Stealing the Bride (20 page)

“Chloe!” her mother scolded. “That isn’t to be repeated.”

Diana resisted the urge to laugh, for she didn’t know what was more amusing, Chloe’s feigned innocence at having let slip a family secret or Georgie’s lack of denial of the story’s veracity.

Considering the tales Diana had heard bandied about concerning Lady Danvers, her sister being in jail seemed a most likely escapade for one of the Escott sisters.

“Your secret is safe with me,” Diana told Chloe.

Chloe smirked over her shoulder at her mother. Then her inquiring gaze turned back to Diana. “If Cousin Temple wasn’t awake, how could he fall in love with you?”

“He wasn’t asleep for long,” Diana said.

The door to the study opened, and a harried-looking young woman, who Diana assumed was the governess, entered the room. “There you are, Miss Chloe. Come along, it’s time for your luncheon.” She glanced up at Lady Danvers. “Ma’am, the twins are demanding your attention on a matter of a knot. I haven’t the faintest idea how to tie something called a Spanish bowline and they believe you know how.”

Georgie rose and excused herself. “I won’t be long,” she told Diana.

Chloe left reluctantly, towed along by her governess. She stopped at the door, tugging her hand free. “Lady Diana, will you tell me the rest of your story later?”

Diana smiled and nodded.

But the story she’d tell the little girl would be a more respectable version than the one that played in her memories.

Sussex, 1796

“Is he going to live?” Diana asked Mrs. Foston.

“Aye. He’s young enough. As long as it doesn’t get infected.” She sat on a chair beside the bed, with her ankle propped up. Despite her own injuries, Mrs. Foston had tended the man’s grievous wound as if she were able to stand on her own two feet.

Diana glanced at the wad of padding on the man’s bare shoulder, thankful that her companion was not just some ordinary widow, but the widow of an army sergeant. Mrs. Foston had followed her husband on campaigns in India and the West Indies and probably knew more than the local surgeon about removing a bullet. While the lady had only hinted at the grim reality of being an army wife, Diana suddenly realized that Mrs. Foston’s life hadn’t always been adventure and fine travels.

“We got the ball out,” the lady said, glancing over at the bloodstained bowl and the offending piece of lead she’d managed to dig out of the young man’s shoulder. “That bodes well for him. Now you should get to bed,” she told Diana. “Your father would sack me if he knew I’d allowed you in here.”

Diana couldn’t take her eyes from the man before her. “I’m not about to tell Papa, and no one else will either,” she said, shooting a significant glance at the wide-eyed maids and the cook standing beside the bed. They all nodded in agreement, for none of them would breathe a word of it to the master.

It would implicate them as well.

The only naysayer was Michaels, who stayed at the door with a pistol in his hand.

“Is that necessary?” Diana asked him.

“We don’t know who he is, miss.”

“He’s a young gentleman who was held up. What more is there to know?” She shook her head. “Besides, I hardly think he is in any condition to pillage the house, Michaels. Go get some rest.”

The footman glanced at Mrs. Foston for confirmation.

“With the amount of laudanum I poured down his throat, he’ll be out till tomorrow.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll just wait outside the door, milady,” the loyal Michaels said.

Diana nodded. “The rest of you can go and seek your beds.”

The servants seemed to breathe a sigh of relief and filed out quickly.

One of the maids, Lucy, stopped and turned to say, “I’ll send up Mary to watch over him, milady. She’s a dab hand with sick lambs.”

Diana smiled her appreciation, though in her opinion, the man sleeping in the bed appeared anything but a lamb.

What’s more, when she peered closer at his devilish features, she felt her life inexplicably tied to his. There was neither rhyme nor reason to it, but his life was now hers. And she meant to see him healed.

She glanced up to find her hired companion watching her. “Mrs. Foston, I insist you go as well,” she told her. “You need to mend that ankle. I’ll stay with him until Mary comes up.”

The lady frowned and appeared likely to argue.

Diana quickly added, “You’ll be of no use to him or me tomorrow if we still can’t locate the doctor and you’re laid up in bed.”

The lady’s lips pressed together in firm resolution, but when she shifted in her seat to find a more comfortable position, her face took on a pained expression that appeared to surprise even her.

