Just wicked enough, p.24
Just Wicked Enough, page 24
“All righty, you there, gent. We’ll ’ave your things now.”
“The marquess is the only one with anything of value,” Wesley said.
“We’ll decide that. Give us what ya got.”
“I have nothing.”
“Wiggins—”
Kate heard the warning in Michael’s voice.
“I’m not giving them—”
“Then it’s yur life,” the first man said.
Everything happened so fast that Kate did little more than stand in stunned silence. She was aware of Michael moving toward Wesley, shoving on him—
A noise like thunder echoing between the buildings.
Michael crumpling to the ground.
“Blimey! Ya killed a lord!”
The thieves running off.
“Oh my God. Oh my God.” Kate’s heart was hammering in her chest as she knelt beside Michael. He tried to raise up on an elbow, but collapsed to the ground, groaning. Kate opened his jacket, trying to determine—
Her fingers touched warm, sticky wetness…so much wetness. “Wesley, go for help.” Removing her wrap, she pressed it against Michael’s side. He groaned.
Wesley knelt down. “Let me see how bad it is, Kate.”
She abandoned the pressure she’d been applying, moved slightly, and cradled Michael’s face between her hands. “Why did you do that?” she asked. “Michael, why did you—”
“You…love…him.” He went limp in her arms.
In a panic she pressed her ear to his chest, could still hear the pounding of his heart.
“He’s alive,” she whispered, before shifting slightly to take over applying pressure—only to discover Wesley hadn’t been. He grabbed her hands.
“Kate, it’s quite bad.”
“Yes, I can see that. Go get help.” She hadn’t realized how far back they’d moved.
“Kate, darling, listen to me carefully. Only Melanie would remain between us.”
She stared at him in disbelief. Was he saying what she thought he was? To do nothing?
“The money is not entailed,” he continued. “It would become yours. We would go to America. Together. You and me.”
She shook her head. “Please go get help. Find a constable, Hawkhurst, someone!”
“Kate, this is our chance—”
“I love him, Wesley. I came out here to tell you that your pursuit of me must stop. I won’t be unfaithful to him, and I will never abandon him. Now, please, I beg of you, I can’t leave him while he’s bleeding. Go get help.”
“You can’t possibly think I’ll give you up so easily—”
“He saved your life, Wesley! Go get some damned help!”
His eyes widened, whether at her profanity or her fury, she didn’t know, but he nodded succinctly. “Right.”
He scrambled to his feet and ran back toward the street.
Leaning down, she pressed her cheek to Michael’s. “Please don’t die.”
Chapter 23
“Footpads don’t usually carry pistols,” Louisa said.
She was sitting on a padded bench in the hallway outside Michael’s room, while Kate, with her pacing, was in danger of wearing a hole in the carpet running its length.
“I don’t care what they usually do. These two did.”
Wesley had elected to seek out Hawkhurst rather than a constable, and Hawkhurst had taken over as though born to leadership. Kate supposed he had been. All the first born of the aristocracy were. He’d called for his coach and Michael’s, sending a footman in Michael’s to fetch a physician, and hoisting Michael inside his own because it offered a less bumpy ride. Kate had cradled Michael’s head in her lap the entire journey. Now Hawkhurst and the physician, a Dr. Lensing, were seeing to Michael’s wound.
Hawkhurst had wanted to take Michael directly to a hospital, but Kate had thought he’d hate that, being in an institutionalized building where others had control. No, much better to have him at home where he was master.
“What were you doing in a darkened alley anyway?” Louisa asked.
“Meeting with Wesley Wiggins,” she said with resignation. Everyone would be asking. She’d considered creating some elaborate story, but in the end she’d decided to be truthful. It was time everyone was truthful, that everything was revealed. If Michael had known she’d been married before, he might have never taken her as his wife to begin with. And he no doubt thought if Kate or her father knew the truth about his mother’s condition, that Kate’s hand would no longer be offered in marriage.
“You and Jenny seem to think that dashing off to meet with young men in secretive corners is appropriate behavior for young ladies.”
Kate heard the censure in Louisa’s voice, but she couldn’t bring herself to remind her that she was the one to be caught in a compromising position that had resulted in her own marriage. She brought her pacing to an abrupt halt, looking to Louisa for hope because she had none remaining. “What if he dies?”
Louisa rose to her feet, crossed the short space separating them, and took Kate in her arms. “I’m sure he’s much too proud to allow a couple of ruffians to kill him. He’ll insist on facing death on his own terms.”
Welcoming the embrace, Kate let the tears fall.
“He is proud, so proud. I asked so much of him, Louisa. The impossible.”
“To deduce your favorite color?”
Kate leaned back, swiping at her tears. “He said he’d gone to you for advice?”
Louisa nodded. “I greatly underestimated him as a husband. I think he’d do anything for you.”
Together they returned to the bench. “Wesley paid me a visit two days ago. He brought me a poem. I’d planned to ignore it, but where he’s concerned, I’ve always been so weak. I read it this evening before we left. I crumpled it up and dropped it to the floor, beneath my vanity. Michael returned to the room to get my wrapper as we were leaving. When we returned home…when I went to my bedchamber to change out of my…the clothes soaked with his blood”—she pressed her fingers against her throat where her pulse jumped erratically—“it was lying on my vanity. He must have seen it.”
