The Devil's Love (47 page)

“A dream,” she managed to state, more to herself than to him.

“No, sweetheart,” he said in a voice oddly strained. She frowned a little, wincing at the pain. What had happened to her? Why was her dream of Michael so

sad?

“Sad?” she tried to ask him.

Michael’s eyes watered as he held her gaze for a long moment, then finally

choked out, “Not any longer.” He tenderly stroked her cheek.

“You are sad,” she repeated inanely. He did not answer but buried his face in

the bed covers.

Mild surprise drifted through Abbey’s fogged mind. Under the added blanket,

warmth was seeping through her limbs, carrying her away. Her eyelids grew heavy,

and with a last flutter of lashes, she looked at his dark head, the trembling in

his broad shoulders, and quietly drifted into unconsciousness again.

After several moments, Michael slowly lifted his head and looked at her.

She had

slipped away again, but a flood of relief washed over him. With the back of his

hand, he wiped his wet eyes, then glanced toward the heavily plastered ceiling.

“Thank you, God,” he whispered.

He composed himself and pushed himself into the chair that had remained at her

bedside for four long days. She was so pale; he could almost see through her

skin. She looked so small in the vast bed, so terribly vulnerable. It seemed as

if the slightest breeze could carry her away from him.

But her raging fever had broken finally. Dr. Stephens had said she might never

waken. He had warned Michael that if her fever did not break soon, the infection

from the deep cut could kill her. She has to fight, he had said. So Michael had

stayed at her bedside, urging her to fight, to live. In the four days the fever

had held her captive, he had despaired that she would ever recover. But he had

continued to talk to her, to force her to know he was waiting for her. He had

read her letters from her family, talked of the places he had seen, and reminisced about their short time together. He had even gone so far as to bring

Harry into the sickroom, hoping a friendly lave of her face would rouse her.

Nothing had worked, and Dr. Stephens had begun to prepare him for the worst.

There were two possibilities, he had said. She would recover completely from the

deep wound. Or the infection would ravage her.

And she would die.

She will not die! Michael had bellowed like a madman; even Sebastian had cringed. But Michael would not believe she would die. How could he? If she did,

there was no point to his life. She was everything to him. She had to live.

She

had to know how much he loved her. She had to smile again, to play her violin.

She had to live.

And thank God in heaven, she had awakened, albeit only briefly. A new rash of

tears filled his eyes as he sat gazing down at the small bundle under the mound

of blankets that was his Abbey. She had to live.

Abbey awoke to bright sunlight streaming into the room. She winced when her eyes

fluttered open; the light pierced her and sent shooting spasms of pain down her

spine. But it paled in comparison to the deep burning in her side.

“Can you hear me, mum?” She recognized Sarah’s voice. She could not answer right

away; her throat was parched and she swallowed hard.

“Water,” she croaked hoarsely. Sarah hastily complied, slipping her arm behind

her back and lifting her head so she could drink. The pain was crippling, and

she could only take a few sips.

“It hurts,” she mumbled.

Sarah’s face loomed over hers, frowning. “I know, I know. Dr. Stephens will give

you some laudanum after he examines you. It will help ease your pain,”

Sarah

said, her eyes welling. “Oh, mum, you don’t know how relieved we all are!”

Abbey squinted at her friend and noticed her eyes were wet. Wet like Michael’s.

She had dreamed he was here.

“What happened?” she rasped.

Sarah looked away. “I’ll fetch Dr. Stephens. Lie quietly,” she whispered, then

was gone.

Abbey strained to see the canopy above her bed and tried to concentrate.

She

could remember dressing. She remembered thinking how lovely her amethyst

earrings would have looked with her gown. The memory inexplicably made her

flinch.

“Lady Darfield, how wonderful to see those violet eyes open!” a voice boomed. A

pinched face with spectacles and a puckered smile appeared above her, and she

recognized Dr. Stephens. “You’ve given us all quite a scare, madam. Can you see

my finger? Ah, very good. Now follow it with your eyes, will you?” He moved his

finger to one side. Abbey grimaced; even the smallest movement of her eyes was

painful.

