Lord Dangerous

by Gayle Eden

  Opening her eyes, she arose from the cooling water and wrapped her body in a towel, padding next to her chambers. She could feel, even as she dried herself, that her pores were open, and nerves alive. Letting a linen gown over her head, she felt the scrape of it on her dark apricot nipples.

  Lying in the bed, in the dark, Audra wet her lips and lay her palms on her quivering stomach. She felt as if her womanhood was awakening. As if, her sexual self was finally coming to full bloom. As nervous as it made her, it was also exciting—thrilling—to realize that she was not stunted by that attack, as she’d feared. She was very much a grown and healthy woman.

  * * * *

  Alina had lain in the dark too, listening when Rotherham came up to his chambers. She heard Rane’s muffled voice amid scrapes, and the wardrobe door closing. They left shortly afterwards—-to hunt down Serighard.

  She silently prayed and then rolled to her side, determined to stand strong when she awoke. She was not going to lose anything of the closeness she had gained with him. She would not give that up. He was not going to die tonight.

  * * * *

  Fog drifted soupy and thick amid a pouring rain by the time Trevon found the flat above the gin house that Serighard holed up in. It had taken Rane’s money to bribe prostitutes, beggars, and even a watchman, to get that information.

  Rain poured off their caped coats and their hair was plastered by the time they tread as soft as possible up the dank and creaky stairs.

  He looked at Rane when they reached the filthy door, and nodded.

  His friend stood to the aide, short sword drawn. They were hoping for a clean cut rather than ball and shot.

  Trevon raised his booted foot and kicked the door so hard it cracked from the hinges and fell forward. They lost no time going inside, taking in a nude woman on her knees on the filthy bed. Trevon, catching the image of Serighard springing up and to the left.

  “Watch out!” Rane called as Trevon, knife drawn, went toward that figure, the man rifling in his clothing for a pistol.

  That was not what Rane had warned of. Behind him, coming through the door were four beefy thugs, all well-armed. Trevon reached the brawny Serighard just as the man lifted the pistol while uttering in some Germanic tongue. The blade flashed seconds before the ball released from the chamber. Trevon turned and dived aside but felt the searing burn strike his shoulder blade.

  With only a glance at the now dead Serighard, head cocked against the wall and his throat slit, Rotherham went to assist Rane, who had two of the men down with disabling injuries.

  “Who the bloody hell are you!” Trevon demanded over the woman’s hysterical screams.

  “Don’t matter a bit, gov,” one of them said, dodging the sword and grabbing Trevon’s wrist.

  With a curse, Trevon used his free hand to draw the pistol out of his waistband. He shot the man, and watched him fall.

  “Give it up,” Rane snarled at the other—but either dumb or deaf, the thug kept swinging and hacking with a crude knife.

  Rane finally almost cut that hand off, then kicked out, knocking him over the others. “Shut the hell up!” He yelled at the woman, reducing those nerve-grating screams to sniveling and teeth chattering.

  Trevon looked at him. “This is not just Serighard.”

  “No.”

  They stepped over the bodies, stopping only long enough to toss the woman a sack of coins before heading down the stairs.

  Trevon was walking in the front and since he was half ducking in the low roof, he did not see the figure standing there at the bottom—until fire spewed from the end of the pistol, and the ball slammed hard into him.

  Off balance, he went back, only hazily aware of Rane diving over him, and landing at the bottom of the stairs.

  Struggling to get up, Trevon grit his teeth and cursed, blood running from wounds while he heard another shot.

  “Rane!” he bellowed.

  “I’m fine.”

  There was a clatter and then Rane appeared, hovering over him. “Can you get up?”

  “Yes. Although, one wonders if 'tis not better to wait here and let them all crawl out of the woodwork.”

  Rane’s eyes flashed as he clasp that hand and tugged, watching Trevon brace a free hand on the dingy wall a moment.

  Staring down at the stirs, Rane said horrified, “That’s not rain pouring off you, Rotherham, its blood.”

