The Devil Who Tamed Her (26 page)

C
HARMING
? S
TRAIGHTFORWARD
? W
ILLING TO ACCEPT
responsibility for her actions? That sounded like the new Ophelia, not the old one whom Raphael believed he had been dealing with ever since she’d found out about that damn bet. Was he the only one who got to see the shrew?

He wasn’t going to think about it anymore. He was simply going to confront her. Either way, she’d fooled him completely. He was tired of being fooled. But he had to return to London to do that.

She’d left Norford Hall before he even woke, snuck off was how it appeared, since she didn’t even pack her clothes. Doing so would probably have woken him, and obviously she didn’t want to discuss what had happened between them last night. Or maybe she did….

The footman handed him Ophelia’s note just as he was leaving. It was unexpected and gave him a little hope:
That wasn’t a homecoming, that was merely a truce. If you want a real homecoming, you need to make me understand why you tampered with my life on a whim
.

Hadn’t she listened to anything he’d said? Or had she simply been too angry to
hear
him? They would discuss it, he vowed to himself, that and a lot more, just as soon as he got back to town.

Arriving back in London, he rode straight to her house, missing her by just thirty minutes. She’d gone shopping with her mother on Bond Street, he was informed. No, they didn’t say which shops they were going to visit. He ought to just wait till she returned home. It was highly doubtful he could find her on that crowded street in the middle of the day, when it would be the most congested. He’d have to check every bloody shop!

He rode that way anyway.

Ophelia had never felt so distracted. She wasn’t listening to a word her mother was saying as Mary pulled her along from one shop to another. When she actually had to make a decision about buying something, she managed to utter a yes or a no, but she had no idea about what.

She was going to have a baby. She could no longer deny it, not after one of her favorite foods, poached fish, had made her nauseous the entire time she could smell it. As soon as she’d gotten away from that aroma, she was fine!

She was going to have a baby. One single fall from grace and such a miraculous result. A baby. And how odd that the knowledge filled her with joy. How silly she’d been to try to deny it. And how amazing that maternal instincts were already welling up in her. This baby would be raised right. She knew how
not
to raise a child, so it would be a simple matter for her to do it right. This child would be loved and nourished and protected. She would not give in on any decisions about her baby if she disagreed with them. She loved her mother, but she knew Mary had buckled under too many times to Sherman’s will. Ophelia wouldn’t do that. She’d fight tooth and nail.

She supposed she ought to tell Rafe, but she was in no hurry to do so. In due time. She wanted to savor the knowledge by herself for a while. He had chosen not to live with her, so he didn’t warrant the right to know immediately. He could miss the birth of his baby as far as she was concerned—no, that was her anger talking. She was going to have to get rid of that anger before she gave birth. There would be no raised voices around
her
baby.

“Pheli? Pheli, are you all right?”

Ophelia brought her attention back to the present and saw that her mother had just entered a shop that had numerous bolts of lace crowded into its small display window box. She turned around to see who’d spoken to her and was completely surprised to find Mavis Newbolt standing next to her on the busy walkway, her hands stuffed in a fur muff. Her expression was concerned. Mavis? Her one and only enemy concerned about her? Not likely.

What had Mavis said? Oh, yes. “I’m fine,” Ophelia answered cautiously in a neutral tone. She hadn’t seen Mavis since the parties at Summers Glade, and the two altercations they’d had there hadn’t been the least bit pleasant. “Why do you ask?”

Mavis shrugged one shoulder. “You looked like you were in another world.”

“Did I? I must have let my thoughts distract me for a moment.”

“Well, my coach was driving past and I saw you. I had to stop.”

Ophelia was immediately filled with dread. They weren’t going to have yet another fight, were they? “Why?” she asked pointedly.

Oddly enough, Mavis suddenly appeared uncomfortable. “I’ve been meaning to come by and visit you for several days now. Would you like to go for a ride where we can talk? My coach is just across the street.”

“Talk? What more can we say to each other that hasn’t already been said?”

Mavis stepped aside for a couple passing arm in arm. The walkway was nearly as crowded with pedestrians as the street was crowded with carriages, coaches, and wagons.

“I wanted to congratulate you on your marriage,” Mavis said.

“Thank you.”

“And wish you—”

“Don’t,” Ophelia cut in sharply, and instantly regretted her tone.

