Jared's
heart jumped out of his chest when he found her in a crumpled heap, lying
against a carriage wheel in a small alleyway.
"Emily,"
he murmured, sweeping her limp body into his arms.
"Em,
speak to me." He slid a gentle hand across her scratched face, pushing
aside her matted hair.
"Dear,
sweet, Em." He rested his cheek against hers, his chest tightening with emotion.
She moved slightly, and he lifted his gaze, surprised to find two violet eyes
glaring at him. His cruel words instantly came back to him.
I will not be
forced into a marriage again.
But was
this not what he wanted? For her to hate him so he would feel free? A loathing
distaste pierced him like a sword to his soul. No, he realized, he did not want
this at all.
"Em,
don't look at me that way, I beg you."
"Go
away," she rasped, closing her eyes and turning her head. "Go . . .
away."
He
rubbed the pad of his thumb across a single tear that fell from her dark
lashes. Holding her like this, she seemed more beautiful to him than ever.
He
pulled her to a safer spot between the inn and the bookseller's. Squatting, he
rested her slim body against his and took off his jacket for a blanket as he
lay her on the ground, checking for broken bones.
"Sorry,
sweetheart, I have to do this." He could hear her light gasp as he brushed
his fingers against her skin now dotted with ashes and soot. She closed her
eyes, seemingly exhausted.
Let her
be all right. Please, God. Let her be all right.
His
heart raced as he touched her arms, her legs, slowly turning her over to check
for any cuts. A surge of protectiveness flowed through his veins. Whatever had
he been thinking when he censured her actions in his bedchambers? He had been
delighted when he had held her beneath him. Yet tasting her lips again had
almost sealed his fate. There was no skirting around the issue. He still loved
this woman.
He
examined her gown and chemise that had been ripped, baring parts of her back.
His hand paused when he touched a puckered scar beneath her shoulder blade.
Words could not define the horror he felt when he instantly deduced the injury
was inflicted by a pistol's ball.
Hell's
teeth! What had happened to her?
Scurrying
footsteps drew his attention. He glanced up, his eyes searching the alley, past
the wisps of smoke curling in the air. A tall figure loomed before him like a
phantom in black.
Every
fiber in Jared's being tensed. Before he could respond, a deep, reverberating
voice cut through the hazy cloud, announcing the man's presence. "What the
devil is going on here?"
"Roderick?"
Jared squinted, stepping forward with an unconscious Emily tight in his hold.
He instantly felt the brunt of the duke's gaze and stood firm.
"I
believe you are holding something that belongs to me," Roderick announced
harshly, striding toward him, cursing Jared that his sister had better be
alive.
Jared
straightened. He would not give Emily up until they returned to Hemmingly,
though he knew he had done her a great injustice, in more ways than one. However,
he had already decided that she would be his, no matter what the cost.
"Your
sister's fainted. She was caught up in the crowd. Believe she inhaled some
smoke. A few hours and she should be much better."
Roderick's
black eyes flashed with anger. "Confound it, where were you while this was
going on?"
"We
were separated by the crowd." And by my foolishness.
The
chill in Roderick's glare turned icy with contempt.
Jared
was glad of the shadows that hid his face. His guilt was like an iron clamp
around his chest. He had failed Emily again.
The
duchess plumped a pillow behind Emily's head and offered her daughter a
spoonful of broth.
"Come
now, dearest," the lady said, sniffing and dabbing a white handkerchief to
her eyes. "Take some broth, Emily, dear. Agatha had it made especially for
you. I cannot bear to have you in pain. Dear me, if Roderick and I had not come
to visit, goodness knows what might have become of you."
Emily
accommodated her mother and took a few spoonfuls of the warm liquid. She felt
the heat of the beef broth starting to soothe her tense nerves. She was
breathing much better now, and she closed her eyes, not wanting to think about
the horrible afternoon or Jared's tender gaze when he had held her.
Swooning
had been her only choice, or she would have fallen under his spell again. In
the carriage ride home, exhausted from the ordeal, she had fallen asleep and
she had only awaken a few minutes ago. Maybe it had been shock, too, for she
could not remember being brought into her chambers.
"A
little more, my dear," the duchess coaxed.
In
between spoonfuls Emily glanced down, fingering her white nightgown. Her hand
suddenly halted on the delicately trimmed lace beneath her breast. A cold panic
swept through her. Who had changed her clothes? Had someone seen her back?
The
smell of smoke still remained in her hair, and ashes from the fairgrounds still
sat in the creases of her fingers. Obviously, someone had tried to wipe her
down.
"You
must eat, my dear." The duchess sniffed. "When Lord Stonebridge
carried you in here, I thought you were dead."
"
Tis only a few bruises, Mama." Bruises in my heart that you cannot see.
Bruises that will never heal.
"A
few bruises?" Her mother let out a long wail as she touched Emily's cheek.
"Oh, my poor, dear child. I should have never left you alone."
A tremor
touched Emily's lips and she tried to smile. "Truly, I will not die on
you, Mama."
Her
mother slid a slender finger along the black-and-blue blotch that began to
appear on Emily's cheek. "You won't be out of my sight any longer. I will
take full responsibility for you from now on."
Emily
blinked in surprise. Was this her mother speaking? The mother who avoided any
deep connection with her offspring for three long years after the duke's untimely
death.
"I
will have a warm bath sent up as soon as possible, dearest. I wanted to make
certain you could move before you had a full bath. Agatha and her maid wiped as
much grime off of you as possible. I believe you will be fine. No broken
bones."
