tray and tucked it beneath
Leah's chin. He poured a glass of water, added a few drops of
liquid from a bottle on the tray. He held the glass to her lips.
"Drink it slowly. There is laudanum in it to ease your pain and
help you rest. Rest is what you need most"

Leah gulped the soothing liquid. Mere moments passed
before the soothing effects of the opiate dulled her senses.
She felt herself drifting off. "How long have I been ill?"

Richard frowned. "We were at a ball. You slipped down the
terrace steps. Do you not remember?"

Leah shook her head, a foolish mistake, she realized, as her
vision blurred and her stomach clenched.

"Never mind." He kissed the back of her hand, then
pressed her palm against his cheek. His morning beard felt
soft and familiar against her skin. "Rest and get well. That is
all I want you to concern yourself with."

By the end of the next week, Leah thought she might
scream if Richard fussed over her for one more moment. As
much as she enjoyed his ministrations and the proof that he
cared about her well-being, she was tired of lounging around
as if she were an invalid, incapable of so much as brushing
her own hair.

The swelling at the back of her head had diminished. The
scab covering the wound no longer itched. How she had injured her head remained a mystery. Vague images tortured her
dreams, but she could not discern them. Richard told her
she'd stumbled down the terrace steps, but why would she
leave the ball in the middle of a storm? Why did his eyes shift
away whenever she questioned him?

With a disgusted sigh, she pushed herself off the bed and
paced to the cheval glass. A wave of dizziness nearly dropped
her to her knees, but she breathed deeply until the spell passed.

She lifted her hair, which she wore down across her brow
to cover the gash. The wound was starting to knit itself together, but the skin was still red and raw and would no doubt
leave a scar.

Her simple, muslin frock, which Richard had helped her
don before he'd left, rubbed against her aching ribs. She closed
her eyes, shivered as she remembered his hands sliding along
the curve of her back, his movements brisk, coldly clinical,
while her thoughts had been anything but.

A quick knock on the door before it opened sent a guilty
flush across her cheeks, but it was only Lady Cunningham,
come for their morning visit.

"I take it St. Austin is away," she said, her brown eyes
sparkling with shared mischief. "Or he would toss you back
on that bed"

The only clues to her age, which Leah placed at about fifty,
were the few streaks of silver highlighting her mahogany hair.

She laughed, then winced at the swift onslaught of pain.
Perhaps she wasn't quite recovered, after all. "The doctor said
I could return home, so he is off to fetch the carriage."

"There was no need" Lady Cunningham took a seat by the
window. "I would have been more than happy to send you
home in mine, though I must say, I am sad to see you leave.
Since my daughter and her husband sailed for the Indies, I have been at odds and ends. I will miss our conversations,
Your Grace"

"As will I. Please, call me Leah. I am not quite comfortable
with that title yet."

"Leah. What a lovely name. And I am Abigail. Abby to my
friends." She glanced around the room, as if expecting
Richard to pop out of the shadows and scold her for letting
her patient out of bed. "I wonder, each spring I host a subscription ball to raise funds for the Sunday schools in the
poorer districts of the City, the Seven Dials, Covent Garden,
and the like. Might I interest you in joining my committee?
The work will not start for many months yet, but I thought,
perhaps . . ."

I should like that above all things," Leah said as she slid
onto the seat across from Abby, her warm acceptance a balm
to Leah's sorely bruised feelings. She did not remember much
of the ball that ended with her injury, but she did recall the
animosity of Richard's peers, the cold refusal to so much as
include her in trivial conversation, much less the planning of
a charitable event that was the perfect counterpart to her own
philanthropic endeavors. They spent the next hour in pleasant
conversation, Abby sharing the details of the last few balls,
what went right, what ended in disaster. Leah making suggestions for the next.

Until Richard appeared at the door, all brooding dark eyes
and disapproving frown as he glanced first at the bed, then
swept his gaze around the room, his eyes finally finding
Leah.

The same haunted look hung in his eyes that she had seen
from the moment she'd first awakened following her injury.

What is wrong, she wanted to cry, but she forced herself to
smile, albeit shakily, as she rose, careful not to let her dizziness show. His narrow-eyed gaze said she did not fool him.

He wanted to chastise her, Leah could tell, but he folded his
hands behind his back and smiled. "Good morning, ladies."

"Your Grace" Abby swept her hands down the crisp folds
of her muslin gown. "I was just telling your wife how much I
have enjoyed her company, but if she does not get well soon,
she will miss the remainder of the season. Leah, I shall leave
you in your husband's capable hands"