“Yes, perhaps I should,” she said. “Tell Mary that if he gets a fever, she should come and get me. I have some powders that may help.”

“Michaels?” Diana called out. The man sprang into the room as if he were ready to battle an invading army. “Could you please lend Mrs. Foston your assistance? I don’t think she’ll be able to walk unaided.”

The man offered his arm to the lady, and they left.

Finally, Diana was alone with him.

Glancing around to make sure she was just that, alone, she reached down and brushed the back of her hand across the stranger’s cheek, letting the dark stubble rake her skin. There was such a quiet strength to his features that she knew he was going to live. He just had to.

She smoothed his brow and knelt to whisper quiet words of encouragement to him. Even as she drew closer, she found her gaze fixed on his lips and wondered if she dared.

Better to ask forgiveness
…she thought, leaning closer and letting her lips touch his.

And when they did, his lashes fluttered, and his lips moved against hers, his mouth opening and responding to her tentative touch.

So much for Mrs. Foston’s assurances regarding her dosage of laudanum.

She didn’t know what to do, but he certainly did. His lips teased hers to open up from their stiff, puckered pose. His teeth nipped at her bottom lip and pulled her closer. Her mouth opened just as his tongue swept over her lips.

A burning, hot and liquid, ran through her veins and down to places so private she dared not believe what was happening to her.

“Oh my,” she whispered as she wrenched back from the bed, her hands covering her lips as if to hide the evidence.

His eyes sprang open and he gazed at her, a gamut of confusion running across his face.

His eyes mesmerized her, surprised her with their mysterious, velvety black depths. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but certainly not this gaze which held so many secrets.

Dark ones.

Why she thought such a thing, she couldn’t fathom. She just knew this man wasn’t any ordinary young gentleman.

The thought sent a shiver of fear down her spine.

For him. And for her.

“Who are you?” he croaked in a voice hoarse and deep. His lips moved again, but this time barely any sound managed to come out.

She reached over for the pitcher and poured a small amount of water in a cup. Holding it to his lips, she let him take a few sips.

Once he’d drunk, he glanced back up at her. Shakily he raised one hand and touched a loose strand of her hair, his fingers toying with it, while his eyes took on a dreamy cast. “Am I dead?” he whispered.

She shook her head, suddenly finding her usual bravado had deserted her utterly.

“Then you aren’t an angel?”

“Certainly not,” she told him, finally mustering the courage to speak. Imagine, someone thinking her an angel! Miss Emery wouldn’t have sent her home early from school if that were the case.

“Then I’m not in heaven?” he asked, glancing around the shadowy room.

“No,” she told him, reaching down to smooth the blanket. “You’re in Sussex.”

“Some would say that is as good as dead,” he managed to jest. “But still, how is it that I have been commended into the care of a goddess, if I am not dead?”

“I’m hardly that,” she said, feeling her cheeks flame and that fluttering in her stomach begin anew.

“I beg to differ,” he told her. “And I’m a good judge of these things. What is your name then, oh goddess?”

She was almost loath to admit it. “Diana.”

His mouth turned into a lopsided grin before he leaned back into his pillow, closing his eyes. “I was right. I am in the care of a goddess,” he mumbled before succumbing to the effects of the laudanum.

Just then the door opened ever so slightly.

“Milady?” Lucy poked her head in. “Mary’s gone home for the night. Her sister’s time has come, and Mary was set on being there when the babe arrives. Should I find someone else to sit with the gentleman?”

Diana shook her head. “No, Lucy, that will be fine. I’ll sit with him, and Mrs. Foston will relieve me in a few hours.”

The girl glanced at the bed, her lips pursed into a frown. “Do you think you should, milady?”

“Yes, I will be fine. Besides, Michaels will be right outside once he returns from seeing Mrs. Foston upstairs. Now go to bed.”

The girl bobbed her head and left.

And Diana slumped down into the chair beside the bed. It had been her decision to bring him here, and now it was her responsibility to see him recovered.

A few hours later, she wasn’t as convinced of her abilities.

