A Rake's Redemption

by G. L. Snodgrass

  A searing pain shot through his head and shoulders as the fiery beam hit him with enough force to knock him back to his knees.

  The smell of burning wool scraped at the inside of his nose. As his coat began to smolder. It was enough to make a man want to choke.

  Shaking the fiery objects off of him, he tried to take a breath, but he couldn’t get enough air. It was as if someone had removed all the oxygen from the world. His head spun as he fought to stay conscious.

  He had to get Isobel out. Now. She felt limp in his arm. A fierce worry flashed through him. Was the girl all right? Where was that spark of life and determination? He needed her to be alive. Nothing must be allowed to hurt the sweet girl.

  Forcing himself to stand, he shook off the burning flames around him and stumbled towards the door. He could see a faint hint of light at the bottom of the far wall. The smoke had filled the room. Flames danced from wall to wall, their roaring voice screaming as they consumed everything in their path.

  Stumbling, he shook his head to try and clear it. To think, yes, outside, he had to get outside. Shuffling step after shuffling step he tried to make it to safety. The girl and cats still under each arm.

  He could see his goal beckoning him like a lighthouse. So close, but the world was turning black. He felt himself slipping away as he fell to his knees.

  Isobel, he reminded himself, Isobel and the damn cat.

  Slinging the box forward he prayed he was on target, then he used both hands to push Isobel forward as he collapsed into blackness.

  Chapter Eleven

  Miss Rebecca Jones watched the Duke’s chest rise and fall with each breath. The doctor said that they would have to wait and see. A term she despised. She needed to know now. Would he live or not?

  The thought sent a cold chill through her entire body. Would he ever rise again? Would he return to normal? It was hard to imagine a man so full of life. So strong, so powerful, ever succumbing. But, here he was.

  Unconscious, in his own bed. His eyes closed. The white bandages an affront to his devilish good looks.

  His chest rose slowly as he took in another deep breath, then slowly sunk. He had continued to do so all evening and into the early morning hours.

  She had volunteered to stay with him. The doctor had been hesitant, saying he would send a nurse. But, she had been adamant. Once she had explained that she had cared for her father, the doctor had relented and let her stay. Telling her that he would return in the morning and would bring a nurse then.

  Rebecca bit her lip as she continued to watch the Duke. The picture of him rushing into the fire after Isobel would not leave her mind. Her heart jumped every time she thought about it.

  He hadn’t hesitated. Hadn’t pondered or debated. He acted. That is the kind of man he is, she realized. He takes action. Not for the first time that night, she was reevaluating the man before her.

  The thought of losing him had frightened her to her very core. Not just because of what it would mean to the girls. But, what it would mean to her. She had come to enjoy him. His sense of humor. His steady presence. And now, his heroic deeds.

  Yes, this was a man to be admired and respected. It might not match up to his reputation, but she could not deny what she had witnessed over these last few weeks.

  Rebecca hated being wrong, especially about things like this. But, she could no longer deny it. The Duke of Hampton was a good man. The thought worried her. What else had she been wrong about?

  As she sat there, alone, it provided an excellent opportunity to study the man. His square jaw. Those wide shoulders. Even now, wounded, he looked powerful.

  This will not keep him down, she thought confidently. He would not be lost. She would not allow it.

  A slight moan from deep in his chest drew her attention. His head shifted from side to side as if he were fighting to reach the surface of the water.

  She quickly rose to check his brow. Laying her hand on his forehead, her stomach fell. He had a fever, not a lot, but enough. One more thing to worry about.

  While she stood over him, her eyes were drawn to his lips. She was always looking at his lips she realized. They looked cracked and parched.

  Turning, she twisted to retrieve a wet towel when a hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.

  She fought to hold back a startled scream.

  “WWWWaaaater,” the Duke croaked.

  Her heart soared, he was awake. She stared into his eyes. Yes, he had returned. She hesitated to believe it. Afraid to get her hopes up.