  “I know.” Trevon waved him on. “Go on. I’ve one more shot loaded.”

  “Me too. Although out in that damp rain…”

  “Yes.” Trevon walked behind him, leaving a trail of blood, and feeling his shirt and coat sticking to him. It was hard to see each other, or find the unmarked coach, between the thick gray rain and fog.

  “You need a physician, Trevon.”

  “Let’s get home, first.” Trevon grunted and leaned up to keep from lying back against his shoulder wound. “Did you recognize who was at the foot of the stairs before you blew their face off?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  Rane’s face looked as stark as his eyes. “Imogene. My sister—Imogene.”

  Chapter 7

  The rain continued for hours, days, and Alina paced past the adjoining door to Trevon’s chambers, hearing the physician speaking in low tones, since the fever had broken. Rane was below, in the study, with Audra.

  Those first hours after returning, Trevon would not allow her to enter his rooms.

  Horrified by the blood trail and seeing the holes and burns in his coat, she’d had obeyed Rane’s “Get him a doctor, quickly.” Then she sent footmen up to Rotherham’s chambers. The door was locked against her. It was only through Rane’s stepping out before the doctor came, and assuring her it would be fine, that Alina kept from breaking that bloody door in.

  It had not been fine. The wounds, one on the back of his shoulder was not bad. Another just above his heart became quickly infected. The doctor, a gruff and efficient man of fifty, did not spare her a moment as he worked to save Trevon. She could not help but be glad of that, now that the fever had broken.

  Rane, after leaving and returning just this morning, looked leaner and strained too. He gave her a sketchy account, but was silent and brooding—speaking little to Audra, although obviously welcoming her sitting with him. Or rather, watching him pace.

  The door to the hall entry clicked open. She went out, to find the physician pulling on his coat.

  “How is he?”

  “Over the worst.”

  The man was fatigued, and the wrinkles on his face were deeply creased. “He’s strong and healthy, which helps. His mind is clear at least.”

  He shook his head as he started down the stairs, Alina walking with him, and after absently declining breakfast, muttered, “That shot was deliberately packed with something to putrefy the wound. I have seldom seen a more vicious thing.”

  “Both?”

  “No.” He turned as the butler held the door open to a thick rainy outside. Putting on his hat, he mumbled, “He tells me there were two different assaults. The one in his shoulder did not go deep.” The man frowned and rubbed his eyes. “Judging by the old scars on his back, I would say that Rotherham has defied death more than once. Just the same, he should drastically change his lifestyle.”

  She watched him get into the coach and then glanced at the butler before stepping back for him to close the door.

  Alina proceeded into the study and announced, “He is lucid. The physician just left.”

  Rane turned from the window and headed past her.

  Alina grabbed his arm to detain him, looking at his drawn face and haunted eyes. “I want the bloody truth, Rane. I want to know what—”

  He covered her hand. “Not now. Please.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll make him receive you. But give us a bit to talk. And wait, Alina. Please.”

  She searched his stark eyes and finally nodded—her stomach so tight she was ill with worry. “I need to see him. To see if he is well.”

>   “You shall.” Rane glanced over at Audra. “It may be best if you ladies pack, and arrangements made to leave for the estate. I have a few things to do here. However, by weeks end, we can prepare a comfortable transport for him. The scandal from the hell needs time to die down.”

  “You won’t be coming?” Audra stared at him.

  “Not yet.” He shook his head and left.

  Alina walked over to coffee on a tray and poured a cup. “Do you think the Runners will come calling?”

  “No. Rane said he went to them and gave an account.” Audra watched her sit on the edge of the desk, and then went over to take his place by the window looking out at the rain. “Something is wrong with Rane. Something—terrible.”

  “I know.”

  “‘Tis more than just worry for his friend.”

  “Yes. I sense it, too.”

  Rubbing her arms, Audra murmured, “And here we thought this sort of life was behind us.” She shuddered. “Rotherham nearly died.”

