Desire Me Always (14 page)

“If you didn't harbor any ill will toward me, then why did you take Amelia?”

“As I said, you're getting in the way of my plans. I needed your attention elsewhere, though it didn't seem to work, aside from forcing your hand in marriage.”

Nick would not enlighten Shauley to the fact that Nick had wanted to marry Amelia, regardless of the fact that they'd been caught sleeping in the same bed. When the opportunity to marry her had presented itself, he hadn't shied away from it. She was now irrevocably his.

Nick crossed his arms over his chest. This conversation was going 'round and 'round without actually accomplishing anything. What he needed was to disarm Shauley. But how? The bloody pistol was still pointed in the center of Nick's chest, directly over his heart. He was a dead man if he didn't play his cards carefully.

“If you want me to stay out of your way, you'll have to tell me what I'm getting in the way of.”

Shauley slowly shook his head. “What kind of fool do you take me for? If I tell you my plan, you'll find a way to ruin it. Not a chance I'm willing to take.”

“You have to throw an old dog a bone, Shauley. I will not be stopped from accomplishing what I came here to finish.”

“You'll have to finish it another day.”

“Why are you helping them?”

Shauley's smile was menacing and ugly. “Is that what you think I'm doing?”

“Being cryptic doesn't tell me anything other than the fact that you're still an ass who thinks himself superior to all his peers.”

“Only you can claim that title, my friend. Why else would you spend so much time bloodying people's faces for a few quid?”

It was a sight bit more than a few quid and had started Nick's fortune, but this man deserved no insight into the actions Nick had taken to get ahead in life.

“If you are just going to sit there and threaten me”—Nick motioned toward the pistol—“I'll mount my horse.”

“Tsk, tsk. For once, you are not in control of the situation. You don't much like that feeling, do you? Don't make me demonstrate just how much of a disadvantage you have.” Shauley's tone was almost apologetic. What did he have to be sorry about?

Nick refused to stand there all day, arguing the merits on who was in a better position to exact revenge on the vicar. He put his foot in the stirrup of his horse at the same moment the pistol cracked, momentarily deafening him.

Nick flew back from the animal as it reared up in reaction to the noise. He was laid out on the ground, whether from the horse or the bullet, he couldn't say, but his shoulder burned, and his arm felt like it was on fire.

“I warned you against taking action.” Shauley's voice barely broke through the ringing in Nick's ears. He pressed his hand against the wound on his shoulder.

“Fuck,” he groaned, rolling into a sitting position with his good arm pressed against a tree stump. Nick tried to staunch the easy flow of blood coming, but it seemed fruitless since it ran down his arm, wetting his fingers and drip, drip, dripping to the forest floor like the constant beat of a drum.

Being shot was a new experience for him. He'd been in more fights than he could count and even had been put on his ass a few times over the years during those fights with broken bones, a smashed face, and an array of other injuries at one point or another; that was the price one paid for being a fighter. However, none of those incidences compared to the pain radiating through him and rendering him numb right now.

“Always playing the hero. I'd apologize, but I did warn you.” Shauley was within spitting distance, and as tempting as it was, some rational bone in Nick's body advised him against it. Right now, Shauley was the only person who knew where Nick was. The bastard held Nick's life in his hands. And Nick had been stupid enough to hand it over without thought.

“I didn't expect you to shoot me.”

“And I don't make empty threats.” Shauley kicked Nick's foot and came closer, kneeling in front of him. “You always were a stubborn oaf. Serves you right, really.”

Was he going to finish him off? All Nick could think was that he wasn't going to see Amelia again. He'd left her in a world where Shauley still existed. A world where she did not have his protection. He blinked, trying to clear his vision.

“So now what?” Nick's words were slurred. He welcomed the familiar tingle of detachment that dulled the ache as his pain sensors kicked in; this was the state of euphoria that used to allow him to continue a fight after being hurt. Though this time, it didn't feel like enough to save him. Too little, too late.

Shauley pulled out a knife from his boot and slid it easily through Nick's jacket, tearing down into the fabric with a hard yank. Nick cringed with renewed pain, but that didn't stop Shauley from his task.

Nick hissed in a breath as Shauley lifted his arm and threaded the fabric under his armpit, tying it at Nick's collarbone. The tightening of the fabric had Nick seeing black, so he took a few steadying breaths and focused his attention on getting the hell out of there.

“Why are you helping me?”

“Who would I have to hate if you were dead? That was just a warning shot.” Shauley smacked Nick on his bad arm. “You will live.”

Nick hissed in a pained breath.

“Surely you could find someone else to despise.”

Shauley chuckled, the sound lighthearted instead of menacing. “But not with a great history like ours. No, my friend, what you don't realize is that we have the same goal.”

