Duke Herheart Final (26 page)

Wounds he could manage. Drowning was not a battlefield problem 155

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he had experienced but stanching blood, he could do that. Ripping her skirts, the fabric came away easily. He wadded his first swath and then tore the next strip with his free hand. All the time he kept talking to her as he worked. Tying off her wound required him to run his bandages under her arm but her limp form made moving her difficult. She had showed no signs of life in the few minutes since he had pulled her from the water. “Kathryn love, wake for me. Fight with me, yell at me, hate me, Kathryn, just don’t leave me!”

He worked with the now shredded dress to remove it so he could get her more comfortably seated in front of him on the horse but the soaked layers of fabric were heavy and awkward so he finally resorted to tearing the dress. He fought it fiercely pouring his energy into freeing her from the now-freezing mass of sodden rags. Once he had the last vestige of her dress vanquished, he realized anew that many more precious minutes had passed and she had still not stirred.

Heart constricting, he allowed the words from his mouth. “You will not die. You will not. You are my duchess, you are my life!” he bellowed into the woods.

* * * *

Harold Stafford hove just below the ridge and his blood tingled
when the anguished roar reached his hiding spot. He might have actually
managed to
kill
her. He had done it! The faux duchess was as good as
dead and there would be no heir. Michael would crumble into himself
into a pious prison of guilt and recriminations, faulting himself
unmercifully for her death and then he would welcome the taking of his
life. It would be a blessing for him to die. It had all been so easy.

Cracking two boards was all it had taken. Soon, there would be no one
to prevent him from taking Asterleigh.

The lovely maid had been more difficult to dispense with. Having to
dig that deep hole had taken hours. Splitting the wood that had sent the
Duchess to her death had pleasured him much more than the others. It
was becoming fun to be more hands-on.

Michael grabbed madly for his nerve. He was a battle-hardened warrior. Men with mortal wounds, grievous injuries had leaned on him and he had managed to soothe, calm them but Kathryn’s injuries were weighing him down with unholy fear. The cold had begun stiffening his muscles and where she had once seemed iced cold, she now began heating. Her face turned paler if that was possible. The freckles faded and her eyelids glued to her cheeks. If she never woke up, he would die 156

Duke of Her Dreams – Olivia Ritch

inside. He had found love. Her life was everything.

And he had been too stubborn to tell her when he knew that was all she had ever wanted from him.

Fury responded to his call and he straightened with her in his arms.

She slumped lifeless as a sack across his saddle and he slung himself over the horse’s side. “
Jasmine
.” It was a plaintive cry, not meant to call a horse but to call a life.

Kathryn did not wake on the journey back to the house.

He carried his beloved up the steps, kicked at the door, and, without waiting for a response, flung it open with a free hand. Thorpe looked at him, nearly apoplectic.

“Thorpe, blankets, warm water. Think for me. What do I do?”

Hallthorpe’s Master was cold, soaked, and terrified and losing his ever so steely nerve.

“My Lord. We are bringing blankets. Your study is warm. Set her on the daybed and we will see to her.” Michael staggered a few more steps and the two footmen who had ridden with him to find her on the London Road, who were now hovering in the hall, steadied him. Then his mind awhirl, he stumbled and forgot.

* * * *

Cassandra stepped cautiously to Kathryn’s side, pressing her lips together to prevent them from quivering. Oh, should anything happen to her, Cassandra knew a part of her would die with her. She sat in a chair beside the daybed. “Kathryn,” she whispered, “your plan worked. He loves me. We made love or almost made love. It was the most wonderful experience of my life. I am going to tell you everything and I want you to promise not to blush.” Cassandra bit back a nervous laugh because Kathryn would not be blushing. She had not responded at all to the heat.

She was still gone but not dead, somewhere between life and death.

“I pushed and I pushed and finally told him I loved him and he declared himself. It was so beautiful. Then he kissed me, Kathryn, my knees buckled and his strong arm came around my waist and he held me there against his hips. I felt his need against me and it gave me such a sense of power.” Cassandra paused to take a breath. It was so easy to tell her like this when there would be no judgment. Only quiet awaited her words.

