Devil's Desire (21 page)

Peter controlled the shudder of pain that shot through him as Alex and the footmen carefully lowered him onto the bed.

"Are you all right, Peter?” Alex asked worriedly.

Critically running his eye over his brother's shirt which was beginning to show a seepage of bright red blood where his wound had opened again.

Peter gave a pitiful attempt at a smile which was little more than a grimace. "I'm not dead yet—take more than a coward's hand and these ham–fisted footmen to finish me off."

He was interrupted by an involuntary groan as Dany cut away his shirt and bandage, exposing the wound–raw and angry–looking, but clean in his shoulder.

"Now, Dany, what are you poking around at?" he demanded as Dany probed his wound. "The doctor took care of it. I should know–it hurt enough," he complained."

"And I'll have no bairn of mine not properly cared for. Them London do
ctors haven't a lick of sense. So ye just let Dany take care of this, and we'll see who knows what's best for
ye," she said huffily, applying an evil-smelling concoction and rewrapplng his shoulder with clean strips of cloth.

"You should know better by now than to argue with Dany, Peter," Alex laughed, and then wrinkled his nose as he caught a whiff of her homemade salve. "Remind me not to get too close next time I visit," he said with a mock shudder of revulsion.

"Well, how do you think I feel with this obnoxious stuff plastered to me?" Peter demanded indignantly, giving his brother a helpless look.

"Now, ye just lie back and I'll have ye a good bowl of soup," Dany promised ignoring his request for a stiff brandy, while she busily fluffed up the pillows behind his shoulders, and straightened the bedclothes with mother hen admonitions to keep quiet while she prepared the special healing brew.

After she left, Alex sat down on a small chair he'd pulled up, and gave his brother a hard look. "Hurts like hell, doesn't it?" he commiserated sympathetically, but with an undercurrent of anger threaded in his voice from the concern and shock he had suffered at seeing his brother's condition.
“If
you do not feel like talking I'll leave, but I should be interested in what the blazes happened to you. For that is a gunshot round, if I'm not mistaken?"

"No, don't go, for I need to talk, Alex," Peter hesitated, and then blurted out in an anguished voice, "I've killed a man!”

"Did you?" Alex remarked casually. Masking his surprise, he continued in an undisturbed tone, "I'm sure you had reason."

"Oh, yes, I'm no murderer! It was a question of honor, Alex, but . . . " A tortured look entered his eyes as he stared at his brother. "I don't feel good about it. I have always dreamed of defending our honor and name in a duel—but now that I've taken another man's life . . . I merely feel sickened by it all." He hung his head in dejection, a flush of embarrassment and fever coloring his face.

Alex leaned forward and grasped Peter's chin with his fingers, pulling his face upwards so he could look directly into his brother's eyes.

"Now listen to me, Peter. No gentleman feels gladness after taking another man's life—regardless of the insult or crime. You would indeed be sick if you rejoiced at killing another human being. You had no other choice. If you had not been the victor—then the other man would have been. Someone must lose, and in a situation such as this—where no other course is open to you—then you fight to win, and to live, Peter," Alex told his brother sternly. "Always fight to win;"

"I suppose you are right, Alex, but I never thought I .would feel bad about it—like a woman with my feelings—wanting to cry," he admitted feeling more foolish than ever. "You have always seemed so strong and victorious after your duels you never feel any regrets or remorse. So I thought my feelings were wrong—like those of a coward."

"No, Peter. You have the heart of an honest and compassionate man—and those are the true feelings." He looked at his brother curiously. "Do you really believe that I feel no remorse after I have cut another man down? I feel it, Peter, believe me, I feel it deeply. I am so accustomed to masking my thoughts and feelings, that I show an unmarred countenance to the world. But it hurts inside–it can tear me apart.