“Then why aren't we working together?” Though in reality Nick didn't believe that, and he would not work with a man like Shauley willingly.

“Could you imagine anything more absurd?” Shauley was shaking his head, smiling like they were old friends having a conversation over a bottle of bourbon. “We have very different ways of going about things. My way has a lasting effect. Yours . . . well, I can't imagine you'd make the vicar suffer as long as I have.”

Shauley hauled Nick up to his feet, and Nick swayed, not sure he could walk at all. His vision wavered, his legs nearly gave out, and the drip of his blood hit the ground louder now that he was farther away from it. Odd that he could hear it at all. Maybe it was his heart he heard, keeping up with the speed of his blood loss.

Nick's bad shoulder slapped against the hindquarters of a horse. “I'm not getting you up there alone; you'll have to reach for the pommel.”

He was really letting Nick go? It didn't make sense. None of this made sense. It was almost as though he were dreaming this whole scenario between him and Shauley.

Unsure how he did it, Nick pulled himself up onto the horse. The whole ordeal took too much time, and all the while Nick's blood didn't stop, even with the rough tourniquet Shauley had tied around his arm.

With the reins, Shauley tied Nick's hands around the pommel. “Can't have you falling after the effort it took to get you up there,” Shauley said by way of explanation.

“Why aren't you finishing me off?” Nick didn't bother to say he wouldn't have been so kind as to let Shauley get away a second time.

“Don't make me regret my decision.”

Shauley whacked the rump of the horse, and the animal took off through the forest without Nick's assistance.

The ride was a blur. Nick blinked, trying to keep his eyes open; he didn't steer the horse in any one direction, though it was likely the animal was trained to go back to the inn. For all Nick knew, Shauley would have a change of heart, catch up to his mount, and shoot Nick dead.

Nick's thoughts went around in his head, constant but slowing. He had to stay awake. He knew if he gave in to his need to sleep, he was a dead man.

He shifted in the saddle, his body sliding to the side but his tied hands keeping him in his seat. He slumped to the side again, straining his injured arm. The burn of pain jarred him fully awake, as it was ten times more painful and throbbing, fierce enough that he threw up. He'd never felt the likes of the megrim that stole his ability to see anything, even in the light of day.

The horse eventually slowed, and Nick had a vague sense of falling. Then there was nothing but blackness as Nick lost his fight with staying awake.

A
melia handed over a bank note to the milliner. She'd found herself in this lovely shop, wanting to thank the woman for the veil she'd worn on her wedding. Before she knew it, she also had a pair of new gloves, as hers were worn right through.

“The veil was unlike anything I've ever seen. It was the most pleasant surprise, and I cannot thank you enough for having it ready for the wedding.”

“That husband of yours paid me well to ensure it was the only concern this shop had. Also told me that it was important to you. Who am I to argue with a man in love?” the proprietress said with a teasing tone. “But my daughter should get more credit, no? She has a fine eye with lace and wanted it to be the best of her work.”

The shop owner spoke with a slight accent—either she worked at covering it, or she'd been in England for a long time. She'd guess the woman to be French by the way she rolled her
r
's when she addressed Amelia. The woman was older, maybe in her forties, with blonde hair that grayed at the temples and swept back into her chignon. Her eyes were as sharp as a young woman's and a beautiful blue that reminded Amelia of sapphires.

“The veil is beautiful. And I'll cherish it until I can pass it down to my children.” Should she have children. Now that she thought about it, when was the last time she'd taken her tea to stop from getting pregnant? A few days past, at least. She and Nick hadn't discussed the prospect of children. That was a conversation they would have to have soon. To be on the safe side, she would go back to the inn and have a special brew made. There were a few hurdles they had to navigate before they would be ready to start a family.

The woman behind the counter handed Amelia a card scented with lavender. The shop name was hand lettered in a beautiful scroll that read “Miss Lily's Shoppe for all your fashion needs.”

“I do hope you will come by to see me again, Mrs. Riley. I have good connections in France to get the finest of fabrics and designs for the latest fashions.”

“I won't be in Highgate much longer, but it would please me to come back soon. I promise you'll be the first person I visit on my return.” Amelia didn't tell the milliner that she hated the idea of wasting money on more clothes. However, should the woman want to remain busy and for her business to thrive . . . Amelia would discuss the option of school uniforms with Nick's sister, Sera.

“Your husband will be building up this town, making it nicer, a more . . . how do you say?
Sought-after
place to live. I have a feeling you will bring business with you.”

“I suppose you're right.” Amelia smiled warmly. “I never thought of the impact on the town that restoring Caldon Manor would bring. There will likely be a lot of workers living this way for a few years. They won't be able to travel from London every day. Though I imagine my husband will hire on people from the village first. I doubt there are enough here for all the tasks required in such a job.”