  Alina pressed her fingers to her burning eyes and sniffed deep to keep tears at bay. “I can’t go through this over and over. I cannot, Audra. He would not let me near him—this risk, this life, and all those secrets I sense...”

  Audra came to her just as Alina lost her battle with tears. “You have been worried. It’s all right now.”

  Nodding but weeping until she could gather herself and pull back, Alina dried her eyes and rasped, “I love him. I do not understand it. But I love him.”

  “I know.” Audra brushed her hair back gently. “Now, go and wash your face. Find a smile and some humor, for when Rotherham will see you. You will need it.”

  Alina laughed poorly. “Yes. I shall.”

  She finished the coffee and left, cooling and washing her face, changing into a light green V-neck gown done in straight lines and her slippers. Alina styled her hair and smoothed the dress over her stomach, hearing the men’s low voices, and the footmen moving about the room, while she took a seat by the window and waited.

  * * * *

  Two hours later, Alina glanced up as the door opened between their chambers and Rotherham stood there, bandages clear under his untucked shirt, a sling on one arm and face strained.

  “Are you daft?” She sprang to her feet. “Get back in the bloody bed.”

  He leaned heavily against the doorframe, hollow cheeks fresh shaved, eyes dark beneath—yet absolutely wonderful to her eyes.

  “The linens are being changed.” He pushed away and came into her rooms, looking around for a chair and finally going to her bed.

  He sat near the lower footboard, so that his lower back was against it, and bent one leg, the other foot resting on the bed rail. “The chambers need cleaned.”

  She came to him. “Well, we will turn down mine. Come on…” She went to the head of it and started rolling down covers.

  “I am fine. Alina. I am tired of lying down.” His eyes went over her as she sat on the bed heavily and stared at him. “Ring for tea?”

  She got up and did so. “Hungry?”

  “Starved, though the physician has ordered only fruits and such.” He sighed tiredly and ran his good hand through his hair, grunting when that hurt.

  After tea came, she poured him a cup then sat against the headboard, watching as he sipped it.

  “Will you be well enough to travel at week’s end?”

  He nodded and palmed the cup, resting it on his thigh, his deep sherry gaze again going over her face. She felt there was something he wanted to say, something he was trying to frame as he looked toward the window and then back.

  Finally, she said softly, “The next time you are ill or injured and refuse me entry to be near you, I’m going to chop the bloody door down.”

  That smile came to his eyes. “The blood made it look worse than it was, and—”

  “—There was no bloody worse! You almost died.” She blinked and then looked down at her hands to gather herself.

  Inhaling deeply she raised her chin. “I thought… you blamed me.”

  “Of course not,” he retorted.

  “Well, I’m your wife. You cannot shut me out, when I am supposed to be by your side. When I want to be. I know we do not have—I mean, we…”

  She blew out a breath and regarded him a moment, saying finally, “You have to trust me, Rotherham. Particularly, at times like this. You’ve got to know by now that I…I care for you.”

  His jaw muscle flexed as he stared at her. Eventually, he set the tea aside and held out his hand, “Come here, Alina.”

  She went to him, careful to not jolt, but going round to his good side, and crawling up to sit beside him. His arm went round her shoulders. His head turned so that those lips brushed her forehead.

  He did not give her excuses or apologies. Though since she rested her head against him, and he held her like that, while rain bathed the window and servants cleaned his chambers.

  Alina was hopeful, content even when her heart squeezed breathing his soap, feeling his heat, remembering…. when she thought he would die.

  At some point, his arm bent so that his hand ran over her hair softly. She felt the turn of his head. A kind of hugging her to him followed that she closed her eyes and savored. When he lowered it again, she lifted the hand from her lap and joined their fingers as his wrist had rested on her shoulder.

  “I’m ready for a bit of rustication,” she jested lulled by his body heat and sound of rain.

  “I think we all are.”