“Kathryn, the feel of his hands on my skin. I didn’t know. I had no idea. When he touched me privately, I went flying away. He…he seemed to receive the same joy from doing that to me. Kathryn, when you wake up, you will be so happy for me. We will talk about the future.”

“Jem is going to talk to Michael. He says we owe you our happiness 157

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and he is going to talk to Michael in your stead.” She took another breath. All of her lovesick ramblings had fallen on Kathryn’s distant ears. They were not hearing. “We want to get married in four weeks and we are going to make love again although Jem says there is even a little more we will do after we are married. I remember that part but it was so abhorrent with Edward, I can’t imagine it is even the same as with Jem.

As soon as you are better, we will be able to make love again. I won’t leave your side for now and he won’t either. We owe you. We love you so much Kathryn, don’t leave us.” She found herself babbling but could not stem the tide of words, for her fear for Kathryn was so great.

* * * *

On the third day, Dr. Bridlesby retrieved his bag from the end of the bed and called Michael into the hall. “She is fighting the battle but her brain has not yet given her leave to come back. She is not yet won or lost.”

Michael was caught between bereavement and fury at his helplessness. “Doctor, what else can we do?”

“Talk to her. Call her back, keep her warm. Try to get fluids and nourishment into her. Break through the haze. Make her want to stay.”

“Thank you.” The words were hollow. His beard was a day old, his clothes disheveled. He slipped his boots off and climbed into bed beside her.

He curled himself around her, pulling her close, drawing in her scent. “You are a saucy little minx Kathryn Ragland. Wearing breeches and walking to London. You come back to me because you owe me. You
owe
me minx. You owe me years of your life.” His voice grew louder.

“You owe me children. You owe me love. I know you have it because it’s all in there waiting to burst out. Do you hear me minx…you…owe…me love!” The sobs broke from his chest before he could finish telling her that
he
also owed her love, to say the words that would bind her to him forever. She owed him that, to hear how he loved her. With his heart and soul. She was his life. She must live.

“My Lord,” Hallthorpe whispered from the door. “Their Lordships are here.”

“Thank you Thorpe…will you see…”

“Lady Cassandra is waiting to spell you, sir. She has a tale I understand.”

* * * *

They sat in the study, all of them, his friends. His companions. “The bridge was definitely tampered with. We found two boards with very clean axe blows. They would have been at just the right section of the 158

Duke of Her Dreams – Olivia Ritch

bridge to cause the horse and rider to falter. The first rider was to cause the bridge to lose integrity. It was the following rider that was meant to fall into the water,” Jules finished the speech. But he did not relish it.

Twice now he had come to Michael’s house to investigate the attempted murder of Kathryn Ragland, future Duchess of Asterleigh. Actually three if the gunshot was to be counted.

“Michael, we have to accept that someone—we assume Stafford—is trying to kill your…your…what is she Michael? Are you affianced?”

“No dammit, we are not. I was a stubborn ass to make a proposal to
that
woman without one word of deep affection.” The bellow drained what little energy he had mustered for the meeting and he sank into his chair. “She is not my fiancée’ but she will be my wife. She is my life,”

he whispered.

What were they supposed to say to that?

Colin Hamilton had not met her but he had heard from Julian about their talk on the road, from Matthew about Michael’s affliction and he heard Michael’s pain now. She must be very special. “Michael, there have been two very strategically executed attempts on her life and three total if the gunshot was aimed at her. I think we all agree that someone is definitely targeting Kathryn and that it’s probably Harold. We’ve got to assume he’s nearby and going to continue to cause harm, especially now that he can probably sense the growing relationship between the two of you and the chance that any day there might be…”

“She’s not…” Michael trailed off. “Not…with child.” They needed to know. It might make a difference.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“We should figure out a way to make this clear, consider letting the relationship show signs of strain. Maybe the killer will think there is no future, that she won’t be the Duchess,” Matthew suggested.