After the house was built, the families of the children who would attend the school would also move into and around Highgate. But Amelia wasn't ready to reveal that part of the plan to anyone just yet. It was only a matter of time, but timing was sometimes everything, and she didn't want any dissenting voices around the school.

A lot of the businesses in this village were rundown, not just from a lack of care but also from a lack of local economy to help them flourish. The population here was stagnant and needed a fresh infusion of blood, new hopes and dreams, something to build this place into a thriving community. While Amelia had no say on which businesses would continue to operate and which would be shut out, she would put in a good word for the milliner. Besides, all towns, small and large, needed one.

“You have a wonderful establishment here, and I'll let my traveling companions know of the excellent service you provide.” Perhaps Meredith would stop in and make a purchase to support the shop.

“You're very kind, Mrs. Riley.”

Amelia turned to leave, a box with her pair of new gloves in hand. Shopping had lightened her mood a great deal. It was something all for herself and a short reprieve from the troubles that turned over in her mind the past few days. She felt a renewed positivity infuse her. Her anger had dissipated, and she was ready to tell Nick everything. The truth, because she realized that was not something she could keep from him.

The bell over the door rang, and the proprietor's wife from the inn where Amelia roomed ran through the entrance, harried, wringing her hands together in a nervous fashion before wiping the sweat from her brow.

“Miss Lily,” the innkeeper's wife said, “you have to come to the inn. There's no time to fetch the sawbones. Bring your bag. It's a gunshot wound.”

“Adele,” Miss Lily called to the back room, her accent thickening, “Gather the linens from the back cabinet. We will need them with my other pack.”

A chill ran through Amelia's whole body and before she could ask what had happened, she was running through the door behind the other women, skirts gathered up in her hands, gloves tucked under her arm. She nearly tripped twice but pulled her skirts higher and continued on, knowing she needed to be there to help. Thank God the inn was close enough that they were there in less than ten minutes.

Amelia barged through the public parlor after the others, breathing hard and needing a second to catch her breath. There was movement everywhere, shouting for order; it was complete chaos. Amelia had to push her way through the crowd that had amassed in the small space. The sight that greeted Amelia was not one she wanted to see, not in a million years.

Nick.

Prone, complexion wan, bleeding; he was spread out on the chaise, his chest rising and falling, his breathing shallow and ragged. Feeling faint, Amelia had to catch herself against the wall. Someone asked if she was all right as they helped her find her footing again.

Miss Lily muttered directions to those standing about, bringing the room to better order. “He needs to be brought up to a room. You and you”—she pointed at two burly men—“take him by the arms and by the feet. He's an ox of a man and won't be easy to move, so I'll tell you once—be careful not to jar him anymore than necessary.”

They did as they were told, every step up the stairs bringing to stark light the reality of the situation for Amelia. She followed, wishing she could help more. Feeling useless and unneeded.

How had this happened?

Only this morning they'd been in a heated argument. Part of the new reality of their marriage, with so many lies still hanging between them. None of that mattered now.

None of it.

What mattered was that the last words she'd had with her husband had been venomous. Amelia wiped away the tears that dampened her cheeks. This was her fault.

Amelia ambled after them, keeping her distance as they maneuvered her husband around the staircase and toward their rooms. She pulled the key from her reticule and rushed ahead of them. There were so many people who had helped and followed them into their private chambers that she felt closed in and her breathing came in pants, as though her lungs were starved for air.

She didn't want any of these people in here.

She wanted her husband well. And to be in his arms again. Tears blurred her eyes and washed a path down her face.

“Mrs. Riley, you should wait outside,” the proprietor of the inn said, his hand comforting and warm where it gripped Amelia's arm. It did nothing to soothe her fears.

Amelia had the impression he had said it more than once, because he gave her arm a slight shake, the motion forcing her to focus on his wrinkled face. It was enough to clear her jumbled thoughts and snap her out of the fog she'd let herself fall into.

“No. I have to help.” She swung into action, making her way through the crowd of people that had gathered.

“You're a healer,” Amelia said to the milliner.

“Oui,”
was her response as she used scissors to cut Nick's jacket and shirt away from the wound in his shoulder.

Amelia inhaled sharply on seeing the paleness of his arm and felt her lip tremble when she got her first glimpse of the puckered hole in his arm. It was an ugly wound, bulging and bloody, fleshy and still bleeding. She place her hand against her mouth, sure she was about to lose the breakfast she'd eaten hours ago.

“If you're going to help, I can't have you squeamish,” Miss Lily said.

Amelia's eyes snapped over to the lady assisting her husband. She clenched her jaw and took one steadying breath before she got her queasiness under control. “Tell me what to do.”