“Very good, very good indeed. Don’t fret now, you’ll be better in time. I’m going to give you some laudanum to help ease the pain.” His hands were fluttering down her torso, then pressing against her side. Abbey gasped as his

hand ran across the burning and closed her eyes as pain spiraled through her.

“Nasty wound. Quite deep, I’m afraid. It will take some time to heal properly.

Happy to say no limbs were broken, but you may notice a headache from the

laudanum.”

Abbey felt the panic again. “A wound?”

Dr. Stephens puckered smile appeared again and he pushed his spectacles back to

the bridge of his nose. “What is your name?”

Surely he remembered her name. “Abbey.”

“Do you know where you are?”

Was he addled? “Blessing Park,” she muttered weakly.

“Yes, that’s right. Do you remember how you were injured?”

Abbey’s brows shifted into a confused frown as she thought about that.

She could

remember nothing but dressing, and gingerly shook her head.

“You were stabbed with a saber,” he announced matter-of-factly.

Stabbed with a saber? What was he saying? “I don’t think so,” she murmured

faintly.

“Do you recall anything about that morning?” he asked again.

What morning? The last thing she remembered was standing in her dressing room.

“I was dressing…” She trailed off.

The physician frowned.

“Lady Darfield, you have suffered a rather serious injury that will require some

time to heal. You will need plenty of bed rest. Sarah, bring a cup of tea,”

he

boomed.

Serious injury? Panic was now racing through her. “What injury?” Abbey struggled

to ask, and gasped loudly as his fingers touched the burn beneath her breast.

He glanced up from his ministrations. “You need to rest now.” From the corner of

her eye, Abbey saw Sarah put the laudanum in the tea, then lean down to help her

drink it. Abbey could hardly choke it down, but Dr. Stephens was insistent.

“She’s very weak. When she next awakens, get some broth down her,”

the physician

was saying. The laudanum worked quickly, and Abbey suddenly found it difficult

to keep her eyes open. Weak was not good for her baby, she thought absently as

the tingling warmth spread through her.

Baby. Abbey forced her eyes open. “My baby!” she said hoarsely. Sarah exchanged

an unmistakable look of pity with the doctor. “My baby!” Sarah turned away, her

eyes wet, as Dr. Stephens grasped her hand.

“Now. now, don’t distress yourself. You weren’t very far along after all. You

will have ample opportunity to bear other children…” Abbey didn’t hear anything

else; she could barely comprehend what he implied.

She had lost her baby. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks, the pain in her side

suddenly matched by a sharp pain in her chest. She struggled to keep her eyes

open; she had to know what had happened. But she was no match for the heavy dose

of laudanum, and she slipped into oblivion, mourning her unborn child.

Dr. Stephens watched her slip away, then sighed wearily as he turned to Sarah,

who was unabashedly wiping tears from her face. “Buck up, now, girl.

You’ve got

to make sure she takes some nourishment when she awakens. She’s extremely weak.”

He started toward the door, then glanced back at Abbey.

“I had hoped to keep the unfortunate news from her a bit longer,” he said wistfully, then shrugged and walked out the door. He moved rapidly down the hall

and winding marble staircase, then silently down the thick blue carpet of the

corridor leading to the marquis’s study. After rapping sharply, he entered without waiting for an invitation.

Michael was seated behind his desk in a rumpled shirt opened at the neck and

pulled from his trousers. His hair was wildly tousled and the dark stubble of a

beard shadowed his chin and gaunt cheeks. His features were drawn and haggard;

dark circles made his eyes appear sunken. He looked as if he had not slept in

several days, and, of course, he had not. He stood when Dr. Stephens entered and

came quickly around the desk.

The doctor frowned disapprovingly. “I am not sure which patient is in more need

of my services,” he said dryly, heading for the sideboard.

“How is she?” Michael demanded.

