Enemy of Mine (8 page)

The gossip, unfortunately, wasn’t his to tell, though he craved to explain it away.

So much for seducing the lady.

Chapter 8

I
f Erva could have screamed, she would have. Well, this was her insane trip, and she just might in front of all these people. She’d almost fallen for that sweet yet highly charged handholding. God, that had been...her body still smoldered with the flames Will had ignited. He’d swept across her pulse in a knowing way. Too knowing! The man was infamous for having multiple lovers, like Miss Emma and Miss Lydia.

Obviously, he cared about the two women too, for they were in his will. After Will died, which would happen in just a few days, the two women would move to England. Although Paul somehow inherited most of the money, he gave Will’s manor to the women, where they lived the rest of their lives together becoming a rather artistic duo England would rave about one day.

When Erva first read of their account, it had seemed too farcical. Here were two normal-appearing women who turned into best friends because they both were mistresses of the man behind her? How...odd. But history was full of oddities. No, that wasn’t quite right. History was full of humans, being human.

She still couldn’t believe she’d just met the Howe brothers. They were revolutionaries in their own right. General William had dramatically changed in-line formation while on the field, while Admiral Richard had changed communications between ships of the line. Both were instrumental in the next century’s transformation of warfare and technology. Further, as she had assumed, she’d liked them. They were reserved at first. But they’d opened to her. Well, of course they would. They were her hallucinations after all.

She liked Richard the most, as she’d known she would. From his letters and testimony from others, she thought the man had an unbelievably high IQ, but he wouldn’t be known as being intelligent. His speech was convoluted and, more often than not, unclear. It was in his letters she’d found a clue as to why he spoke the way he did. Although past historians wrote him off as a pompous ass because of his windy, vague speeches in Parliament, she’d discovered something else. His letter “p” he’d often write upside down. Sometimes the number “3” was written backwards. Because he’d never flipped his “b” for a “d,” the classic sign of Dyslexia, no one considered him to have it. But with the newest science on her side, since she’d also asked a neuropsychologist for her input, Erva had proof that Richard was more than likely Dyslexic.

For many reasons, she admired him on many levels. His tenacity, his bravery, his loyalty. And unlike his brother, Richard had been faithful to his wife. Of course there was no proof that William Howe had cheated on his wife, other than gossip. Although, in the case of Will, overwhelming evidence suggested some form of promiscuity or at least indiscretion.

God, how could she have fallen for his shy, yet careful ways? Just because the man picked her up as if she weighed a feather, Erva reminded herself, was no reason to fall into bed with him. Or worse, fall into...well, she was beginning to care for the man.

She couldn’t do that.

He was going to die soon.

Erva smiled down at the petite Winny, whose smile had turned grotesque. The poor girl thought she’d won something. It was obvious she was after Will. Like so many heedless women, she thought she could elbow out the competition, and then Will would realize how idiotic he had been and love her and her alone. Right. Erva wished she could school the mean-spirited Winny. Men, no matter how much you might love them, will not change. Once a rake, always a rake. Matrimonial vows had no effect on men like Will.

Winny had done her a favor, reminding her of that simple and heartbreaking rule she knew all too well.

“I’d love to have tea with you and your friends, Miss Winny. How about next week?” When Erva was certain she’d be rid of her illusion. At least she hoped as much.

Miss Winny’s face broke from her victorious grin, but soon enough she got her act together to curtsy and mumble. “Yes, next week.” Then gave her excuses and trampled away. Probably to sour someone else’s night.

No, Winny had done her a favor, Erva reminded herself. She’d been so close to letting Lord Hill have his way with her. God, how embarrassing. And what was it with the myth that a woman could somehow change a womanizer? It was as pervasive in her own time as now, that a woman thought she had a magical heart, or in her own time a magical vagina, which could turn a narcissistic jerk into a caring, generous, and faithful husband?

It didn’t happen that way.

