What a Lady Most Desires (6 page)

“We,” Nicholas said firmly.

Before Stephen could respond, grateful, the door opened again.

“Oh. I thought you'd gone too, Nicholas. I saw Fairlie come downstairs,” Delphine said. “Is everything—­”

“Everything is fine,” Stephen said sharply.

“I was just leaving, Del,” Nicholas said. “Meg is hoping you'll come and visit when there's time.” Stephen heard him kiss her cheek, and leave.

She came to the bed and fussed with the sheets, tucking them in, laying a hand on his brow to check for fever, as she did every time she came into the room. Wasn't his shame complete enough? Was she gloating, collecting gossip to whisper behind her fan at the next ball? He pulled away, and she withdrew her hand. “I came to see if you need anything,” she said.

“No,” he snapped.

“Laudanum for the pain?” she asked, less certainly now.

“No.” He turned his face away and shut his eyes, dismissing her.

“Good,” she said. “It's better not to—­”

“What do you know of it?” he growled. “You, of all ­people?”

She was silent for a long moment, then he heard her soft footfalls moving toward the door.

D
elphine was woken from her sleep by a keening wail, and the hair rose on the back of her neck as she threw back the covers and shrugged into her robe.

Stephen was caught in the grip of a nightmare. He was moving about, kicking, thrashing against an invisible attacker. There was blood on the bandage that covered his shoulder and she feared he'd tear the wound open.

She sat on the bed beside him, held his face in her hands. “Hush, it's a dream,” she soothed, as if she were talking to one of her nephews. “Stop now, all is well.”

He fought her, and she pressed closer, holding him in her arms, whispering to him, trying to keep him still. Not knowing what else to do, she began to sing, a silly nursery song her governess had taught her and she'd forgotten until now.

At last he stilled, and buried his face in her neck. His breath was warm against her skin. She could feel him trembling, and she stroked his hair and waited for him to sleep again. Was he blind in his nightmares too? Perhaps he was reliving the battle in his sleep, feeling the bullets piercing his flesh all over again. Or was his terror of more recent making?

She did not know what Fairlie and Nicholas had spoken to him about. Nicholas had left looking grim and preoccupied. Fairlie had taken Eleanor aside, whispered to her, and Eleanor had looked dismayed. She had informed Delphine that someone else would be assigned to assist Major Lord Ives in the morning, and she was to avoid going into his room. The trouble with that was that Delphine was sleeping in the adjoining dressing room, and while she locked the door, she could still hear Stephen's distress. She could not ignore that.

“But why can I not care for him?” she'd asked Eleanor. “Isn't it better if he hears a friendly and familiar voice, knows we're here with him?”

“It's not proper. It's bad enough you are here at all. If father knew, or worse, mother—­” She stopped a moment, her face reddening. “Stay away from him, is that clear?”

“Not at all,” she'd protested. “I've been by his side for days. Why does it matter so much now?”

Eleanor had looked at her fiercely. “These are Fairlie's orders as much as mine. Major Ives is to leave soon. Fairlie wants him out of this house as soon as possible.”

“Out? But surely he's not fit to travel,” Delphine objected, curling her fingers against her chest, suddenly tight with shock.

Eleanor's face pinched. “I know you fancied him once, Dilly. You must understand that even knowing him socially would be quite impossible now, and father would never allow such a match, nor would Fairlie. It is unkind to let Lord Ives hope.”

It wasn't Stephen who hoped. She doubted he wanted anything but an end to his pain and the return of his sight. It seemed cruel to assume that now that he was blind, he was worthless as a man. Or was there more to it? Something she'd seen in Nicholas's eyes, and now in Eleanor's sharpness told her there was. There was no point in arguing now. Eleanor would not tell her a thing, and she could still insist that Delphine must go home at once. “I shall treat him no differently than any other man here. Will that do?”

“Yes,” Eleanor agreed tiredly.

Yet now, in the dead of night, clad only in her nightclothes, she held Stephen Ives in her arms, rocked him, comforted him because there was no one else to do so. He lay with his head on her breast, his breath warm on her skin. She told herself it wasn't a lover's embrace. It was the way a mother would hold a child, or a sister might comfort a brother. It was simple human kindness. She shut her eyes and kept still, being careful not to hurt him. She let him draw on her strength, wishing she could take the pain, the blindness, and the nightmares from him.

She waited until his breathing became deep and regular. She kissed his brow, and gently edged out from under him. He sighed but did not wake. He would not even remember she was here in the morning, just that he'd felt comfort.

And no one should be denied comfort, no matter what he'd done.

 

Chapter 9

“D
id you find Hallet?” Stephen asked eagerly when Nicholas arrived again a few days later.

“No. There's no sign of him. He may have been sent home to England.” Stephen heard the edge of defeat in his friend's voice. “I haven't found anyone who recalls seeing you during the battle, either.” His friend's voice was tight, careful.

“But I was there,” Stephen protested. “Damn it Nick, what aren't you telling me? What else has happened?”

“The tale has spread, I'm afraid. There are ­people talking about this, about you. At first I thought it would be a good thing, would bring out men who know you, who would speak up for you.”