  “Of course,” she said as she quickly poured a glass of water. Holding it to his lips with one hand, she reached behind him to help lift him so that he could drink.

  Even now, the feel of his strong muscles under her hand sent a tingle up her arm.

  He slowly emptied the glass. She turned to get another when he whispered, “Isobel?”

  His voice sounded raspy, like a farrier's file being drawn across a horse’s hoof. The look of worry on his face melted her heart.

  “She is well,” she quickly assured him. “You got her out, no harm to her at all.”

  His shoulders relaxed as he sank back onto the bed. His eyes closed as if he were trying to regain his strength.

  “And the damn cat,” he asked without opening his eyes.

  She fought to hold back a smile. “Mrs. Fuzzy is as angry as ever. We lost one of the kittens. But, all of the others are well. I’ve placed her and her babies in the school room for now.”

  His lips twitched as he accepted the news. His eyes opened suddenly as they searched around the room.

  “The house, it didn’t burn?” he looked at her, his brow creased in confusion.

  “Mr. Scruggs and his staff are well trained. They practice regularly. He insists on it. A very efficient bucket brigade. They had the fire out within a few minutes. It was contained to the study and the bedroom above. The green room I believe. A little damage to the parlor. And of course, the entire house smells of smoke.”

  “How did I get out? Who got me?”

  “James, the footman,” Rebecca said, as she gently smoothed his brow. His black hair had escaped from under his bandage. She gently pushed it back out of his eyes.

  “You collapsed just inside the door. We could see you from the hallway. James rushed in and pulled you out.”

  His concerns answered, he sighed and relaxed once again.

  She gently laid a hand on his bare shoulder. “The house is fine, or at least repairable. Everyone is alive and well, thanks to you. No need to worry. Just rest. The doctor should be back in a few hours.”

  He nodded slowly as he looked down at her hand on his shoulder, then back up into her eyes. They stared at each other for a long moment. She felt her heart begin to race as she fought to keep the emotions from her eyes.

  “Which one?” he asked.

  “Which one what?” she replied.

  “Which kitten didn’t make it?”

  She swallowed heavily.

  “The black and white one,” she said as she tried to keep the tears from her eyes.

  He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Elizabeth’s favorite. That is a shame.”

  Rebecca watched him for a moment as his brow furrowed in disappointment. Her heart threatened to fall apart. After all of this, the burning of his house. The heroic rescue and his almost death. He was concerned about a kitten.

  An anger began to build inside her. Whichever fool had allowed the fire to begin should be punished. The Duke was too valuable to be lost. The thought surprised her, but it was true. Her heart would break if he were lost.

  She stood there for a moment. Her mind wandering, then she remembered her duties.

  “I need to check your bandages. You have a slight fever.”

  He nodded his acceptance.

  She blushed slightly as she slowly pulled his blanket back. It was hard to believe that she was alone in the Duke’s bedroom staring at his bare chest. The thought almost made her giggle.

 
Chastising herself, she continued. She hadn’t giggled since she was a little girl. She was not going to start now.

  As she leaned over him, she caught a scent of wood smoke, Sandalwood, and the doctor’s ointment of hog lard and chestnuts. The aroma seeped into her, and she knew that she would always associate the smell with him. With this moment.

  She gently lifted the bandage on his shoulder. Ointment glistened in the candle light, generously covering a nasty red burn. Blisters had formed. It took every bit of her strength not to wince.

  The last thing the Duke needed was to think she was worried, or worse, disgusted.

  Seeing that things were as well as could be expected, she gently replaced the bandage and checked another, low on his waist. Her hands hesitated for a moment. The bandage traveled below his waist to the top of his leg.

  She bit her lip as she slowly raised the edge of the bandage, making sure not to disturb the blanket covering the rest of him. Her heart raced as her breath fought to keep up. This was the Duke, the thought of what lay only a short distance from her hand would not leave her.

  Glancing back at him she was shocked to see a gleeful grin on his face.

  “I must say, if I had known you would be my nurse, I would have arranged to become hurt long ago,” he said.