“Or we could say that she is dead.” Julian knew that Michael didn’t want to hear the words but they had to be said. If the world thought she was dead, maybe Stafford would show himself, go for Michael. It was a trump card they could play.

“I…will not…”

“It’s okay. It was just an idea,” Colin conceded.

“As long as she breathes, I will not consign her to the shadows, not even to find her attacker. As long as I have breath, he will never harm her again.” It was a gallant declaration made with the last energy he could muster.

“None of my people have seen him. Let’s concentrate on locating 159

Duke of Her Dreams – Olivia Ritch

him. He’s clearly still operating in the area from some secure base,”

Julian pointed out. “He must have moved from the woodsman’s cottage as soon as he realized your man had spotted his horse. He knows these lands as well as we all do.”

The next half hour was spent in identifying the hideaways that might be housing a would-be assassin. Michael excused himself to the other three who had some very good ideas that he could hear in the back of his mind but not truly focus on at this moment. He needed to check on Kathryn, never having left her for more than a few minutes at a time since the accident.

* * * *

Her head pounded and her eyes burned. Opening them was so

…hard. Why could she not make them behave? “Christine? Are you there?” Her voice sounded so odd, so husky.

Cassandra stirred at her soft question. “Kathryn? Is that you?”

“Christy?” she whispered.

“No, it’s Cassandra. We are to be sisters. I am here.”

Slowly, very slowly, memories trickled back, although her mind was fuzzy and her head still ached. “Cassandra? Oh yes, Jem’s lover. I know you…” she had no energy to tease.

“Yes, Jem’s lover. It sounds so scandalous and wonderful. Does it not? You helped me you know?”

Kathryn licked her dry lips. “Michael?”

“In his study. They’re talking about the bridge and what happened.

Kathryn, someone wanted you or Michael dead. Jem and I think you are the target. We know that’s what Michael is talking about but he won’t tell me. Oh, Kathryn I am so glad to talk to you.”

Kathryn found speaking so very difficult, but she had to know.

“How long? How long has it been?”

“You’ve been unwell for four days. We’ve all been so worried.”

“I guess I did put a crimp in the social plans.” It was almost her usual quality retort, although the voice certainly didn’t sound like hers.

“As I am sure you are not surprised, we have not had or missed any social engagements of import. No one, absolutely no one, is hosting anything until word of your recovery is spread.

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Chapter Eighteen

“Spread the word, sister. I am back!” Kathryn clasped Cassandra’s hands in hers.

“Ellie, please get the Master. Tell him she is awake.”

Ellie found Hallthorpe at the base of the stairs just as Michael was opening his study door and he bolted past the two of them for the stairs.

“My Lord, she is awake.”

Michael snapped to attention and his heart leapt.

“Thorpe, please tell their Lordships the news.” He tossed the words over his shoulder.

Throwing propriety to the wind, he nearly flew to her bedside.

“Kathryn? Look at you laying there in that bed.” He grinned at her with the silly delirious expression of a man pardoned from the hangman’s noose.

She smiled up at him, stretching like a cat. “Yes, I have been rather lazy. I will need a good run.”

Michael rejoiced; she was, indeed, back from the dead. “I will certainly win as you have not trained in so many days.” He took her hand and it felt right, not too cold, or hot. She gripped him with strength and he crawled up onto the bed beside her.

“Michael is this acceptable?”

He grinned at her but it was Cassandra who spoke up.

“He slept in your chair the first night but after that he got up there with you in the bed. There was no rousting you. He would say ‘what good is reputation if we don’t get her back’? It was all very gallant and wonderfully improper.”

“Cassandra and Jem talked to me on the second day of your…er…illness. They said you encouraged them.”

“Do I detect a not completely negative tone in your voice?”

“You do.”

“They’re in love, Michael.”

“I know. I have…given them my blessing.”

“Oh, Michael, I am so proud of you. I think our big warrior heart is softening.” She reached a very weak hand to his stubbled chin.

“It’s the minx. She made me do it.”