“And?” Stephen prompted.

“The men who remember you from Spain say you've been different here in Brussels—­secretive, silent, and unsociable.”

It was true enough. He'd had his bloody heart broken in Vienna, and he hadn't been inclined to join in with his fellows here, preferring to spend his time alone to brood over the loss of Julia. Still, he'd done his duty as carefully as he ever did—­he just spent his off hours alone. “What of it?” he snapped.

“I'm simply the messenger, old friend. Look, perhaps it would be better if you were to leave Brussels and go home.”

“Home?” Stephen asked, the word thick on his tongue. “I was a diplomat. I was posted to Vienna, then to Brussels. I fully expected another foreign posting would follow this. I haven't got a home in England anymore.”

“Actually, I was thinking you might come to Temberlay Castle.”

There was nowhere else. Well, there was Dorothea, of course, but he dismissed the idea even as it came to him. His sister was newly remarried, expecting a baby. She was at her husband's family estate in Kent, and he could hardly impose on her new relations-­by-­marriage, especially now, injured and disgraced. Doe was a delicate creature, and he could not bear to go to her this way.

He was the one who had cared for her when their mother had died, and again while she mourned her dead husband and child. He'd held her, sat with her, rocked her while she cried, spoon-­fed her when no one else could coax her to eat. He could not bear to make her return the favor—­not now, when he faced shame and darkness that could destroy her along with himself.

No, he'd rather Doe didn't know, that she assumed he was well and posted abroad.

Where else could he go? Vienna was the last place he'd been happy. He'd fancied himself in love, had planned a lifetime of happiness with a woman who did not love him back. He'd left Vienna to return to war, the very opposite of love. He felt panic tighten his throat, make breathing difficult. He was blind and alone.

He realized he was clutching the bedclothes in his fists, and slowly let go. “Is it so urgent that I leave Brussels immediately?”

“Fairlie has insisted you must be moved to other quarters at the very least,” Nicholas said.

“Because he believes I'm guilty?”

Nicholas shifted in his chair. “He has gone to Wellington on your behalf, asked that your court-­martial be postponed until you have had time to recover, had a chance to gather proof. He's trying to be fair, but as your commander, he'll have to oversee the court-­martial. He can't be seen to be assisting you.”

“Just in case I truly am a coward, a thief, and a liar,” Stephen said, staring into the darkness. “And how am I to prove anything this way?”

“Come to Temberlay Castle,” Nicholas said again.

“Much as I'd love to see the place, stroll the grounds, admire the art—­”

“If I'm going to help you gather evidence, then it would be better if we were quartered together, don't you think? You need time to heal, and Temberlay is quiet, and away from gossip.”

Hope stirred in Stephen's breast, a restless mouse, coming out of hiding after days of fear. “You're willing to help me?”

“I was an intelligence officer, a spy, Ives. I was good at it too. I always found what I was looking for—­not that I'm bragging,” Nicholas said. “I found that men do not change their character. Not without a damned good reason, and men who value their honor never change.”

Stephen felt relief, a lump in his throat. “Shouldn't you ask Meg before you go issuing invitations? Aren't you about to become a father?” he asked. “Delphine told me.”

“I am.” He heard the grin in Nicholas's voice. “Meg's mother will want to come to Temberlay, and I will need someone reliable by my side in case of ambush, someone to share a drink with, to complain to about the caprices of expectant women and overbearing mothers-­in-­law, and—­” He broke off.

“And what? To play cards and billiards the way we used to? To ride out with you over all those green Derbyshire acres?” Stephen asked bitterly.

“Come to recover, Stephen. Just that.”

“It's kind of you, but I'll need help. It wouldn't do to be a burden.” He was not a man who felt at ease asking for help. He took care of himself, and always had.

“Of course. I'll find a manservant for you, and Meg and I will be there.”

“No, not that. Not Meg. I don't want her to see me this way,” Stephen said.

“She was here yesterday to see Delphine. Meg knows about the charges, Stephen. It's all over town.”

Stephen clenched his teeth. “And Delphine knows as well, I suppose. She's Fairlie's sister-­in-­law, how could she not?” He felt his skin heat. How mortifying. She wouldn't kiss him now, and if he could look into her flirtatious green eyes, he'd probably find them hard with disdain. Or laughter.

“Fairlie didn't want her told,” Nicholas replied. “Her family is very protective of her, but being Delphine, she asked Meg.”

Then he would not likely see Delphine again. She would shun him now—­a traitor, coward, and thief. He felt an instant of disappointment. He'd miss her. He squashed it at once. He'd simply grown used to the sound of her footsteps, to hearing her voice, to feeling her hand on his brow, inhaling the scent of her perfume as she bent over him. He shifted his head on the fine linen pillow, linen that she'd smoothed under him a dozen times a day, ensuring he was comfortable. But that had been before the accusations. She wouldn't come again now. His jaw tightened. Well, he'd be better off without her scorn. He would be spared the need to say good-­bye, or to offer thanks for her care—­and since he was blind, he wouldn't have to see the pity, the mockery, and the disdain in her eyes.

Nicholas rose. “I'll make the arrangements once the surgeon says you're fit to travel. It will be a hard journey.”