“Cut the rest of his shirt away. I don't want to jar him.” She pointed to the hole in his arm. “The blood has slowed since we moved him.”

“Is that a good sign?” Amelia had no experience with wounds or illness.

“It depends. I can make you no promises, Mrs. Riley, but I appreciate your assistance.” The milliner pressed her ear to Nick's chest. “Heart is beating strong, which means the blood slowed not because his body was weakening. You understand what I'm saying?”

Her face was suddenly in Amelia's.

Amelia nodded and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. Crying would solve nothing. Her husband was strong, his heart healthy, and his body fighting to stay alive.

Miss Lily pointed to the tourniquet tied around his arm and handed a pair of scissors to Amelia. “Might have been worse, had he not done that. Be careful when you cut it; we want to avoid any more bleeding until we remove the bullet.”

Amelia finished cutting the last of his shirt away, baring Nick's chest to everyone in the room. There were too many people in here. And she needed to do something about that before she yelled at them all to leave.

“Please, give us some space,” she said, shooing everyone out the door.

Landon came running down the hallway just as Amelia got everyone out. She could tell that news had already traveled to him. Landon's expression was set in a furrow of worry, and she could see the questions flitting across his expression, but he said nothing as he watched her approach. She took him by the hand and yanked him into the room, slamming the door shut behind them and cutting off their spectators' curious gazes. This was not a circus act.

“How bad is it?” Landon asked.

“I don't know.” She led him over to the bed. “The healer doesn't seem worried.”

“I am not. He's done most of the work himself, tying this. Though I think he had help.” Miss Lily pointed to the knot at the top before cutting it. “He wouldn't have been able to tie it so tight by himself.”

Amelia took Nick's hand in hers. She squeezed it, hoping he would return the gesture, but it lay rough and limp in her hold. She traced the callused tips of his fingers. He was cool to the touch, which didn't seem right.

“Help me turn him over. I need to see where the bullet has gone,” Miss Lily instructed.

With the assistance of Landon, the milliner rolled Nick to his side. Adele, who remained silent and at the ready, dipped one of her linens in a bowl of water that was on the washstand and came forward to wipe the back of Nick's shoulder.”

“He's clean back here, Mum.” There was a thread of worry in the girl's voice, which in turn had Amelia internally fretting. She worried her hands together, hating that she had so little control over the outcome of Nick's fate.

She rubbed Nick's hand between her own hands, wanting to feel the heat back in them. Wanting him to be the one to warm her as he always did. That absence of heat had her lip trembling.

“Merde,”
the milliner said.

While Amelia's French was rusty, she knew the curse for what it was . . . an incredibly bad sign.

Nick lay on the bed, lifeless. Tears trickled down Amelia's cheek, though she realized she might have been crying this entire time. Tears that came in silence.

“I cannot lose him. Not like this,” Amelia said. Landon put his arm around her shoulders. She shook him off; she didn't want to be held by anyone but her husband. She deserved no comfort.

“He's a fighter, this one, Mrs. Riley,” Miss Lily said.

“How do you know?” Amelia needed more reassurance that her husband would be fine.

“I will do everything I can to aid him. Everything within my ability.” The milliner focused her attention on Landon. “Sir, I will need you to hold him down.”

Nick was rolled flat onto the bed, a towel wedged under his bad shoulder. Miss Lily pressed her finger around the wound, eliciting a little more blood. “I cannot feel the bullet on the outside; it's wedged deep,” she said.

The healer next stuck her finger in the hole, pushing deep. The sound was sickening, almost unreal. A wave of dizziness washed through Amelia. She grasped the edge of the headboard and squeezed it so hard that the pain shooting through her hand was the only thing keeping her standing. At least that gave her something to focus on.

“You'll have to cut it out,” Landon said, still calm and collected. How could he appear so unaffected? Landon rested his hand on Amelia's shoulder, silently asking if she could handle this. She nodded, even though she wasn't so sure. But she refused to leave her husband's side.

“Adele, give me the knife.” She held out her hand toward her daughter, waiting for the instrument. “I am not sure if he'll come awake or not, so put all your weight on him.”

Landon moved Amelia gently to the side so he was closer to Nick. Kneeling on the bed, he leaned over his friend and applied light pressure to his good shoulder. “Just tell me when.”

Without further delay or comment, Miss Lily cut into the wound, making it larger, giving her room to pull out the bullet lodged there. Blood squirted around it; the sound gurgled grotesquely.

Through it all, Amelia held her ground, slowly digesting the fact that her husband needed more from her than the scared girl she had morphed into at the sight of a little blood—well, it wasn't precisely a small amount of blood, but she could be stronger.