  She turned away before he could see her blush. Returning the bandage to cover the wound she pulled the blanket back into place. She might have been a little more forceful than she needed to be. But then, he deserved it. Teasing her like that.

  Continuing to bite her lip, she leaned over him to check the bandage on his far side. She was surprised to see a long slice wound just below his rib cage. It looked to be several weeks old. It hadn’t been caused by the fire.

  She ran her finger along the wound and looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

  He smiled. “A going away gift from London.”

  “A jealous husband?” she asked.

  He laughed and smiled at her. “I do like you, Miss Jones,” he said. “No, not a jealous husband. At least not that time.”

  She ignored him and finished checking the bandage. A warm glow traveled through her as she leaned across him, her body slightly touching his. She swallowed hard and concentrated on her task.

  At last complete, she straightened and felt a loss pass through her as the contact between them was broken.

  “You appear to be healing well. The Doctor said the burns were not too bad. Your coat protected you and Isobel. He was most concerned with your head injury.

  “He needn’t have worried,” the Duke said. “I have a hard head.”

  “That is what I told him,” Rebecca said, then gasped when she realized she had said the words aloud.

  The Duke chuckled and settled back to stare at her. Their eyes locked once again. Things were different, she realized. She would never be able to look at this man the same way again.

  Suddenly the room felt too small, too warm. Her head swam as she fought to take a breath. She felt as if she were trapped and needed to get out.

  Pulling her stare away from him, she hurried to the door. “I need to tell Scruggs, he needs to hear that you are awake. Everyone has been so worried.”

  He smiled back at her, his eyes twinkled. He obviously knew she was running away. But, that didn’t really matter. Nothing really mattered now that she knew he would be all right.

  Her world had shifted. She liked the new feeling settling in the bottom of her stomach. A feeling of butterflies and spring mornings. It was a feeling she could grow to love.

  Chapter Twelve

  Devlin scrunched down in his bed as he tried to get comfortable. Two days. Two damn days he’d been stuck there. Dying a long, slow, boring death.

  His skin felt like raw meat whenever he moved. His head felt like someone had slapped him with a smith’s hammer, and the back of his throat scratched like yesterday’s toast.

  Enough. He couldn’t put up with it anymore.

  “Michaels!” he yelled. A sharp pain shot to his lungs. He wondered if he’d ever get rid of that smoke taste.

  Hopefully, the man was within earshot.

  His bedroom door opened, and Miss Jones stepped in as if she belonged there.

  “Your Grace, what are you doing?” she demanded as she hurried over and gently placed a hand on his good shoulder to stop him from getting up.

  “Enough,” he said. “I’ve been bound to this bed too long.”

  “Your Grace, the doctor said you needed to rest.

  “To hell with the doctor. He’s not stuck here like an infant.” He hissed as he moved to swing his legs over the side of the bed.

  “Now then,” he continued, “you can help me get dressed. Which would be wonderful, believe me. Or, you can get Michaels. Either way, I am leaving this torture device called a bed.”

  Miss Jones blushed as she stepped back. Her eyes shooting to his bare chest. “Sir …”

  “Just so you know,” he interrupted, “I am as bare as a blue jay under this blanket. Unless you wish to greatly expand your knowledge of the male form. I suggest you go get Michaels.”

  Miss Jones took a deep breath and set her shoulders. “I assure you, Your Grace, I am not easily shocked. You really should stay in bed.”

  “You may not easily be shocked, Miss Jones. But you are about to be. Now please, go get Michaels.”

  Her blush grew even deeper.

  A sudden thought flew into his head. Had she? He wondered if she had taken a peek. That pretty blush made him believe that she very well might have.

  Her faintly pink cheeks erupted into full crimson. Her eyes locked onto his for a moment before she had to look away.

  She had. There was no doubt in his mind. He was sure that she had rationalized it by saying she had to check his wounds. But really. It seemed Miss Jones was a curious woman. Interesting.

  He laughed lightly at her discomfort, but decided not to press the point. There was no reason to torture the poor woman.