“I'll manage,” Stephen muttered. “Just get me out of here.”

 

Chapter 10

“C
owardice?” Delphine's teacup rocked in its saucer. “Oh Meg . . .”

The Duchess of Temberlay frowned. “Perhaps I shouldn't have told you. I don't believe it, of course, nor does Nicholas.”

Delphine looked into the depths of her tea for a moment. “Meg, who's Julia?”

“Julia? Do you mean Julia Leighton? She was betrothed to Nicholas's brother before his death, and more recently she was Dorothea Hallam's companion in Vienna.”

“Does Stephen—­” Delphine swallowed, felt her cheeks grow warm. “Does he love her?”

Meg set her cup down. “I don't know. She wrote to Nicholas a few months ago. She's married now, and gone to America. Why do you ask?”

“Stephen calls her name in his sleep—­and Dorothea's too, of course.”

“I see. Has he written to them?” Meg said.

“No. In fact, he's refused my offer to write to anyone at all on his behalf.”

Meg frowned. “He's a proud man, and he's been through a lot. Perhaps when he gets to Temberlay Castle—­”

Delphine felt electricity course through her body. “Temberlay?”

“Yes. Fairlie would have been forced to have Stephen incarcerated, given the severity of the accusations against him, but Nicholas has agreed to take charge of him until the court-­martial.”

Delphine felt indignation rise. “Stephen's seriously wounded, and blind. He's hardly likely to tie his sheets together and escape out the window.”

Meg shrugged. “Still, Fairlie cannot be seen to take sides one way or the other. Stephen must be available to face the charges. How would it look if he did not appear at the court-­martial?”

“I see.” Delphine felt panic rise in her breast. “When will you leave?”

“Within the week. The surgeon says Stephen is nearly well enough to travel.”

“A week!” One week, and he would be gone. She felt the loss of him already, her belly hollow, her heart clenching in her chest.

“You said yourself he is improving every day,” Meg reminded her, sipping her tea.

“Yes, but not enough to travel, surely.” Delphine set her teacup down. “This explains why Eleanor is insisting I return home to England at once.”

“Really?” Meg's eyes lit up. “Then why not travel with us? Nicholas wants to leave for home as soon as possible, because of the baby. I would be delighted to have your company. My poor husband is always fussing over me, putting pillows under my feet, and bringing me goat's milk to drink, which I detest, because he's heard it's best for both mother and child. I can speak to Eleanor, but I'm sure she'll agree. How could she not? You'll be safe with Nicholas and me.”

Delphine held her breath. “Truly?”

“Indeed.”

Delphine considered. And what would happen when she arrived in England? Her mother would insist she resume her old life—­husband hunting and political visits on behalf of the causes her father supported in government. She couldn't bear that, not now. And Stephen needed her, didn't he? She knew how to bandage his wounds, how to soothe away his nightmares. Yes, he needed her.

She took a chance. “Meg, do you think I might come and stay with you at Temberlay for a little while? My mother will expect me to spend the summer in the country with her, and she will summon me to her rooms daily to consider endless lists of potential husbands. In between, I shall be expected to change my gown three times a day, read improving books and charm Papa's friends. I can't face going back to that yet. I think I'll go mad.”

Meg's eyes lit. “I would be so happy if you came to Temberlay. There won't be a lot to do, but we'll have time to talk, stroll in the gardens, and enjoy the summer. I daresay we could both use a little peace after being here in Brussels.” She looked at her friend carefully. “Stephen will travel with us as well, of course. Will you mind that? Nicholas needs to find a servant for him, someone who can assist him.”

“No I won't mind,” Delphine said quickly, and considered. “There's a soldier in the hospital now. He was struck in the face with a lance or a bayonet, perhaps. He's been helping us with the heavy lifting, even assisting the surgeon when necessary. He's more than able to handle Stephen—­in fact, he's hardly left his side in the past days. He's as big as a bull, but gentle too.”

Meg nodded. “Does he know about the charges against Stephen?”

Delphine frowned. “I suppose he might. If he does, it hasn't affected the way he treats Stephen.” She recalled the compassion in the soldier's eyes.

“Will he gossip?” Meg asked. “Nicholas—­and I'm sure Stephen as well—­will insist on absolute discretion.”

“That won't be a problem. His wounds have left him unable to speak. Despite that, he got up from his cot and began to help almost as soon as his wounds were stitched and bandaged. I found him sitting next to Stephen one afternoon, watching over him.”

“I'll tell Nicholas about him,” Meg said.

“Tell me what?” The Duke of Temberlay asked as he came through the door. “Shouldn't you be resting?”

Delphine watched him lift her feet onto the settee and put a pillow under them, and plump another to go behind her shoulders. She marveled at the besotted look in Nicholas's eyes. She had known him as a rake, a warrior, a rough and rowdy friend of her brother's. He'd gone to war and had come back a different man—­harder, colder, more dangerous. Marrying Meg had changed that. Meg smiled sweetly at her husband, love evident in her gaze as well. Delphine felt her heart constrict with longing.

“I think I should be going,” Delphine said, and rose to her feet. Neither of them noticed as she slipped out.