She knew from personal experience. Not only had her mother warned her of it, but she’d lived through it. Her ex-husband had taught her very well the virtues, or the lack of them, in men who womanized. Erva was in agreement with her mother on that one subject.

Will cleared his throat quietly. “Perhaps now the lady wishes to leave?”

“Yes.” Yes, she’d had enough. She wanted to go to bed, wanted to curl under the covers and cry. Not because she was overwhelmed with Will’s ways. But because...God, the man was as smooth as they got, even acting a bit as though he was unaccustomed to women, bumbling, shy. She kicked herself for almost falling for it.

Will guided her through the huge house’s labyrinth of halls, telling all who enquired that they were retiring for the night. He still had her hand on his bulging bicep as he led the way. How did guys from the eighteenth century get so buff, she wondered. That train of thought made her realize she
was
overwhelmed with the way she felt toward Will. A decent night’s sleep would do her a world of good. Yes, a fresh start in the morning should bring her peace of mind. Maybe literally. Maybe she’d wake up sane again! Why hadn’t she thought about going back to sleep? Because she’d been too distracted by the man beside her. She glanced up at his clear blue eyes, staring in front of them as he slowly cut across the crowds of people. He took more and more of her weight as they walked, and for that Erva was grateful. Still pissed at the man, but thankful he was a gentleman about some things.

As soon as they were out of the house, a carriage waited at the end of the stone path, but Will, without a word, bent and lifted her in his arms. While striding toward the carriage, he said, “I’m going to send for a doctor to meet us at the house to look at your knee.” His voice was incredibly low, almost hostile.

Erva was sure her leg was just sore and didn’t need an eighteenth century’s doctor to inspect it. But from Will’s tone, she wouldn't argue with him. Not now.

She’d placed her arms around him when he’d lifted her. It had been instinctual. But in his arms and with her own around him, there was nowhere for her to hide her discomfort. Forgotten was Miss Winny and her manipulation. In its stead was...did she really feel sorry? Sorry for removing herself from him?

But he wasn’t the kind of man to be trusted.

Then again, up until Winny had cattily said something about Misses Lydia and Emma, she had always wondered if the rumors were true. Obviously the two women who would inherit an allowance from his death meant something to him, but she’d never discovered what.

What if she’d jumped to conclusions? What if she’d let her ex-husband’s betrayal affect her judgment?

Will helped her into the carriage and, before he got himself in, Erva heard him call out two addresses to drive to: his house and another. After Will shut the door and the horses began to trot, she finally turned to him.

His face was taut, his eyes focused dead ahead, his jaw line bulged. God, this was what she imagined him like during battle. But she didn’t want to do battle with him herself. Of course, she needed to remain professional, but she didn’t need to brow beat the man for his rumored or real alliances. After all, who was she to judge?

“Are you dropping me off somewhere?” she asked, trying to sound playful.

“I’m taking you home to see the doctor.”

“Then where are you going after you drop me off?”

His jaw line kicked. He took a slow, measured breath. “I always see my men in the hospital before I retire for the evening.”

He was a single man, in the prime of his life in Brooklyn, 1776, when every red-blooded woman had red fever, as Lady Anne had called it. Well, everyone called it that. He would be a demigod here with women throwing themselves at him. Could she really believe that he was going to visit his sick and wounded men?

“I want to go with you.”

“You need to see the doctor.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Erva countered flirtily, “but aren’t there doctors in the hospital where you’re going?”

His jaw line yet again twitched. The man would lose a tooth at this rate.

“Fine,” he growled. He turned, a finger pointed at her, his face stern. But then he gazed into her eyes. Instantly, his countenance softened. His chest rose quickly. His angry finger fell to his lap. “But—but you will see a doctor as soon as we arrive at the hospital.” His voice had also lessened its tenseness.