"Sometimes though, one finds that one is trapped by the conventions of society, and there is no other method of dealing with a situation. There will always be others who will inevitably force your hand, and at these times it is necessary to defend your name and honor by duelling. Regretful, yes–but necessary I'm afraid. However, I would caution you not to allow that course of action to role your life. Be the master of your fate, not the victim."

"Well, that is a relief. I thought I'd become a milk-livered, faint heart," Peter said, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Yet I would have a word with you. You made me look the laughing stock of London, Alex! Why, I was the last to know you had wed! Every chimney sweep and footman's daughter knew of it before I did!” Peter said in a grieved tone. "Had to read about it in the Gazette. First there were those damnable rumors spreading like the plague about you and some high-born wench in an inn, that really set their tongues a-wagging, and then the news that you had wed! Well, that caught me broadside, I can tell you." He looked doubtfully at Alex. "You are married?"

"Yes. Very much so," Alex answered, an expression of pleased remembrance on his hawk-like features.

"I still can't believe it. You of all people! And you didn't even tell me, Alex. Except for some talk about leaving London because you were fed up with it all–knew that couldn't be true, never believed a word of it–you would've left me in the dark too. Planning all along to marry the girl, weren't you? Do I know her?"

"No you don't, but you shall soon have that pleasure," Alex promised.

"I hear she is a beauty. But that doesn't surprise me, knowing your tastes."

"Yes, Elysia is quite beautiful, in an unusual way. And not in the accepted standard of beauty which is now the rage in London for sweet, blue-eyed, angelic blondes. I find myself married to a real she devil with emerald-green eyes and wild, red-gold hair and a temper and tongue to match," he reflected with obvious pleasure at the combination.

"Not too much for you to handle, I’ll wager," Peter said confidently, knowing of his brother's somewhat dictatorial and domineering ways, always expecting to get his way. But there was a puzzled look in his blue eyes as he looked at him.

"I sometimes wonder," Alex said ruminatively, shaking his dark head.

"I still feel in the dark about it all. Don't know how you met, but if you were planning to wed when you left London..... then all those rumors can't be true–despite what the Joker said," Peter commented stoutly. There was still some doubt in his mind as to exactly what had happened, yet he was reluctant to discuss it with Alex, due to the delicacy of the matter. Yet he couldn't seem to stop himself from saying, "But the coloring
is
the same as that other girl . . . "

"Beckingham? Now just what did that Swine have to impart to you?" Alex asked in a cold voice, his lips curling in distaste at the mere utterance of the name.

"Well, I wasn't going to tell you because I wasn't sure if it was false or true—either way it's a hell of a thing to ask you about. I could see no other way but to challenge him. If what he told me was true then he deserved to die for his infamous trick, and if merely a rumor, then for making slanderous accusations against you."

"You duelled with Beckingham!” Alex was surprised out of his habitual coolness, for once.

"Yes, who else? No reason to shoot anyone else, have I?" Peter asked doubtfully.

"So . . . you killed Beckingham!”

"Yes, that's what I've been trying to tell you. He said some pretty. inflammatory things to me—in private—and I thought it my duty to deal with him. You know, I think he actually wanted me to challenge him. I couldn't very well not, after what he had told me. He wanted me dead for some reason," Peter said in puzzlement "Never bore him any ill will, you know, so I don't know why he should have had it in for me."

"He hated me, Peter, and he probably hoped to kill you. Knowing how close we are, he would have known it would hurt me deeply. Unfortunately for him, he failed," Alex explained, seeing for the first time the hatred Sir Jason must have felt towards him.

"Well, he very nearly didn't—he cheated, and shot first. Just luck, and a suspicion he might be up to something kept him from putting a shot through my heart. I owe my life to Charles. If he hadn't warned me, I'd be beyond the grave right now," Peter expostulated grimly.

Alex looked at his brother fondly, knowing how close he had come to losing him. “Well, you've managed to settle the score for me with Beckingham, Peter. I'm grateful, however I regret that it was at the expense of your shoulder."