“She’s very weak, but lucid. Her fever has broken for the moment, but I am still

quite worried about infection. It appears she recalls nothing of the accident;

my guess is that the trauma has blocked her memory.”

“ Will she recall it?” he asked anxiously.

Dr. Stephens very slowly and thoughtfully shook his head. “I don’t know.

These

things are hard to predict, but I’d say there is an even chance she will recall

everything. I’ve given her some laudanum for the pain and to help her sleep. She

needs a great deal of bed rest and nourishment. She must take broth over the

next day or so, even if she doesn’t want it.” The doctor Stephens paused to

sniff his brandy, observing Michael over the rim of his snifter.

“I must say, I am encouraged. It’s rather miraculous that she isn’t suffering more, given the length of her fever and the severity of her wound. Not to mention the physical trauma of losing a fetus.”

Michael nodded slowly, then sighed and thrust a hand through his hair.

“If you don’t get some sleep soon, you will suffer the consequence, I can assure

you.” Michael gave him a very impatient look. “She’s not going anywhere, sir,

and her prospects of recovering are vastly improved this morning. She will need

your strength; you are not doing her a bloody bit of good like this,” the doctor

scolded. “Should I prescribe laudanum for you, as well?

“I do not need any of your damned laudanum, Joseph,” Michael muttered.

“You don’t need any more whiskey, either. When was the last time you ate?” Dr.

Stephens demanded.

“Two nights ago,” Jones stated from the doorway. His footfall silent on the Aubusson carpet, he carried a silver tray and covered plate to Michael’s desk.

“I insist you eat whatever is on that plate, Darfield. Then take a bath and go

to bed. She’ll sleep through the day and probably the night. You can renew your

vigil in the morning.”

“How long, Joseph? Before she fully recovers?” Michael asked, ignoring the food

and Jones.

“She has to get past the threat of infection first. Until she fully recovers? A month at least, probably longer.”

“Will she be able to conceive again?” he asked quietly.

“I think the odds are no worse or no better than before. For now, the object is

to get her strength back.”

Dr. Stephens set his snifter down and started toward the door. “Another thing,

Darfield. See to it that she is not unduly excited. She must remain calm and get

plenty of bed rest,” he instructed, “and so should you.” He motioned authoritatively toward the covered dish. “Eat whatever Jones has served you, and

get some sleep.” He walked to the open door and paused.

“There is one last thing. She knows she lost the babe.”

The pain on Michael’s face was instantaneous and moving. He quickly glanced away

from the doctor and moved woodenly toward the large bank of windows overlooking

the gardens below. “I had hoped to tell her,” he muttered helplessly.

“I had no choice; she suspected it.” With that, Dr. Stephens adjusted his spectacles. “I shall see you in the morning. Send for me if there is any change,” he said briskly, and left. Michael remained staring out over the gardens.

Behind him, Jones cleared his throat. “Your dinner, my lord.” Resigned, Michael

turned and slowly walked to the desk, dropping heavily into the leather chair as

Jones uncovered a bowl of beef stew. With the butler hovering directly behind

him, Michael felt compelled to taste it, and found after a few bites that he was

ravenous. Numb, he ate the entire serving as well as two chunks of bread.

Finally, he pushed the bowl away, feeling exhausted. Dr. Stephens was right; he

needed a bath and some sleep. The last four days had been a nightmare for him.

From the moment he had lifted her body from the ground, he had been on the verge

of shattering. He bitterly recalled how he had rushed Abbey to London, only to

be told by the doctor, after stanching the bleeding, that she had lost too much

blood and likely would not live. Refusing to believe that dire prognosis, and concerned about the notoriety her injuries might receive in London, he had

determined that Dr. Stephens would see to her. He had cradled her limp body in

his arms for the two-hour ride to Blessing Park as her blood slowly escaped the

bandages and seeped into his clothes. He had prayed fervently and awkwardly that

God not take her from him.

Michael had never been a devout man and was at a loss how to ask for the help he