Before she could agree, he turned from her and knocked on the roof of the carriage with a stick. Well, it wasn’t a stick. It probably had a name, but what that was Erva had no clue. Once the carriage stopped, Will told the driver to take them to the army’s hospital, and soon enough they were turned around.

At the hospital Will wouldn’t release her from his arms until a doctor was discovered who would check on her knee. They’d had to find a secluded room, a small sparsely lit bedroom, since heaven forbid a man see her leg who wasn’t a doctor. As Will tried to leave, Erva snatched him by his thick wrist.

“Will you stay with me?”

The doctor, a small, round man with thinning black hair, looked down at his tray of surgical tools. That was what scared Erva, those small dagger-like utensils and why they would be needed for her little cut. The doctor, Geoffrey Goodfellow, seemed cheerful and friendly. But he was an eighteenth-century doctor with surgical tools. Going to examine her. She gulped away the fear that she might lose a leg from this.

Will’s face had become tense again, but the moment he gazed at her, his shoulders descended a few inches. His jaw line relaxed. He closed his eyes and nodded then walked behind the small cot she sat upon.

“Would the lady care to lean against me during the examination?” Will asked.

So it was back to being referenced in the third-person, was it? Well, she could play that game. “As long as it’s not a bother for the lord.” She pivoted her chin and looked up at him with an arched brow.

Will didn’t smile though. Awkwardly he sat behind her. He twisted his torso so his chest met her back. Before he leaned forward, to take her weight yet again, she stared at his form in the yoga-like move. God, he was beautiful. His chest was wide and muscular, his shoulders even more so. He scooted carefully forward, then Erva felt his body’s warmth zing into her skin before they’d even touched. And when he did, oh, she had to repress a sigh. It felt so good to be close to him again.

“All right, ready, my lady?” the doctor asked cheerfully.

She nodded and lifted her skirts up her one leg, making sure that the fabric bunched between her thighs to not expose herself. It was odd not wearing panties. In a way it had been kind of fun going commando all day, but when Will had held her hand at the banquet she’d gotten wet. That had been a whole new feeling.

The doctor, Erva thought, was untying Will’s handkerchief from earlier. She couldn’t quite see what he was doing, since her skirts piled around her like meringue pie.

“Hmm, this is a bad cut.” The doctor shook his head at her knee.

“It doesn’t need stitches, does it? I didn’t think it was that deep,” Erva remarked.

Dr. Goodfellow shook his head again. “No, no stitches, my lady. But any injury on the knee is never easy, what with all the walking we do, and I’m guessing you walked quite a bit after your injury.”

“She did,” Will said. Again, his voice was low, serious.

Erva shook her head, and realized she’d begun to lean against Will’s strong shoulder. He was so hard, so solid, so...warm. She glanced down and saw his hands on either side of her hips. Not touching, but close, as if ready to catch her.

“Yes, your knee is quite swollen because of it.”

Erva pushed down the fluff that was her skirts and looked at her leg, still in its ruined stocking. It
was
swollen. There was no denying that. And it really was painful to walk on. She pulled her skirts up on her other leg to see just how bad the situation was. Oh, it wasn’t good, once compared.

“Oh dear, you’re right,” Erva agreed. She looked over her shoulder at Will. “I didn’t think it was this bad.”

His face had returned to granite, and he stared down at her legs. He glanced at her eyes, then inhaled sharply. “I’ll...have to take better care of you, so you don’t walk as much.”

The sentiment was...incredibly sweet. So much so Erva could hardly believe he’d said it. But then again, weren’t people of this time trained to be so...mannerly?

“I’m very sorry, my lady,” Will whispered.

“Well, I wouldn’t say she has to be off it completely,” the doctor muttered as he faced his tools. “Does good to walk a little. Brings back the health to it faster. But she did over walk today. I’ll clean this up,” the doctor already dabbed some yellow brown tincture on a cloth and returned to her knee. “Then you can put ice on it, General, later.”

“I can?” Will’s voice cracked.