Captive Scoundrel (13 page)

“If you’re sure.” He immediately attempted to gather some beef-filled pastry with his spoon, lest she change her mind, she assumed, but he failed.

She stabbed a piece with her fork and popped it into his mouth.

He rolled his eyes in delight to entertain her. Before they finished, he’d eaten more than she.

“We emulate our ancestors,” Faith said. “Communal trenchers.”

He grabbed her finger and licked a spot of clotted cream. “I think our ancestors missed a treat.”

“What, pray tell, is that?”

He tapped her nose. “The taste of sweet Faith.”

Her scepticism charmed him.

“You mock me when I call you delicious. Must I prove my statement?” He placed the tray on the bed-stand and moved the table aside, curving his finger in a come-hither fashion.

Faith took several slow steps and stopped before him.

He grazed her lips with his. “Sweet.” He kissed her lips. “Not too tart.” A longer kiss. “Heavenly. I may never be sated.” He hauled her across his lap and continued his assault.

“Justin,” she whispered.

“Does my kissing you make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” she answered, wide-eyed. “It makes me shiver.”

When her tongue met his, he ravaged her mouth, shifted uncomfortably…and realization dawned. He was a man whole again, hard and ready. Aching. He grinned inwardly, aching to tell Faith. To show her, by God. But she was so innocent.

“What? Why do you smile like the cat that got the cream?”

He pulled her close. “Partly,” he said. “Because you make me smile.” He opened his mouth over hers, brought the kiss to a simmer, and adjusted his position to accommodate his desire.

A pounding at the door stopped them.

“Who?” Faith wondered aloud, disoriented.

Pride at his ability to drug Faith with his kisses diverted Justin.

“Miss Wickham! Open this dratted door. At once. I insist upon being admitted to see my brother. Now!”

Faith jumped up before Justin could stop her. She fled to the windows, yanking each panel closed. Thank God. He feared she would throw open the door, but darkening the room was mercifully quick-witted. He should know better than to worry over her reaction in any situation.

“Break it down, damn it,” they heard Vincent shout from the hall, his brother having someone else do the work, as usual.

Faith watched the hall door splinter with each thrust.

Justin grabbed his medicine and something else Faith had attempted to give him, and sprinkled dark pungent liquid and thick golden syrup over himself and his bedding. A sulphurous odour filled the room. Faith turned toward him, and understanding was born. His life depended on Vincent’s fastidious nature keeping him from getting too close. He began a gruesome imitation of retching. Faith nodded her approval. The door heaved and gave.

With each gasp, the medicinal odour filling his nostrils was so sharp, Justin feared he would be truly ill.

Vincent burst in. “How dare you lock me out in my own house.” Placing his hand over his nose and mouth, he came to a halt.

Faith raised her chin. “Your Grace.” She was a child, again, in the midst of a thunderstorm. Except this was no childish fear, but real. Grown up. Deadly.

Justin retched in earnest and Vincent was furious. Gone even was his veneer of civility.

Faith could easily succumb to her panic, but Justin’s life hung in the balance. Moments only passed as she and Vincent faced each other. Abashed, he composed himself.

She had gained the upper hand, and she wielded the power. “You caused me to abandon him in his need. He is ill, dying. His affliction could spread throughout the house, leaving all within….”

But she needn’t finish. Vincent had removed himself with such speed as to make Faith wonder if his presence had been a nightmare.

Justin’s dry retching, his gasps for breath, as if each might be his last, moved her. She sat him up and propped pillows behind him. Still his stomach convulsed. “Try holding your breath for a minute to interrupt the heaving.”

He couldn’t respond.

“Justin. Your body is responding to the same action over and over. Break the pattern. Swallow or take a deep breath.”

Finally, he swallowed, which made a slight difference.

“Again, darling—”

“Are you so enamoured of a near-dead man, Miss Wickham,” Vincent said from the door, making her jump. “That you would speak to him with such pathetic pretence?” He stood close enough to hear, far enough to miss the changes in Justin. Faith hoped.

“Your grace,” she said digging her fingers into Justin’s shoulder, reminding him to remain still and keep his eyes closed.

“‘Tis a sick game you play,” Vincent said.

She shrugged. “Justin is my only company.”

Vincent became a predator, she his prey. “You’re fortunate I returned. I can…we can entertain each other.”

Justin tensed under her hand. She lessened the pressure on his shoulder and soothed as best she could with what she hoped looked like an unconscious movement.

Vincent saw her stroking fingers and focused upon them.

Uncomfortable under his scrutiny, Faith removed her hand.

He snapped back to the present, as if from a dream, and shifted his stance. “Tomorrow evening you will dine with me downstairs.”

“I cannot. My patient. Your brother is—”

“Too ill to miss you for the night.”

“He cannot be left alone for a moment. You saw how tenuous—”

“Harris will stay with him.” Vincent’s furious jaw-action boded ill.

“Harris is not here.”

“Where the devil has he gone? I do not remember giving him permission to leave Killashandra.”

“To…get more medicine.”

Vincent smiled. “I thought there was enough.”

