In the Brief Eternal Silence (48 page)

Tobacco? Whyever should she smell tobacco?
Oh, Heavens, do not tell her that Tyler packed his wound with
tobacco! But even as she thought this, there was a revealing wisp
of it that had fallen inside the bandage. No wonder he was not
clotting properly, he had absorbed whatever it was that brought
Tyler so much pleasure.

I do not know what to do about this, Dante,
except to disinfect it and stitch you up the best I know how and
hope that as you make new blood you dilute whatever it is in the
tobacco that is thinning it.

You did listen to my concerns, and I
respected you for that. Then you told me to be quiet so you could
think, and I thought that would be nothing but a ploy before you
flatly refused to change your intentions. But you were thinking,
and if you did not change your intentions, you amended them to the
degree that, although I was not happy, I had hope that you were not
totally without heart.

She took the Borax powder and dusted the
gaping hollow of skin. It was a good three inches long and all the
meat of him in the middle of it was quite gone as though a plow had
furrowed through, and she could see the white bone of his rib
beneath. The skin around it showed the brutality of Tyler's
ministrations and she shuddered to think of the pain St. James had
endured.

But I could not fathom why you were so
determined to do as you had said, to marry me when you did not know
me, when I could see upon my first glimpse of you that there were
surely many that would desire to be your wife. And we spoke of
motive, and I did not like how easily you read how I thought my
life would be. Had it been so obvious? But you did not ridicule my
intentions, even though after you had spoken them, they seemed
somehow very sad.

If only there were something to keep this
blood away from where she worked! She was sopping it up every
minute it seemed and it was slowing her down. She took up her first
needle and suturing thread.

You did not want to tell me your story. You
did not want me to know your motives, and I guess even then, I knew
that if I heard it, something was going to change quite profoundly
between us, for you do not have the look about you of one who oft
tells his woes.

Funny how the most unacceptable actions can
be made understandable when one knows what prompts them. But I do
not condone it, Dante, never will. You should have let it go a long
time ago and tried to rise above it. Living life as you should and
being happy, even if you die unexpectedly and young, is better than
this battle you have been engaged in for the most of your life. You
may die anyway and not have lived at all. But of course, I should
know that you accepted that risk, perhaps with rancor but accepting
it all the same, wanting what should have been yours by right and
nothing less.

Her stitches were uniform and even, each
knotting and snipping was swift, a feat that always amazed her in
retrospect and brought her a good deal of teasing from her father.
“If you can sew up some foal as neat as that, whyever can't you sew
a new dress, Lizzie, my love?” She could only think that it was the
degree of concentration she fell into when something she loved was
hurt. She did not care two pins about a new dress.

But the price you pay, I fear it is too much.
You will never get back these years of hate and searching. And I am
very much afraid of what you will be left to live with if you
should prevail. I worry for you, Dante. I worry a great deal. And I
do not know how to stop you or turn you. You may as well be Leaf
heading for that fence, for there is nothing for it but for me to
hang on and await that crash, for you will not accept any pulling
on the reins.

The fact that you were scandalized at my
wearing breeches, that I found so very amusing, considering what I
had heard of you. But in looking back I have to wonder if it were
not even then that I gained your attention. Oh, not in that way,
for that would be silly, although you seem to find it amusing to
try to convince me that—well never-mind! All I am saying is that
your mind must have already been analyzing what sort of woman would
wear breeches, and unfortunately for me, I surmise you judged one
that was not easily shocked. And since your proposal was very
shocking indeed, I must conclude that this were an asset in your
eyes.

And that is where I get so very upset with
you, for you were only pondering if I would be adequate for your
purposes. You never consider, Dante, what you are fully asking of
others. Or no, maybe that is not true. Maybe you do consider it and
in your arrogance you think that you shall be able to make it up to
them in some manner when all this is over. But will you be able to
atone for Tyler never taking a wife? Oh, you do not like to see it,
but I very much suspect that if he had not felt impelled to aid
your cause and keep you safe that he would have married long ago.
Or I may be doing you an injustice. He was there to see your
parents' bodies, after all, and he may have his own feelings of
wanting to see vengeance done.

