Perilous Risk (40 page)

“Does your papa know where you are?”

She nodded slowly. “I sent Father a note before we left London.”

“He knows about your gentleman?”

“Not exactly.”

“You know that I shall have to tell him you’re here?”

“Yes, of course, but can we not talk of this later?” She opened her eyes and motioned towards Stephen where he lay on the bed, still and pale as death. “You have a patient.”

“So I do.” Uncle Frederick took her by the shoulders. “Out with you then. Let me tend my work.”

* * * *

Rebecca passed the following days with a leaden weight on her chest, in her stomach. She helped her uncle’s maids in their around the clock nursing of Stephen.

In between times, she could not eat, could not sleep. She was surviving by sitting near the fire in Stephen’s chamber, sipping strong coffee laced with Scotch whisky and staring listlessly out the window at the snow that was gently falling.

This morning, Stephen had awoken for a time but he’d tired quickly and they had exchanged but a few words before he slipped into a deep sleep once more.

She had written to Jon her first day here and told him that she was safe and with her uncle. Today, Jon’s reply had come, delivered with remarkable swiftness by a private courier instead of the post. Listlessly, she stared at the ivory vellum and Ruel’s wax seal that had once sent her blood singing with excitement. She broke the seal and unfolded the missive. Her gaze skipped over the bold, scrawled words.

Drake is there with you, isn’t he?

In slanted, slashing words, he related his uneasiness with the whole matter of the Earl of Barnet’s death and Maria Seymour’s disappearance—and Lord Drake’s involvement with them both.

Now, you’ve got yourself entangled right in the midst of the whole business, sleeping with a potential viper. I suspect he is a spy (God knows for which faction—or nation!) and spies are, as you surely must realize, the most untrustworthy of all men.

There were several clumpish blots of ink.

Damn, you, Rebecca, I don’t need this worry, not now.

She read a few more lines then inhaled sharply. Jon had never spoken so angrily to her before. She read enough to glean that his daughters were almost recovered. Lady Ruel had improved enough to argue with and resist her doctors’ ministrations but she was by no means in the clear. Jon concluded the letter by saying he had a throat sore as ‘fire’ but he added ‘I doubt I shall expire.’

Pray God that your uncle can keep you safe, as I don’t have the time or liberty at present to come and fetch you back to London.

She gasped at the postscript then sat there gaping for several moments. How bloody presumptuous! Who had asked him to come and ‘fetch’ her? Why did he assume that her judgement was in the wrong? Anger swept over her and she tossed the velum into the fire then watched it curl, turn black and disappear, swallowed up by the flames.

“What was that?”

The deep, quiet, hoarse-sounding voice made her startle. Guiltily. She whirled to face the bed.

Stephen had propped himself against the pillows and was watching her. Despite the unwarranted guilt still pricking her, warmth swept over her from head to toe. Seeing him awake again, his eyes so clear and alert this time…well, nothing had ever seemed so grand in her entire life. She smiled and ran to sit in the chair by the bed. “Oh, Stephen! It is so wonderful to see you finally awake.”

He studied her.

She laid her hand on his forehead. Cool and dry.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. The briefest of smiles flitted across his sensual mouth. Then he released her hand and pointed at the hearth. “What did you just toss into the fire?”

She shrugged. “It was nothing.”

“It was something. You looked fierce as a thundercloud.” He stared at her, probing deeply. She almost fancied he saw everything inside her.

She took a deep breath. “It does not matter.”

“No, no, you will not keep secrets from me.”

She froze, her heart squeezing. Why? She’d done nothing wrong.

“Tell me.”

“Um… It was a letter from the Earl of Ruel.”

“I see.”

Oh, wasn’t his tone deadly serious now. She took another deep breath. “I just wrote to him to tell him that I was with my uncle and safe. I also inquired about his children and Lady Ruel.”

“And what did he reply?”

“He says that his daughters are on their way to recovery but Lady Ruel resists the physicians’ orders.” Rebecca laughed softly and shrugged. “She distrusts purges and blood-letting and who knows? Maybe she is wise in that.”

“Oh come, that’s not what made you so angry. Tell me what he said.”

“He disapproves of you. He knows you are here.”

“What else did he say?” He took her hand and caressed it. Something in that feather-soft brush, something in his eyes, sent a shiver through her.

“He suspects you are a spy and that I ought not to…” Under his intense, probing gaze, words seemed to pour out of her. Unwise words, perhaps. She glanced away hastily. “He disapproves of you.”

Stephen touched her chin and applied gentle pressure. “Look at me.”

His stern tone sent uneasiness rippling through her stomach. She could not have resisted turning back to him. Then she was consumed by those dark blue eyes. “He says I am sleeping with a viper. That I have got myself into a very unfortunate situation. He says he wants to find me a husband, someone to keep me out of trouble. He says he does not need to worry about me now.”

“I see.”

He spoke so softly. Yet beneath the softness, there was ice. She looked away, staring out the window. The snow was heavier now.

“Rebecca, look at me.”

She swallowed hard, then turned back to him.

“You’re not to contact him again. Ever.”

“Stephen,” she gasped.

“Ever.”

“Surely, such a drastic measure is unwarranted.”

“I say it is warranted.”

“But you must know—I would never be unfaithful to you. And he-he is completely besotted with his lady.”

“Yes, I realize this.”

“Then why must you insist on this? I cannot simply stop communicating with him.”

“It is not your decision.”

“You can’t just—”

“He’s out of your life, Rebecca.”

“You have no right to give me such an order!”

“Yes, I do. You know it in your heart.”

