Rory (7 page)

“Thank you, Shannon,” he replied, and opened the door.

Johnny was dressed in dark tails. “Are ye ready, my lord?”

“Indeed, I am,” Rory replied.

Seeing her, Johnny grinned widely. “Good evening, Shannon.”

Rory caught the exchange and his jaw clenched. “Come, boy.”

Johnny’s gaze shifted over her slowly, before he walked down the steps.

Rory glanced at her one final time before walking out the door. His blue eyes were so intense, she shifted on her feet. How she wished she could dress up in her finery and have her hair coiffed in the latest styles. What would he say if he saw her like that? Would he pass her by, or would he stop dead in his tracks?

It didn’t matter. She would never know. She was an impoverished servant now, not the daughter of one of Ireland’s wealthiest businessmen and one of Dublin’s most sought-after debutantes.

Rory tried to enjoy himself, but it was bloody hard when his thoughts kept returning to a certain blonde with ice-blue eyes and a fiery attitude.

Truth be told, he quite liked that Shannon wasn’t the quiet, demure girl he had met weeks ago at Lillith’s townhouse in London. However, he had felt more than a little spurned when she had sent someone else to care for him. Was he so vexing that she could not tolerate his presence?

Setting back against the velvet cushions of the carriage, he considered having the groomsman turn back around. He had remembered Anna’s invitation to drop by a small soiree in the heart of London and thought it sounded enjoyable. Yet, why did he suddenly wish he was back at his brother’s home, lying on the bed, Shannon in a nearby chair reading to him?

He closed his eyes for just an instant, and when he opened them next, the coachman was peering in at him. “We are here, my lord.”

Rory pulled back the lace curtain and stared up at the Georgian
manor. Perhaps he would stay just a little while, see Anna, and assure everyone he was alive and well. Then he’d be on his way, back to Twickenham, and back to Shannon.

From the moment he entered the parlor, Rory was greeted by a bevy of friends and acquaintances, all excited to see him, their gaze directed in the vicinity of his shoulder.

Anna made her way to his side immediately, and he was actually glad to see his friend. “I cannot believe you came.”

“Nor can I,” he murmured, his shoulder killing him. “Can we sit somewhere?”

“Well, of course. Come.”

Rory sat next to Anna on a horribly uncomfortable settee. He saw Thomas Lehman from the corner of his eye and he shifted in his seat, trying to forget about the ménage à trois he’d had with the other man and Anna. The blonde nodded at Rory, and he smiled back tightly and quickly looked away.

“He is dying to share your bed again,” Anna whispered under her breath.

“I’m not interested,” he said, taking a glass of wine from the servant’s tray. He took a sip and nearly spit the warm spirits back into the glass. Instead, he swallowed.

A tall, young man with auburn hair and green eyes handed Rory a glass. “Whiskey, which is far better than what they’re trying to pass off, quite unconvincingly, as wine.”

Rory smiled. “Thank you.”

“Clinton O’Connor,” he said, extending a hand.

“Rory Rayborne, Lord Ambrose, and this is–”

“Lady Anna.” Clinton took Anna’s hand and brought it to his lips. “Yes, I’ve already been fortunate enough to meet the most beautiful woman in the room.”

“Mr. O’Connor has come to London on business,” Anna said with a lazy smile, sliding her hand from the man’s grasp.

Clinton rolled back on his heels. “I met our host at White’s
last night, and he was kind enough to invite me to tonight’s festivities.”

Although he was trying a bit too hard to charm, Clinton O’Connor proved to be a quick-witted companion, one that Anna seemed genuinely interested in, and he, in turn, seemed intrigued by her as well. Rory barely had to add to the conversation at all.

Lady Cordland’s good friend saw Rory. Her eyes narrowed and she walked off in the other direction.

“That’s not exactly the reaction I was hoping for,” he said under his breath. At least the whiskey was warming his insides, and already the throbbing in his shoulder was starting to subside.