“Perhaps your maid—”
“She says she didn’t.” She held back a sob. “That man was going to shoot Wesley. Michael stepped in front of him, pushed him out of the way. Louisa, I think he did it because he believes I love Wesley, because he believes if given the choice, I would choose Wesley’s life over his.”
Louisa wrapped her arms around Kate, holding her close, rocking her while she finally let the tears fall.
“Oh, sweetheart, you can’t think any of this is your fault.”
“It’s all my fault. I’ll never forgive myself. And if he dies—”
The door to Michael’s bedchamber opened and the doctor stepped out. Kate lunged to her feet. “How is he?”
“Fortunate, Lady Falconridge. Very fortunate. The bullet went through and he’s lost a lot of blood. But no organs were damaged.”
“So he’ll live?”
“In all likelihood.”
Kate dropped back to the bench, her knees too weak to support her. “Could you be a little more optimistic?”
“There is always the risk of infection.”
“Then you’ll stay and watch over him.”
He gave her a quick grin that evaporated as soon as he realized she was serious. “I’m afraid I can’t. I have other patients, but I’m leaving medication to help him sleep and I’ll return in the morning to look at the wound and change the dressing.”
“I think you should stay.”
“He needs rest to heal. My watching him would serve no purpose.”
Kate had never been in a sickroom. Still, she forced herself to her feet. “Tell me everything I need to do.”
Kate had always known that she’d lived a pampered life, but she’d never really comprehended what that meant. She’d never truly tended to someone else’s needs. Servants had always done everything for her. She supposed she could have hired a nurse, could have had one of the present servants oversee Michael’s care, but she didn’t trust anyone to tend to him with the patience and gentleness that she would.
Hawkhurst and Louisa had both offered to stay, but just as the doctor had said his presence would serve no purpose, so she’d convinced them that neither would theirs. Hawkhurst had promised to stop by her parents’ residence and let her family know what had transpired during their evening.
“I’m sorry I ruined it for everyone.”
Hawkhurst had merely given her a compassionate smile. “The blame lies with the blighters who robbed you.”
“Do you think the police will ever catch them?”
“I doubt it.”
“They took precious jewelry that had been in Michael’s family—”
“Nothing is more precious than life.”
“Michael might not feel that way.”
“Did he do anything to prevent them from taking the jewelry?”
Kate shook her head.
“Did he do anything to try to stop them from taking a life?”
Kate felt the tears well in her eyes.
He nodded perfunctorily as though his point had been made. “Falconridge has been my friend for many years, Kate,” he said, using her name, bringing an intimacy to his words. “He is not a man comfortable with expressing his feelings. I have always relied on his actions to speak for him. I am honored he considers me a friend.”
His actions to speak for him.
Those words haunted her as she sat by his bedside, wiping a damp cloth over his bare chest. Earlier he’d begun breathing harshly, had seemed to be fighting the confines of the bed.
And she’d thought of his actions: riding his horse in the rain, leaping out of the coach. So she’d removed the covers and he’d settled down somewhat. She’d cut off the linen shirt someone had put on him as though they thought there was a need to protect his modesty. He’d calmed completely after that. He’d not even fought when she’d brought the sheet up to his hips when Jenny arrived to sit with her.
Jenny kept her company now in the dark, quiet room where only candles flickered. Kate dunked the cloth into the cool water, squeezed the excess water out, and once again began wiping Michael’s chest. She’d never ventured into his bedchamber before. It was so masculine, so much like him. Thick, heavy wood. Simple carvings. Lines mostly. Nothing elaborate. She wondered how much of the room reflected his taste and how much that of the marquesses who had come before him.
She accused him of not knowing her, yet what did she know of him? What did he like to read? What was his favorite color?
She heard Jenny’s quiet footsteps as she wandered around the room, the irritating sound grating on her nerves. She wondered if it would be rude to ask Jenny to leave, and yet, did she truly want to be alone?
If she were alone, nothing would distract her from her thoughts. Did Michael truly believe that if given the choice, she would rather watch him die than Wesley? That knowledge hurt most of all. What a terrible, selfish wife she’d been, to be so concerned with being loved herself that she didn’t stop to think maybe she wasn’t giving love in return.
She felt the tears burning her eyes, clogging her throat.
“Wake up, Michael,” she whispered.
“Did you say something?” Jenny asked.
“No, not really.”
A few more moments of silence passed before Jenny said, “Oh, Kate, look at this.”
Kate glanced over her shoulder. Her sister was standing at a small desk. “I’m not certain he’d appreciate you rummaging through his things. As a matter of fact, I can guarantee you that he wouldn’t.”
“I’m not rummaging. This was right on top.” Holding up a piece of paper, she approached. “It’s from a dressmaker’s. It’s a listing of colors of fabric.” She held it toward Kate. “Look. It must be where he got the names of colors you’d never heard of. Some are marked off.”