She jolted to her feet and fled the chamber. Out in the corridor, she gave way to her tears. This was what it would mean to be Stephen’s mistress? Oh dear God, what a price!

A cough startled her out of her spiralling thoughts. She looked up.

Her uncle was watching her.

She swiped her sleeve across her eyes and sniffed. “I will see to your tea in just a moment.”

He shook his head. “Rebecca, I told you already, you needn’t take over my domestic concerns.” He glanced at the door to Stephen’s chamber. “If your lord is well enough to engage in a lovers’ quarrel, then I say he is well enough to be moved.”

“Moved?”

Uncle Frederick nodded.

“Why should he need to be moved?”

Uncle Frederick motioned down the corridor. “Let us go to my study and have a chat, shall we?”

She nodded and followed him. He called for tea and she sat there on the velvet settee, wondering what he wanted to say. The tea came and they both held their cups, the steam from the fragrant brew clearing the last of her stuffy nose from the sniffles. It gave her a sudden nostalgia for times when she had been an adolescent and he had lived part of each year in London and she had run to his house, seeking comfort or refuge from her father’s anger and disappointment.

Uncle Frederick had always been kind.

“I can fix your lord’s stomach. If we continue with his treatment and he follows my directions, he’ll be fine. But I can’t make him want to live.”

“What do you mean, you cannot ‘make him want to live’?”

“I have seen cases like his before. Yes, there’s a physical cause for his illness and it is serious. But he is being eaten away inside by something. It could be a broken heart. It could be guilt. It could be self-hatred.”

“Well, how do we find out what it is?”

“That’s your job to figure out, my dear niece.”

“My job? How shall I do that?”

Uncle Frederick shook his head. “I don’t know. You women have your methods. You have your woman’s intuitive nature. You will find a way.” He reached into his desk and took out his key ring and worked one of the keys loose. He put it on the desk and pushed it across to her. “You will take him to my summer cottage on shoreline. And there you will do whatever you must to glean the truth from him.” Uncle Frederick’s expression went grim. “My sense is that he’s sicker than he looks. He has fought this and hidden it from those around him for a long time. He’s good at hiding it, too good. However, he could have another ulcer attack at anytime. He could easily, and quite quickly, bleed to death.”

Her heart felt as though it had dropped to the pit of her stomach. “Dear God.”

“You don’t have long. I am sorry, but that’s the way it is, Rebecca.”

With her face tingling from being scrubbed and rinsed, and having drunk two cups of steaming tea, Rebecca felt her strength coming back. She returned to Stephen’s chamber and found him standing by the window.

Fully clothed, down to his boots.

“Ah!” she cried, without thinking.

He turned, his dark brows drawn tightly together. “What?”

“What are you doing out of bed?”

“I feel quite recovered. I see no need to stay huddled in bed like an invalid.”

“You will go right back to bed and stay there.”

A smile flashed across his face, his sensual lips curving to show his strong white teeth.

Her knees went weak.

He motioned to the window seat. “Come, Rebecca, let us discuss the matter of the Earl of Ruel.”

“I don’t think we should have any deep or heated discussions. Not yet.”

He shook his head. “It won’t be disagreeable. Now, come.”

“If I discuss it, will you then go back to bed?”

“Perhaps.”

She sat on the window seat, arranging her woollen skirts.

“You may think that jealousy has motivated my dictate that you cease all contact with Jonathon Lloyd.”

“Must we discuss this now?” She wanted only to see him back in bed. Safely motionless and presumably less likely to strain his ulcerated innards, whilst she had the maids see to their packing.

“Yes, we must discuss it. I want you to understand that I do this because it is best for you. Contact with the Earl of Ruel keeps you linked to the past. A past that is painful for you.”

“Yes, I suppose it is painful in a way.” She agreed to lull him. To put the conversation to as early an end as possible. She couldn’t keep her eyes off his face. He was still so pale.

“Contact with him is painful in every way possible for you. It damages your view of yourself. You were not his ideal, not his love. You believed yourself to be in love with him and thus you tell yourself that you were not good enough. But he was the wrong man for you.”

Now her throat began to burn, tears welled in her eyes, for his gently spoken words slashed into her. Oh, it was unfair how he could do this. He could stab so accurately right at her very heart. She blinked back the tears. “Jon is my friend.”

“He hurts you.”

Two fat tears escaped the confines of her tightly closed lashes to roll down her cheek. She made a vicious swipe with her sleeve to wipe them away.

“He does not mean to hurt you. But his every word, his every gesture hurts you now.”

“No, that’s not true. Y-you just don’t understand.”

“You’re perfect, Rebecca, just the way you are. Don’t let anyone ever make you feel less.”

“He is my friend and his wife is—”

A knock on the door made her clamp her jaw shut.

Stephen walked to the door and opened it.

“Oh good, you’re dressed already,” Uncle Frederick said. “I have ordered your carriage readied.”

Stephen lifted his brows and turned to Rebecca.

“Oh, yes, we’re to go away together. To my uncle’s cottage by the sea. It is quite rustic but very quaint.”

Stephen turned back to Uncle Frederick. “First, I should like to have a word with you, sir.”

“Well, it must concern Rebecca, so let’s hear it now.” Uncle Frederick closed the door then motioned Stephen back to the window seat. “Off your feet, my lord.”

But Stephen remained standing. “I want to marry Rebecca. Today.”

“What!” she gasped.

“Time seems of the essence.”

“Hmm, yes, time.” Uncle Frederick rubbed his chin. “I assume you have a special license?”