"Glad to have been of service to you, Alex," Peter replied proudly, some of the throbbing pain in his shoulder lessening under his brother's praise. 'When do I meet the new Lady Trevegne?"

"Soon enough. You must rest now, or Dany will have my skin," Alex said as he heard her skirts rustling behind him. She entered the room with a tray upon which sat a bowl of steaming broth.

"But I have a thousand questions to ask you, Alex! Please don't go," Peter beseeched as Alex walked towards the door.

"'Ye just sit back now, Master Peter, and ye be getting yesel' out of here, Lord Alex. Ye've already been too long–now get along," she commanded him in a strict voice, reminding him of the schoolroom.

"I can't argue with that disciplinary voice, Peter," he said, making his retreat, leaving Peter struggling ineffectively against Dany's ministrations.

Alex walked slowly down the stairs thinking of Peter's pale face. His fist clenched as he thought of Beckingham's double treachery. He almost wished him from the grave so he could have the pleasure of killing him and sending him back to it again.

He shook his head in disbelief. He'd had no idea that Beckingham had hated him so vehemently. The man must have been insane. He shrugged his shoulders, mentally shaking himself free from the thoughts of Beckingham.
            
.

Alex entered the salon where he heard voices. He stood unnoticed just inside the door, silently watching his wife who was avidly listening to young Lackton excitedly retell his tale of adventure. He smiled crookedly as he saw her shocked expressions of disbelief and horror at Charles' vivid recollections. He raised an eyebrow in amusement as he watched a look of rapture finally settle on the young man's face as he continued to stare in ill-disguised admiration at Elysia who was sitting attractively across from him. She gave the impression of being completely untouchable–securely wrapped in her own cocoon of thoughts, and letting none enter—however close they might have gotten to her physically.

He moved forward into the room, startling the two of them from their conversation. "It would seem that Peter owes you his life, and l owe you a debt of gratitude Charles," Alex said sincerely 'shaking the young man's hand firmly.

"It was nothing, really," Charles confessed grimly, feeling a head taller from the unaccustomed warmth from Lord Trevegne. "Just doing what's right and proper for a friend."

"We are proud, and fortunate, to have you as a friend, Charles, and I am confident that I speak for all of us. We are indeed grateful for what you have done. Are we not, Elysia?" He sent a look of innocent inquiry to Elysia, who returned it calmly, without a flicker of emotion on her face.

"Indeed we are, Alex, but tell me of Peter. How is he?"

Alex poured himself a brandy and walked over to the fireplace and leant negligently against it, his arm upon the mantelpiece.

"He will survive," he answered grimly, "but he will need plenty of rest, and this will be the best place for his recuperation,
If
that madcap journey from London didn't finish him off, then I seriously doubt whether anything could." He shook his head, as if contemplating that painful journey in the coach for Peter, and the frightening journey for Lackton at the reins of the curricle. .

Elysia stood-up as if to leave the room. Excusing herself she said, "I shall send our regrets to the Blackmores for this evening, and–"

"No, we might as well attend, since there is little we can do for Peter here. Dany will handle all of his needs. She practically ran me out of his room and he must already be sleeping like a baby. For Dany prepared her special recuperative broth, which she was spooning into his mouth as I left, so I doubt whether we shall hear a sigh from him." He looked at Charles, who was beginning to show the strain from his journey. "Charles, you will stay with us for awhile," Alex said, making it a statement rather than a question.

"Thank you, Your Lordship, it will be a pleasure, but if you will excuse me I must change, for I fear I am indeed offensive, as I am covered with mud," he apologized. He quickly left the room, anxious to clean himself up and rest, and especially to try his hand at tying the intricate folds of the new design of Lord Trevegne's cravat.

Elysia hesitated uncertainly. This was the first time she'd been alone with him since last night. She decided she would make a dignified retreat, and began to walk towards the door.

"M'Lady," he said quietly, moving from his posttion in front of the fire.