  She smiled and tilted her head back to look at him. “Do not get me wrong, my lord. I love dressing stylishly, but I look forward to a more relaxed spell. I think that a few weeks of social madness is tolerable, but I must be better suited to the pace of the country.”

  His gaze flickered downward. “It is a good thing I am wealthy and can afford fewer nights at the tables.”

  She lowered her chin. “It would balance out nicely, I am sure. There is all that traveling in the fall. I should like to spend more time with the tenants of Rotherham hall? We weren’t there long enough.”

  “Yes.”

  A door clicked and she sat up to look around, just as Rotherham did.

  A young footman stood at the door. “We are finished in here, my lord. Will you need anything else?”

  “No. Thank you, Jeffery.”

  The man nodded then suggested, “Call for us, when you are ready to retire.”

  “If you are needed,” Rotherham agreed.

  Alina winked at the footman, who shook his head. The young man smiled slightly, apparently knowing Rotherham’s ways. He excused himself.

  She got to her feet and reached again for his good hand. “Back to the bed, Rotherham.”

  He pretended to let her help him up, and pretended next to lean on heron their way to the doorway. He muttered as he passed through. “I’ve a bloody potion to drink that will likely knock me out for hours, so in case I do not rouse through the night, jot off a note to the housekeeper at Rotherham hall, appraising her of our plans. Will you?”

  “Yes. I’ll see it sent.”

  He turned with a hand on the door. “It will be slower arriving, because of this rain, so ‘tis best to get it done.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” Alina looked over his face seeing that he looked drained. “Everything will be fine, Trevon. Now go, before I call back the footmen.”

  He stepped toward her, leaned down, kissing her lips softly, before straightening. “I frightened you, at the hell.” It was an acknowledgement.

  She swallowed. “We’ll speak of what needs said when we are in Hampshire. What matters to me more, is that you are on the mend.”

  He held her gaze in a searching way, then nodded and turned, closing the door behind him.

  Alina touched her still tingling lips, her eyes stinging.

  Shaking her head to shake off the emotions, she went below to send that message.

  Chapter 8

  The first week of their arrival in the country, Alina threw off the
gowns for her trousers and boots. Since Rotherham was determined to not follow orders, and stay in bed, but went to the study every day—she joined him long enough to meet with the steward and then went with the man to take care of tenant’s problems, and repair what needed it.

  Normally, when she returned to report to Trevon, he was taking a walk to—as he put it—build up his strength. By the second week the sling was gone, so Alina rode alongside the light buggy he took out. At this stage, he was sometimes going out alone, or running into the village and meeting with his London man of business, who came down. She had long realized he made investments, good ones, and was more than simply a gambler.

  Alina divided her time between getting to know the staff better, the tenants too, and amusing herself. She did much thinking, pondering, but she also enjoyed the country life, as rich as it was too. The work and duties were something she took on gratefully, and she did work well with the staff.

  Audra was still worried about Rane though joined several local clubs—few of them patronized by society ladies, as they were mostly intellectual, scientific, and literary. She had, somewhere in the London incidents, regained her sense of life apparently, because she rode out, or took the buggy—and she even sought out Trevon a few times to discuss subjects of interest. That was, of course, interesting and heart lifting for Alina. She was glad to see Audra hold her own in the world. And take her place without those old shadows dogging her.

  There were evenings that she and Audra rambled on the woodland paths, and invariably they discussed the men in their lives—Audra, no more suspicious of Rane, was instead concerned that she had done something to keep him distant. He had been home, at his nearby estate, a fortnight, but had sent no note to her, nor come to call.

  Alina was getting her ride in, before the late summer storm that threatening blew in. she had led mare out of the park, having needed to walk a bit—and found Rotherham awaiting her. Eyeing his open throat shirt, the snug black trousers and knee high riding boots, she stopped and considered him before saying dryly. “Don’t you follow anyone’s advice?” She reached out to stroke the nose of his large mount.