She quickly controlled her rising anger. She was aware that she
could
control it and felt a bolster of pride in doing so. Mavis was the one person, aside from her father, who was guaranteed to bring out the worst in her, but she was managing to keep the bitterness at bay too.

She finished in a much calmer tone, “No more hurtful remarks.”

“I wasn’t going to—”

“Please, Mavis, I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“I don’t either.”

Ophelia just stared at her ex-friend doubtfully. There was no way that she could believe that statement. Mavis hadn’t got her revenge after all, at least not as much as she’d been hoping for. All she’d done at Summers Glade was embarrass Ophelia, at least that’s what she thought. Mavis didn’t know how much she’d hurt her, or that she’d made her cry because of it. And she’d never know.

“I can see by your expression that you don’t believe me, and I can hardly blame you at this point.” Mavis actually sounded,
and
looked, regretful. “All this hate I’ve had for you and it’s been so misdirected. I thought you had lied about Lawrence. I knew you lied all the time back then. It was just about minor things, so it never bothered me when we were friends. I just ignored it—until you tried to convince me Lawrence was a bastard just using me to get to you. I really didn’t believe you, you know, not even a little. And that’s why I hated you so much. And it’s made me so miserable all this time, because I didn’t really
want
to hate you, I just couldn’t help myself.”

Mavis’s voice had turned so plaintive, Ophelia could feel a lump rising in her own throat. “Why are we rehashing this again, Mavis?”

“I saw Lawrence just recently. The heiress he married has left him. I’d already heard that, but it had been so long since I’d seen him. He’s grown fat, and dissipated, and apparently he’s a drunkard now too. He was foxed when I ran into him. He didn’t even recognize me. When I reminded him who I was, he laughed.”

“I’m sorry,” Ophelia said, but her old friend appeared not to hear her.

“Do you know what he said to me? He said, ‘Ah, the gullible little chit who thought I’d marry her? Have you smartened up, love?’ ”

Mavis started to cry. Ophelia, choked, put out a hand, but Mavis backed away from her. “You warned me, and instead of thanking you, I hated you. Oh, God, I’m so sorry! I just wanted you to know that!” Mavis cried before she rushed across the street to her waiting coach.

Ophelia tried to stop her, called her name, but Mavis didn’t hear her. She thought about running after her, but there was too much traffic and one coach seemed a bit out of control, veering too close to the other vehicles. She’d go see Mavis tomorrow and assure her that she didn’t hold grudges anymore—except where her husband was concerned. She and Mavis might even be able to become friends again!

But she still watched Mavis, wanting to make sure she reached the other side of the street safely. The girl wasn’t exactly paying attention, with her head lowered to hide her tears. And then Ophelia frowned. That out-of-control vehicle was heading straight toward Mavis!

She bolted out into the street, didn’t even give it another thought. She’d never run so fast. She made it around a slow-moving wagon, dodged a man on a horse. With just a little luck, she’d reach Mavis to yank her back out of the way. But the driver of the runaway coach did have a little control of his wildly frightened horses. He was fighting madly with the reins and screaming at people to get out of the way, and actually slowing down a little. With barely any time left, he veered his horses off to the side to avoid Mavis—and ran right into Ophelia.

It would have been a blessing if she’d been knocked out of the way, but she wasn’t. She crumpled beneath the horses. Pain was instant and everywhere, her chest, her shoulder, her face, so much pain that within seconds she could no longer tell where it was coming from. Then the light was blurring from her eyes. And then there was none.

R
APHAEL VAGUELY TOOK NOTE OF
the crowd of people in the street who were surrounding a large coach, which usually indicated an accident. He rode past it.

Accidents happened all too often in London, and not just on busy streets like this one. If no one had been there, he would have stopped to help, but too many people were present and one more wouldn’t help, would more likely just add to the confusion.

He was searching the walkways, though, looking for a familiar blond head, hoping he could find Ophelia between her visits to shops, so he wouldn’t actually have to enter any. He was hailed by several acquaintances in passing. He merely nodded distractedly and continued on. One chap—Lord Thistle, was it?—came at him on horseback from the opposite direction and blocked his way for a moment.