  “Please, get Michaels for me,” he said again. Softly this time.

  Her eyes darted to his. Her shoulders relaxed just a little when she realized he was not going to relent. She nodded, and left the room.

  Devlin finished swinging his legs over the side of the bed without disturbing the bandages. As he tried to stand, his head began to spin, and the room began to fade away. It felt like he’d just been clobbered by Gentleman Jim in the boxing ring.

  Quickly sitting back down, he decided to wait for Michaels. No reason to push things too fast.

  Within moments, Michaels came into the room with his employer’s satin robe and fresh undergarments.

  “My clothes, Michaels,” the Duke said with a hint of exasperation. “I can’t go downstairs in my robe.

  The small man-servant looked taken aback as he pushed his spectacles back up on his nose.

  “But, Miss Jones said you weren’t allowed to go down stairs, Your Grace.”

  Devlin erupted. “Miss Jones is not in charge of this house. Why is everyone doing what she tells them? You, Mrs. Owens with my damn broth when I asked for steak and kidney pies. Even the doctor, changing his mind about a full time nurse.”

  Michaels’ face drained of all color. Devlin felt a twinge of guilt for getting upset, but pushed the feeling aside. He was entitled to be upset.

  Taking a deep breath, he said more calmly, “My clothes, Michaels. Loose pantaloons, a cotton shirt, no cravat, and no jacket. And my cane if you can find it.”

  “Of course, Your Grace,” the man said as he hurried into the next room to retrieve what he needed.

  As Devlin started to rise again, a sharp knock at the bedroom door made him grit his teeth.

  “Yes!” he snapped.

  The door opened, and once again Miss Jones stuck her pretty head in. The Duke quickly made sure his blanket was still in place.

  “What is it? Miss Jones,” he asked with a resigned huff.

  “Lord Warwick, Your Grace, he says it is rather important.”
/>   Devlin’s brow creased with confusion. What would Warwick want and why now?

  “Send him in Miss Jones. Why not? Half the household had been traipsing through the room.”

  Miss Jones stepped aside to let Lord Warwick through the door. He was dressed as before, a black frock coat, buff breeches, and buckled shoes. The man could have stepped out of London drawing room.

  Devlin felt rather underdressed and at a disadvantage. Miss Jones moved to exit the room, but Warwick gently held out a hand to stop her.

  “Please stay, Miss Jones,” the young Lord said. “I have questions for you as well as His Grace. Best if we do this all at once.”

  Devlin’s eyes shot to where Warwick’s hand gently rested on her shoulder. A shot of adrenalin rushed through him with a mighty urge to strike that hand away and make sure it never touched her again.

  Miss Jones’ eyes opened wide in surprise. She quickly glanced at the Duke to ensure he approved of her staying. When he nodded his acceptance, she quietly closed the door and folded her hands demurely in front of her. Waiting.

  Devlin could see the curiosity burning in her eyes, but she remained silent and still. He was positive he was the only one who would ever recognize her hidden energy. To the rest of the world, she was always steady and calm. Miss Jones, the rock of sobriety.

  There was something more though, something deeper. She controlled that energy, funneled it to maintaining order. He wondered what she would be like if she ever lost control. The passion would consume her and the lucky man she was with.

  Swinging his legs back onto the bed, Devlin pulled the blanket up to his chin. No need to make Miss Jones feel uncomfortable. Not with Lord Warwick there. It was important to him that Warwick be impressed by Miss Jones. Maybe a little intimidated. The last thing he needed to see was her pretty blush.

  Devlin tried to make himself comfortable as he rested his back against a pillow next to the headboard.

  “Were you going somewhere?” Warwick asked with a rise of an eyebrow. “I was told you would be staying in your room for several more days.”

  “You were misinformed,” Devlin said as he shot Miss Jones a look. She ignored his glance and its hidden meaning. She calmly walked to the side of the bed to make sure he was comfortable. Tucking a blanket and fluffing a pillow.