“Will you be joining us for a drink at Mr. Lehman’s later?” Clinton asked, and Rory shook his head. “I think not.”

Anna frowned. “Oh, come, Rory. It is not like you to pass up such an opportunity.”

His thoughts turned to a beautiful blonde servant with pale blue eyes. Why was it that he couldn’t shake her from his thoughts for even a little while? Though he was tired, and he knew it was in his best interest to return to his brother’s home, he said, “Very well, perhaps I shall.”

Rory told himself to go home, even when he walked into the very small, very intimate “party” an hour later. He’d drunk far too much for someone in his condition, and though he could no longer feel his wound, his head pounded in time with his heartbeat.

Worse still, he didn’t like the way Thomas Lehman was staring at him, like a plump goose on Christmas morning. It was all a little too disconcerting.

Anna handed him a tall glass of whiskey and sat so close their thighs touched. They had fallen into an easy relationship
since Claymoore Hall, and he’d enjoyed their liaisons, but now he was not inclined to continue said relationship.

“Slip into the study with me?” Anna murmured in his ear.

“I think not,” he said, stunned that his cock did not even stir.

Anna reared back a little, her brows furrowing. “What is this?”

“You forget I am wounded, Anna.”

“Since when did that stop you?”

“I’ve never been on the receiving end of a bullet before. It has a way of interfering with one’s most base instincts.”

“Indeed, I hope I never experience such a thing.”

“Being that you are a female, I think it is safe to say you should not be in danger of such an occurrence. If ever you do, however, find yourself facing an opponent with a pistol, just be sure to dodge the bullet.”

“Excellent advice,” Anna said with a wink.

“I thought your new little friend was coming,” Thomas said to Anna, lighting his cigar with an oil lamp.

“Clinton will be here soon,” Anna replied, glancing at Rory again. “And that is another reason you must stay. He liked you, and I think you should befriend him.”

“You think I should befriend him?” Now it was his turn to frown. “I am not a child, and you are sounding more and more like my mother.” First Shannon, now Anna.

Anna laughed. “You never liked being told what to do.”

She leaned in and nibbled at his ear, a tactic that always made his blood turn hot.

Thomas stood and walked toward them, the look in his eye unmistakable.

Rory jumped to his feet. “Well, I hate to leave this little party, but I am exhausted and my wound is throbbing.”

Anna lifted a brow.

“Are you sure you can’t stay?” Thomas said, looking disappointed.

“I can’t. I shall see you both soon, I’m certain,” he said, walking in long strides to the door. A wave of dizziness rushed through him and he gripped the iron railing as he hailed for the carriage to be brought around.

Sweat beaded his forehead, and he reached into his pocket to wipe the kerchief against his brow. Good God, he was even trembling.

R
ory returned at just around two A.M. Shannon had been unable to sleep, and had sighed with relief when she heard the carriage pull into the gravel drive.

She threw on a wrap and, lighting a candle, walked down the narrow servants’ staircase to the next landing where the guest rooms were located.

The door to Rory’s chamber was ajar, and Shannon knocked lightly, her hand on the knob. When no answer came, she pushed the door open and walked in.

Her heart gave a sharp jolt seeing Rory lying sideways on the bed, facedown. He had not bothered to remove his boots, or any other clothing, beyond his coat, cravat, and shirt–all items that were tossed haphazardly on the floor.

Shannon cleared her throat, but he did not so much as move.

To her relief, she saw that he was at least breathing, his back rising and falling–and good God, was he snoring?

She tugged at a boot and it came off easily enough. The other was a bit harder to remove, and Rory groaned as she

yanked hard. The boot gave, but not without effort, and she very nearly ended up on her backside on the rug beneath her feet.

Setting the boots aside, she looked at Rory and contemplated leaving him as he was. That is, until she noticed the blood stain on the blanket beneath him.