With tears blurring her vision, Kate took the paper. “There must a hundred colors here.” She felt a painful tightening in her chest as a sob escaped.
“Oh, darling, don’t cry. He’s going to be all right.” Jenny knelt beside her, taking her in her arms as best she could from such an unfortunate advantage.
“Oh, Jenny, he never asked me to love him, and yet he tried so hard to do what he thought would please me. He doesn’t know my favorite color, but somehow I fell in love with him anyway.”
Jenny sat back on her heels. “Why?”
Kate sniffed and stared at her sister. “Why what?”
“Why did you fall in love with him? Tell me about him, Kate. Is it because he’s a lot like Wesley?”
“Oh, my Lord, he’s nothing like Wesley.” She wiped her tears. “Did you know that he auctioned himself to the highest bidding American father?”
“No. I can’t imagine Father participating in something that scandalous.” She grew quiet for a moment. “Because of Mother.”
“Yes.”
Jenny got up, pulled the chair nearer, sat, and took Kate’s hand. “So he didn’t really ask for your hand in marriage.”
“No, but I can’t even begin to imagine what it cost him to place himself on the bidding block like that.”
“It’s not as though he was entering slavery.”
“But still, Jenny, he’s such a prideful man. But he was so desperate for funds—”
“Aren’t they all? They have estates that need to be remodeled.”
“He has a mother who’s not well. He’s making plans to build her a house.”
“Is that why you fell in love with him? Because he cares for his mother?”
Kate shook his head. “He says he knows so little about love, but in truth, I think he knows everything. He’s done nothing except try to see that I’m happy.”
“Then surely a man such as that cannot die.”
Yes, Kate thought, surely a man such as that couldn’t die.
She wouldn’t let him.
“I’ve decided to accept Pemburton’s offer of marriage,” Jenny said, a few hours later.
Kate looked at her sister. She was sitting in a chair beside the foot of the bed, studying her hands as though she’d just discovered they resided at the end of her arms.
She’d been a source of comfort and strength while Kate had tended to Michael, who continued to sleep.
“Did Father talk to you?” Kate asked quietly.
Jenny nodded.
“Do you think that’s a proper reason to marry?”
“I’m not sure there is a proper reason. Perhaps I’ll be as lucky as you and discover after the wedding that he’s the right one.”
Was Michael the right one? Yes, she was beginning to realize he was.
“Can he give you the passion you long for?”
“I think so. He has a very attractive set of lips and his hands are large and I can feel strength in them when we dance. He’s very proper. I hear those are the ones you have to watch out for. That behind closed doors they are quite improper.”
“And will that be enough?”
Jenny peered up at her. “I suppose you think I should strive to find love.”
“I think you can have both.”
“I don’t trust love. It’s only served to muck up your life. With passion there’s no doubt. You either have it or you don’t. It’s not judged by a frivolous heart.”
“You think I’ve been frivolous?”
“Where Wesley’s concerned. Don’t you?”
Kate shook her head. “I was young. Naïve. What I felt for Wesley…it pales in comparison with what I feel for Michael.”
“And yet you wanted to spend the rest of your life with Wesley. You thought it was love. How can you know if what you feel now is true love?”
Kate looked back at Michael. How did she know? Because she would do anything, pay anything to keep him alive.
Kate didn’t understand why people felt a need to come when darkness settled in. Perhaps because it seemed that death could arrive without being seen.
Michael had yet to awaken. He was slightly fevered. The physician had cleaned his wound, changed the dressing, given him medications of one sort of another, some designed to help him heal, others to ensure he slept with as little discomfort as possible.
Jenny had left that morning and Kate had kept her vigil alone, until her mother arrived, late in the evening. As formidable as ever, as though she were preparing her own battle against death.
She sat in a chair on the opposite side of the bed from Kate, but her gaze would rest on Kate for a bit, before shifting to Michael, and then she’d sweep her gaze around the corners and shadows.
“I don’t know how I’ll survive losing two people I love,” Kate said quietly into the night.
Her mother sat up a little straighter. “Your father told you about me I suppose.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m not dead yet and neither is your marquess. I suspect, like me, he has no desire to be mourned before he’s toes up and six feet under.”
Kate released a light laugh before settling into somberness. “Are you afraid, Mama?”
“Of death? No, but I shall miss your father terribly.”
“I never realized how much you love each other.”
“People love in different ways, Kate. They show it in different ways.” She snorted, in a very unladylike manner. “Sometimes they don’t show it at all, but it’s still there.”
“Why did you believe Wesley was a fortune hunter, but not believe the same of Michael?”
“Michael?”
“Falconridge?”
“Oh, he’s a fortune hunter, no question there, but he’s an honest one. And an honest heart is capable of great love.”
“What is love? Wesley wrote me poems, he brought me gifts, he told me he loved me every time he saw me. Michael has never said he loves me. He’s never even said he has affection for me. I didn’t know until he stepped in front of Wesley. Why didn’t he tell me? How can a person know if the words are never given?”
“Love isn’t found in words, Kate. It’s found in quiet moments, a look, a sigh, a smile, a gladness.” She sighed. “And very often, it’s shown with sacrifice.”