Emily sighed
in relief. Agatha was the only other person who knew of her back wound. For it
had been Agatha who nursed her on this very bed and tended to her injury. It
had been Agatha who held her when she cried out in pain because the lesion had
become swollen and pus-filled. It had been Agatha who dried her tears and
coddled her like a newborn babe until she was completely healed.
"You
may change into a fresh nightgown after you have bathed, my dear." The
duchess stood up, smoothing her hands along her dove gray traveling gown,
avoiding Emily's eyes. "I know this has been hard for you since your
father passed on. But I never was good about his death, you see." Her
breath hitched. "When he was dying, all he wanted was to see you, and you
were not home at the time."
Emily
felt the broth slide coldly down her throat. Had her mother been jealous?
Emily
knew her parents had entered into a marriage of convenience, but there was no
doubt the duchess had loved the duke. However, Emily's father was fond of her
mother, but beyond that . . .
"You
see, you were my favorite, too," the duchess went on. Watery eyes shifted
back toward her daughter. "I wanted a little girl that I could talk to,
shop with, go to balls with." The duchess shrugged. "But you seemed
to prefer your father, and he you."
"But,
Mama, I loved you both."
The
duchess took her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. "I know that,
dearest. But after your father died, I was so very angry with him. For many
things." She swallowed a sob. "I was angry with you, too. I was angry
with everybody, including your brothers. I drifted away from life, from my
sons, from my daughter who needed me most. But now, having seen you like this,
I realized I have failed you in many ways. Pray forgive me, Emily. I do so want
to be a good mother."
Hot
tears welled in Emily's eyes. "Oh, Mama." She opened her arms, and
the duchess fell into her daughter’s embrace with a heart-wrenching sob.
"Forgive
me for letting you go through these past three years without me, dearest."
"Oh,
Mama. I forgive you and I vow I will change as well."
Both
women lifted their heads at the knock on the door.
"Come
in," the duchess said, stuffing her handkerchief onto the nightstand.
Roderick
peeked inside, raising a curious brow at the extraordinary sight of mother and
daughter holding hands. "What's this?"
The
duchess regarded Roderick's perplexed expression with a stern glare. "Is
there something wrong with a mother showing affection for her daughter?"
Roderick
looked at Emily, then at his mother. "Of course not," he said with
smile, giving his sister a veiled wink.
The
duchess gave Emily's hand a tight squeeze. "Roderick, see to your sister.
I must see to a few things with Agatha, and mind you, see to the carriage being
made ready for our departure." She kissed her daughter on the forehead and
patted her hand. "We will depart first thing tomorrow morning. I believe
you will be fine. The fresh air will do you good." Her mother gave her a questioning
stare.
For once
Emily was not going to argue with her mother. She would leave tomorrow. Her
heart could not endure any more pain. "I will be fine, Mama."
Her
mother smiled. "Now, be a good boy, Roderick," she murmured before
she retreated from the room.
Roderick
knitted his brow as he watched his mother's back. "Good boy?" He
almost choked out the words. "Has she a fever?"
Emily
laughed. "No, Mama is quite well."
Roderick
pursed his lips as if not quite believing her.
"I
assure you, our mother is not insane, Roderick. But I would be very careful if
you are not a good boy. You never know a mother's wrath until you step over the
line."
Roderick
chuckled. "I will converse about our dear mother at a later time. Now, how
are you feeling?"
Emily
picked at the linens. "I will recover."
There
was an intense pause, and Emily felt a momentary sense of panic at the
inquisitive way her brother was staring at her.
"You
have a visitor," he finally said.
Emily
looked up, surprised. "A visitor?"
Roderick
walked toward the door and let the earl enter. "Stonebridge wishes to see
you. I have given my permission."
Emily's
heart twisted with pain as she pulled the blankets across her chest.
"Roderick," she snapped. "I am not presentable." And never
would be to this man.
Roderick
exchanged glances between Emily and the earl. "You need not worry about
pretenses. I am staying."
"I
need a bath," she said in a low voice, feeling Jared's heated gaze burning
through her covers.
Roderick
glanced back toward Stonebridge, frowning. "She is not presentable."
Emily
watched hesitantly as a muscle jumped in Jared’s cheek.
"I
need to speak to your sister. But I will not beg."
A look
of annoyance flashed across Roderick's face. "Step outside, Jared."
The
earl's cool gaze traveled over Emily's face before he retreated into the hall.
Roderick
closed the door and turned to his sister. "The man only wishes to make
things right. He worries you are more ill than we have reported. He feels responsible
for what happened today, Em."
He was
responsible. And for more than that, she wanted to say, but did not want to add
murder of an aristocrat to Roderick's list of sins, so she consented to see the
earl, only after slipping into her dressing gown.
When
Jared walked into the room, he apologized for not watching out for her. She
accepted this apology and glared back at him. Roderick's lips thinned as he
stood near the door. Seconds of silence ticked by with increasing uneasiness.
As if
sensing the turmoil swirling about the room, the duke cleared his throat.
"She's quite on the mend as you can see, Jared. But we must let her
rest."
Emily
sank back into her pillows, able to hear every jarring word Roderick was
saying.
"No
doubt, she does not wish to see you," Roderick said in a harsh whisper as
he jerked Jared back into the hall. "And if you were not my friend, I
would call you out for leaving her to that maddening crowd. What, pray tell,
were you thinking?"
Emily
closed her eyes. At least she would not have to worry about having Jared around
with Roderick as guard dog. Still, to have wasted so many years thinking about
that man was too painful to even contemplate.