But your grandmother hurts. I am sure she
could get over her own long-standing grief if she could see you
happy. But you will not desist, nor will you even pretend that you
have to her, for you will not lie, will you, Dante, even to comfort
an old woman that you love?

She tied off the last of the thick, black
thread from the first needle, cut the needle free, laid it aside
and picked up the second needle.

And Andrew. Oh dear! Andrew. He wants to
further your cause, and if you fail then he will surely fail also
for although I think a great deal of him he is not as you are. But
we have talked about him once, and you were very angry with me, and
I am afraid it only made you all the more determined rather than
discouraging you.

You take on too much, Dante. You are only one
man. You are not to blame for living when your parents died. How
often do you think that you were meant to be in that coach? How
often do you tell yourself that the only reason you were divinely
spared was to seek vengeance?

His muscles tensed, alerting her, just,
before he moved. Then his right hand was clawing at his side where
she worked and she was hard pressed to keep him from undoing her
work. “Milord!” His eyes opened, but there was such a feverish
gleam in them she did not even think he knew where he was. She rose
from where she had been on her knees and leaned over him, catching
a glancing blow to her side as she did so. She caught his flailing
right hand and at the same time she spoke with soothing sternness.
“St. James. St. James! Lie still, you are safe.”

But he was swearing and fighting her holding
his hand as though in the midst of some battle, and his injured
left arm contracted in effort to aid him in gaining release from
her.

“Dante!”

His eyes cleared, settled on her in fretful
fever, and he stilled.

“You're in your own bedchamber,” she went on,
her voice now quiet. “Quite safe. But you must lie still for you
have lost a great deal of blood and I am endeavoring to stitch up
your wound.”

For answer he groaned, and his hand jerked in
hers, not flailing now, but making a determined effort to go to his
chest and his injury. She hung onto it in desperation. “No, no,
milord. You cannot be pawing about at it. I know it must hurt—”

“Damn. . . right!” he forced out and bit his
teeth down hard together in closed eyed effort to control his
groans. She watched him, worried. Oh, if only he had stayed out for
just a little longer! Then his eyes snapped open and blazed at her.
“What. . . are you. . . doing here? No. . . place for you. . . to
be!”

“Do you want a doctor?”

“No!”

“Then I am the best you are going to get. At
least I am not packing you full of tobacco and burning you with an
iron.”

He gave such a grimace that she nearly
smiled. “Do not remind. . . me of that. Damn. . . Tyler!”

“He did what he thought was best, milord, and
managed to keep you from bleeding to death before I got here, but I
really must finish for I am only half done, you know, and I can not
delay any longer.”

“Whiskey. . . first.”

“No, St. James. Only water for now,” and she
loosed his hand from hers, which he had been holding with enough
pressure to make her wince. “Which I will fetch if you promise to
not be tearing at yourself.”

“Wretched. . . lass! Probably. . . thrown. .
. all out the window.” Then he cursed again, a broken stream of
profanity that had her ears burning, but she understood that it was
either that or a less masculine expression of pain, which he would
not show. Silly fool. All the same, it was probably better, for
screaming would bring somebody, and she understood that St. James
did not want anyone to know of his injury. How he was to maintain
that secret, she had no idea.

She poured the water from the pitcher that
Effington kept fresh in his room and returned to the bed with the
glass. She placed her hand beneath his head, lifted him enough to
put the glass to his mouth and was at least relieved at the
momentary lapse in his cursing as he sipped. “More,” she told him,
and he was in so much pain that he obeyed without argument, which
made her smile slightly.

When he finished, she set the glass aside. “I
have to finish, mi-lord. And I fear it is going to be painful.”

“I shall. . . endeavor. . . to manage. Just.
. . get on. . . with it.”