“We wanted to be certain—”

“Considering your patient’s condition, I suspect what we have will do, but it’s best to be sure…that we have enough.”

With which to kill, she thought. “With Harris gone, I must stay with him.”

“I’ll send a maid.”

Faith gave up. “Some nights are better than others. If he needs someone, I’ll tell you when I see you.” If Justin waited alone, it would be a good excuse for her to return early.

“Good. Until tomorrow evening, my little nurse.”

Faith bit her lip to keep from saying she was not his anything.

Vincent departed as silently as he’d returned.

When Faith looked at Justin, his eyes were closed. She put the room in order. After replacing his blankets, she inspected the damage to the door. The jagged wood fit neatly and quite securely back into its proper spot. The lock, however, was another problem. Faith pushed a small chest against the door. Then she fetched a tiny bell and fastened it to the knob. The slightest turn would ring it. She nodded. It would serve.

“I forbid you to go to him.”

Justin’s furious voice startled her. “I thought you slept.”

“I said, I forbid you to go to Vincent.”

She returned to his side. “I am only dining with him.”

“It’s time to grow up, Faith. He wants more than your company at dinner. He said he wants you to spend the night with him.”

Faith laughed for Justin’s benefit, but she was frightened. “He meant the evening. And, I’m not a child. I dined with him before and he left the next morning. He’ll leave again tomorrow.”

“He came back for a reason.”

“He wants to know if the medicine is working. I’ll assure him you’re failing fast.”

“He wants you, you little fool.”

She agreed, but she had no choice. “I’ll be fine.”

“I said no.”

“You have no right to tell me what to do, or what not to do.”

“Just a while ago, you would have given me any right.”

Faith wouldn’t let him use her love this way. “Until you can prevent my departure, you have no choice but to watch me go.” She’d matched him for low tactics, and she hated that. But if she apologized, he’d think her weak.

He made a sound between a laugh and a sneer. “You will always do what you damn well please, will you not…Catherine!”

He may as well have slapped her. Faith went silently to her room, closed the door between, and for the first time since his recovery, left it closed all night. She paced until the middle of the longest, loneliest night of her life, but she refused to go to him.

In silence, she performed his morning ritual.

With a few words, Vincent had severed their tenuous bond. Sadly, the connection which had taken months to form, took only moments to destroy. A sign it was weak at best and not worth this deep sense of loss. But she was furious with Justin for not seeming to care at all. Under these strained conditions, and with Vincent in residence, Faith decided Beth’s visit must wait.

Dressed for her evening with Vincent, Faith placed Justin’s dinner before him.

“Do not expect me to eat this slop.” He pushed the plate away. “You look like a harlot.”

“Of course I do. It’s what you expect, is it not? I would never disappoint you. I could also act the harlot, if Vincent wished.” If she knew how. “After all, I must earn the money he pays me. And that slop is all you will get. I can hardly ask for food if I’m dining downstairs. You’re supposed to be too ill to consume anything, if you will remember.”

She adjusted her bodice to a precariously low position, taking satisfaction in the tensing of Justin’s jaw. “Better, do you not think?” When she left, breasts nearly falling from her dress, she punctuated her departure by slamming the door.

In the hall, she straightened her bodice and covered herself.

As she and Vincent ate, he studied her. “You’re quiet this evening, my dear. If I remember correctly, you had an avid interest in anything to do with my brother when first we dined together.”

“I find the subject decidedly uninteresting of late, your Grace. Tell me of your travels in France?”

Vincent looked suspicious, which made her uncomfortable, but he gave an account of his search for a rich, French wife. As he rambled, Faith floated peas along the gravy rivers in her plate, wondering how to get Justin something nourishing to eat.

Vincent cleared his throat. “Miss Wickham, do you attend me?”

“What? I’m sorry.”

“Since you’re not hungry, I’ll speak with you in the library. Now, if you don’t mind.” He chuckled. “Or, even if you do. This way please.”

She followed him to his study, disliking his smile as much as ever, wondering what he wished to speak to her about. With a taciturn man like him, thoughts were difficult to imagine.

“Miss Wickham, I must say, you’re disgustingly lacking in your attention to your employer this evening. Kindly look at me, and listen.”

Faith snapped to attention. “I apologize, your Grace. I am tired this evening. I am awake many nights with your brother.” Then she saw them. Slender-necked and amber. Lined up, three in a row upon his desk. Full vials of Justin’s medicine.

Faith vowed never to set another mousetrap.

Faith had been with Vincent for nearly an hour, while Justin paced—inasmuch as he could in a wheelchair. He stared out at the night sky, frustrated as hell that he could do nothing save sit and hide when his family needed him. His family. The image included Beth in his arms and Faith by their side. That gave him pause, because he found himself as repelled as drawn by the notion.

Had he, despite resolving never to be so foolish again, fallen for Miss Faith Wickham, that too-innocent-to-be-believed child? He shook his head. Of course he had not. Faith was a giving, nurturing, voluptuous creature. But he dare not fall. Women were dangerous. And Faith behaved true to form, cavorting with his brother, doing God knew what, while he waited here in agony, and fear, for her safety.