Her patient struggled to rise from the bed, but stopped halfway up, whether it was from her placing her hands on his chest or the pain from his injuries, she didn’t know.

“You must stay still or you’ll open your wound,” she told him, pressing him back into the comfortable confines of the feather mattress.

“Wound?” he said, looking one way, then the other, until his gaze fixed on the thick wad of linen cloths bound around his shoulder. He cursed and tried again to rise from the bed.

“I won’t let you leave,” Diana said, blocking his way. “You are in no condition to get out of bed.”

The blanket fell away, and for the first time, Diana saw the full expanse of his muscled chest, the raw masculinity of his body. She’d been banned from the room when the footmen and Mrs. Foston had stripped him and cleaned his injuries. Apparently they had removed
all
his clothes.

With one sweeping glance, she understood exactly why young ladies weren’t supposed to see men unclad.

“Oh my!” she sputtered, looking away because she knew she was supposed to, not because she wanted to.

The young man cursed. “What have you done with my clothes?” He continued to struggle to get out of the bed. “I must be away. I must get to…” His hand went to his forehead, while his words faltered to a halt.

Peeking through her fingers, she saw him wavering. His face had gone so pale, she thought he was going to get his wish and leave Sussex, and England for that matter, permanently.

“I must be away,” he managed to say one more time before he fell back into bed, this time in a dead faint.

“Oh, botheration,” she whispered, peering down at his prone form on the bed. “I’ve killed him.” And she hadn’t even managed to ask him his name.

She would have liked to have known his name, since he was the first man to kiss her.

Then she noticed that his chest was still moving up and down. His face was regaining some color, not much, but enough to cheer her that he wasn’t going to die.

At least not yet.

An hour later he began to shiver and shake as if he were caught in a snowdrift, so she piled on every blanket, coverlet, and sheet in the room.

Taking his icy hand, she brought it to her cheek. The warmth of her skin seemed to shake him from his ravings, and he caught hold of her as if she were his savior. With strength she wondered how he could possibly still possess, he yanked her in beside him and curled up against her slight body, clinging to her as if she were a child’s beloved toy.

Diana started to protest, but suddenly his body heaved in a great sigh, and his struggles faded away. Even his breathing took on a regular, even keel, so much more soothing than the rasping, heaving gasps that had racked his body but a few moments ago.

“Sleep, my fair goddess,” he whispered, his fingers once again toying with a strand of her hair.

“I…I…shouldn’t be here,” she stammered. But her protest went unheard, for he was once again asleep.

Fearing waking him or taking away the comfort he found nestled against her body, Diana lay as still as possible, awed by the delicious sensation of being held by a man.

A naked one at that. Oh, if anyone saw them, she’d be ruined.

Glancing over her shoulder at his face, she peered lovingly at the dark stubble starting to grace the strong curve of his jaw, the dark lashes that hid eyes rich and tempting.

Ruination seemed a small price to pay.

Diana sighed. She’d stay this way until just before the servants arose and then assume a more proper distance.

Yes, that was the perfect solution, she thought drowsily. But before she drifted off to sleep, she wondered if she might, by chance, be able to steal one more kiss…

Danvers Hall, 1809

The door to the salon opened and Georgie returned, but before she could settle into her seat, the door burst open yet again, and a lithe whirlwind with dark curls and brilliant blue eyes came dashing into the salon.

“Mama, I did as you asked. I listened to Papa and Cousin Temple.”

This, Diana decided, must be the elusive Sarah.

Georgie looked neither apologetic nor embarrassed. “I would have wheedled the truth out of Colin eventually, but this seemed the more direct route.” She paused. “You probably think I’m horrid.”

“No, inspired,” Diana said. Then she turned to Sarah. “What did your Cousin Temple say?”

The girl glanced at her mother, who nodded for her to proceed. “He said he is going to Scotland.”

“Oh, Diana, this is good news.” Georgie clapped her hands together. “Colin convinced him to marry you.”

“Oh no, Mama, Cousin Temple isn’t going to marry her. He told Papa to marry her to the first bastard who shows up.”

“Sarah!”

Her daughter appeared as unapologetic as her mother had been moments before. “That’s
what
Cousin Temple said.”