She gasped, deeply concerned that he had disturbed the injury. Or what if this was a new wound? Given his reputation, she couldn’t put anything past him.

Nudging him, she hoped he would roll over, but he didn’t budge. Perhaps she should wake Zachary? But her brother would have to rise in a few hours to begin his day, and she knew that, like her, he struggled with falling and staying asleep. She shouldn’t disrupt him because Lord Ambrose was so inebriated he was in danger of smothering himself.

Walking around the side of the bed where his head lay, she nudged his face to the side, so at least he could breathe. He exhaled and she choked on a breath. He smelled like liquor. Dear Lord, had he bathed in it?

When he didn’t move, she got up on the bed and kneeled beside him. Reaching over him, she slid her hands along his ribs and pulled him toward her.

An agonizing moan escaped his lips as he rolled over and she gasped, seeing the wound had lost its dressing. No wonder the sheets had been bloody. She leaned close and felt guilty seeing how red and angry the skin appeared. There didn’t seem to be any pus, but he would have to be extremely careful these next few days.

She would stay by his side day and night.

Edward had left a ceramic bowl full of water on the side table, along with soft cloths. Shannon soaked a cloth, then squeezed off the excess water, before gently wiping the wound.

She was sliding the rag along the reddened edges when he
reached up and grasped her arm. “What are you doing?” His words were slightly slurred.

She gasped, stunned by the pressure. “Rory, it’s me. Shannon.”

His eyes focused on her and his hold on her relaxed.

“The wound is bleeding. I need to dress it.”

He nodded and closed his eyes. “Dear sweet, innocent Shannon.”

Sweet and innocent. Was he taunting her?

She slid off the bed and went to the drawer where she had placed her supplies. He remained completely still as she approached.

“Perhaps you might want to lay straight on the bed,” she urged.

“I don’t want to move.”

Which meant she had to climb back on the bed with him.

“Very well,” she replied, kicking off her shoes and getting up on the bed again. She set the dressing aside and opened the salve that would help speed the healing.

She dipped a finger into the pot and then coated the wound liberally.

“Bloody hell, that hurts,” he said between clenched teeth.

She was shocked he could feel anything, given he was so inebriated. “I am sorry, but the salve will help heal the wound. The physician left instructions.”

“How would you know what the physician said? You weren’t here when he came by earlier.” His eyes were open, and he seemed more alert than before. Had it been an act? she wondered.

She chose to ignore the last statement. “I am surprised the dressing came off.”

“That’s what you get for leaving me to my own devices.” He smiled, flashing white teeth, and her heart skipped a beat. “Ac
tually, you can set your mind at ease. I did not yank it off, but rather Lady Anna was curious and asked to see the wound.”

Shannon stopped in mid-motion. She could very well imagine how and why Lady Anna would remove his dressing. No wonder he had been so adamant about going out tonight. “Well, I suggest you, or your
friends,
refrain from taking off the bandage in the future. You do not need to risk infection. As it is, you are still in danger of fever.”

He sighed heavily, his wide chest expanding. She tried to ignore the warm tendrils that wove their way through her stomach as her gaze shifted to the muscled planes of his abdomen and the dark line of hair that escaped beneath the band of his trousers. Her gaze abruptly returned to the task at hand.

She could feel him watch her. Sweat beaded her brow as desire made her nipples harden and the flesh between her thighs damp. “I should change the sheets. There is blood.” Her voice came out huskier than usual, and she cleared her throat, hoping he did not catch the slight inflection.

“I can sit up and make your task easier,” he said, wincing as he sat up on his elbows.

Her hands trembled as she continued with her task. It was so very difficult to keep focused on what she was doing when he was near. Had he shifted, or was she pressing into him, her upper body flush against his arm?

She met his gaze, and her breath lodged in her throat as he leaned toward her.

He kissed her, his lips light, soft, gentle.

For a split second her mind rebelled, but ultimately she kissed him back … and it was wonderful. He tasted like brandy and, oddly, mint.