She settled herself back on her knees, began
where she had left off and she had to admit that he did not even
twitch when the needle pushed through the brutalized flaps of his
skin.

“Talk. . . Lizzie,” he muttered through
clenched teeth. “You. . . were talking. . . before, weren't
you?”

She blushed, but kept her eyes on her work.
“Yes, milord. What do you wish me to talk about?”

“Tell me what. . . happened at Almacks. Did
Andrew. . . manage?”

Her hand steadied. “Yes. Quite admirably, I
should say, as I was quite stupid at that point. It was a most
unforgivable display, milord.”

A faint smile slanted his compressed
lips.

Her hands began to find their rhythm again.
“But then you planned it that way, did you not? You had every
intention of ruining me so that I would agree to walk shamefacedly
to the alter with you. Shame on you, milord.”

“As we are under. . . the most intimate of. .
. circumstances presently,” he fought to get out with a hint of his
usual teasing, “you must. . . call me. . . Dante.”

“Hush! You are no sight to see at the moment,
so do not try to make more of this than it is. And as I was saying,
Dante, what you did was quite cruel.” She glanced up at him, his
profile but a foot away from her own concentrating face, but his
eyes were closed and his brow was knotted in an effort to remain in
control, and, she suspected, to not slip again into
unconsciousness. “I see you do not deny it,” she said. “But I did
not think you would. Nor do I expect you will apologize, for you
are quite without shame, but that does not surprise me either. But
as I said, your cousin came leaping to the rescue, and Ryan Temp—
(and her voice took on that whimsical teasing quality again as she
fell quite completely into her work)

—ton also. And as Ryan said that I must make
a great show of thinking nothing of it myself, I managed to laugh
and appear to have a very good time and then there were many young
men asking for my hand in dancing, and I did have a good time. And
it was all very strange for although you had the damnedest of
intentions, it ended having just the opposite effect as you
expected, or at least what I think you expected, for I did have to
wonder if even this result was as you wanted it. But the degree of
convolution your mind must work at to anticipate that reaction and
already know of how you could use it to your advantage is so
intimidating to me that I refuse to even delve into it. So we shall
settle that you, for once, misjudged. I confess, it gives me more
pleasure at any rate to believe that you are not infallible in your
reasoning. In conclusion, I fear, mi-lord—Dante, that you
accomplished nothing, except to blacken your own reputation as
usual.

Your grandmother was furious at your
behavior, and I would wager very much regrets the money she paid to
Lady Frobisher to entice your voucher out of her. Lady Frobisher, I
noticed, was explaining quite earnestly to some other ladies
present that I can only think were the other members of the board.
I hope her daughter's wedding gift was worth it. It all entertained
me very much, I confess.

But your grandmother did not dare say
anything on the ride home, only sat immovable in the carriage, for
your aunt Lydia of course was spouting off in a way that made me
want to reach across and shake her and tell her to be quiet for
your grandmother's sake if not for yours. Or mine either, for it
was not at all comfortable to listen to it. Oddly enough, she
managed to make me out to be some sort of heroine who had withstood
the very fires of hell and come out unscathed. She really does not
see anything good in you at all, you know, milord—Dante. Which
upsets me, I admit, for she was there at the time of your tragedy
and you would think she could understand at least some of what you
do.

But she is a great feather-brain, so I should
not be surprised that it all completely escapes her. Nothing is to
interrupt the sacredness of the conventions. I do not know how she
was before your uncle died, but I believe that she unhealthily
dotes on Andrew, remarkable that he has not been adversely
effected! and I am sure she is always so angry with you because she
is afraid that Society will punish Andrew to some degree over it.
Not that Andrew would care if they did. But she cares very
much.

She paused as she tied off the last of the
thread from her second needle, cut the needle from it and chanced a
glance up before reaching for the third. She was sure he had
slipped back into unconsciousness, but his eyes flickered open at
her brief silence, and she took the third needle and began
stitching again and fell back into speaking her thoughts with
little arrangement or design, just offering that soothing quality
of her voice.