“Been meaning to look you up, Locke,” Thistle said as he yanked his horse about out of the way. “Gad, man, I’ve been feeling so guilty about this. When I saw you kissing Lady O in her dining room, I was so surprised I didn’t even think to keep it to m’self. I hope you weren’t forced to marry her because of my loose tongue. Course I can’t think of any man who would mind being forced to marry her. But—”

“It’s all right,” Raphael interrupted the long-winded fellow and assured him by rote, “Think nothing of it.”

Raphael rode on quickly, before he could be stopped again. So she’d lied? His father had been right. It was as he’d
first
thought, the rumors weren’t her doing at all. She’d merely claimed responsibility so she could slap him in the face with it?

He was even more eager to find her now. Reaching the end of the street with no luck, he headed back down it for another pass. Nearing the accident again, which had attracted even more curious onlookers, it finally dawned on him that his wife might be in that crowd, just as curious as everyone else was to see what had happened. He pulled his horse to the side out of the way of the traffic, which was still moving slowly around the accident, so he could peruse the crowd more thoroughly.

He didn’t see Ophelia, but his eyes passed over and then came abruptly back to Mavis Newbolt, who was standing at the center of the crowd, crying her eyes out. He frowned, seeing that, but then the most horrible dread filled him. It was too coincidental that Mavis would be there, crying, when Ophelia was in the vicinity.

He leapt off his horse, pushed his way through to the center of the crowd. And saw the blond head he’d been searching for, on the ground, bloodied.

“What’d you do?” he shouted at Mavis. “Push her in front of this coach?”

The girl seemed to be in shock. All she said was “She was trying to save me.”

He barely heard her. He was already on his knees next to Ophelia. He was terrified to touch her. She looked so broken lying there, unmoving, barely breathing. One horseshoe, probably with a loose nail, had ripped through her coat and the dress under it. Blood was soaked around the tear and elsewhere. He couldn’t tell if it was from the same wound or if there were more along her body, but there was no doubt that she hadn’t just taken a fall, she’d actually been trampled. More than one dirty hoof-print was on her coat.

The horses that had done this had been moved back only several feet. They were still maddened, fighting their traces, stamping at the ground. A man, probably the driver of the coach, was standing in front of them, arms spread, trying to keep them back.

He was saying to anyone who would listen, “I tried to stop them. Some boy set off a popper, a child’s prank, but they got spooked good. But I tried to stop them!”

“Don’t touch ’er, gov,” someone else said at Raphael’s back.

“There’s ’elp coming, be ’ere any minute.”

“Someone went to fetch a doctor. Said they know one that lives on the next street over.”

“I seen it happen, both them girls running across the street right in front of that runaway coach. It’s lucky it is that it didn’t take them both down.”

“I seen it happen too. Saw her and couldn’t take my eyes off her. Like an angel, she looked. And then she just disappeared under those horses. Shoot ’em, I say. You can’t never trust a skittish horse.”

“Such a pity, pretty girl like that.”

The voices came from all around him now, not talking to him, just talking about what they’d witnessed. But it was like a roar in his ears. He couldn’t just leave her lying there. He couldn’t.

Someone tried to stop him from picking her up in his arms. “She’s my wife!” he growled, and they left him alone. He didn’t know tears were running down his cheeks. He didn’t know he looked like a madman.

“God, Phelia, don’t you die on me!” he kept repeating, like a mantra, praying she’d hear him somehow.

“I have a coach. I have a coach! Please, Locke, you can’t carry her on your horse!”

It was Mavis shouting at him and yanking at his jacket. He was at a dead stop, standing in front of his horse, having come to the horrible realization that he couldn’t get on it and still hold Ophelia gently.

“Lord Locke?”

He finally glanced down at Mavis. “Where?”

“Follow me. It’s not far.”

The crowd hadn’t dispersed yet. They actually held back the traffic on the street for him, so he could cross it with Ophelia in his arms. Mavis didn’t get into the coach with him when they reached it, she was afraid to after the way he’d looked at her. But she shouted up the address for her driver. The Reid house. He would have preferred to take her to his own house.

“I’ll bring your horse, and a doctor!” he thought he heard Mavis shouting as the coach drove away.

It was the longest ride of his life, even though it only took a few minutes with the driver moving the coach quickly but carefully through the congested streets. He couldn’t take his eyes off Ophelia’s bloodied face. One cheek was swollen terribly. He couldn’t see through the blood where the cut was, but with that much blood, it would probably have to be stitched and would leave a scar. That was the least of his concerns. At the moment, he wasn’t even sure if she would live.