Rogue Be A Lady

by Eva Devon

  But not in time.

  Lord Conrade darted from the passage and drove a knife deep into Edward’s side.

  “How’s that, you bastard?” Conrade snarled. “Talk of killing me in an alley, did you?”

  The Duke of Clyde whipped up his walking cane but before he could attack, a pack of men descended upon him, their bodies a jumble of jerking black and gray clothes.

  Edward could not react. He could not move. He could do nothing but feel the blade embedded in his flesh.

  The pain of it was white and cold. He blinked as Conrade yanked the blade free.

  “Your family has ruined my life and now I’ve ruined yours. Again.”

  Conrade whipped back down the small close, his coat flapping behind him.

  The laughing conversation he’d had with Clyde about killing Conrade in an alley came back to him in a flash. Had he waited for them and overheard it? He must have. . . And he was going to die all because of a jest.

  Blood gushed from his side as he spun towards Clyde who was fighting like a tiger, fist flying, cane brandishing.

  Edward stumbled, his boot catching on a loose cobble as he attempted to help his friend.

  But as soon as the attackers saw his blood-soaked shirt, one of them whistled and they disappeared into the night as quickly as they’d appeared.

  Edward blinked. The alley grew dark and his vision swam. He fell to his knees. They cracked against the mud-covered cobbles.

  He sucked in ragged breaths as he collapsed onto the ground.

  Somehow, he found himself in Clyde’s arms, a cloak pressed to his side.

  He could not understand the shouted words surrounding him.

  But as he felt himself slipping away, he grabbed Clyde’s arm and gritted, “Tell Emmaline. Tell her—”

  “Tell her yer damned self,” Clyde growled. “Ye hold on, mon. Ye bloody well hold on.”

  He tried to nod but, even as he did, he felt his hand slip from Clyde’s sleeve and the world went black.

  Chapter 19

  Emmaline paced back and forth in the wings.

  She’d made her entrance and Edward had not been in his box. When she’d looked up as she always did, her heart had nearly stopped at the sight of the empty chair.

  The scene taking place upon the stage was one with only men, something that happened quite often in Shakespeare.

  She should not have expected him, she told herself. He’d simply been delayed. Or he’d been invited somewhere he could not refuse. After all, he’d been here every night. Of course, something might have occurred to detain him. Or . . Or was he discontent with her prevarication about marriage?

  No, Edward would not be so small-minded.

  Something had happened. Good God. Something had happened. She felt it in her sinew.

  She’d never left a performance, but she was growing frantic without news.

  She turned to Andrew, the young stagehand who was so very capable, and whispered, “Any messages at all?”

  He shook his head.

  Twisting her hands she walked back and forth by the ropes twisted about intricate rigging which could fly set pieces onto the stage.

  This was no small, petty thing. No lover’s quarrel or dismay. She knew it. Edward was above such things. He would never intentionally cause her distress.

  A sudden commotion came up from near the back of the wings and she jolted to it.

  Quickly, she darted towards the small cluster of people whispering passionately. Her blood turned to ice. For one of the stagehands was whispering urgently to John Forthryte, Edward’s bastard brother.

  The floor swayed, feeling as if it had dropped out from underneath her feet. For John looked most grave.

  In fact, she’d only seen the saucy John look thus once and that had been the night he had exposed the ruse he had played on his brothers which had revealed their aristocratic arrogance and cruelty.

  She ran to him. “Where is Edward?” she choked.

  “You must come,” John said, his voice breaking.

  She nodded. Without thinking twice, she turned to the stagehand, Andrew, who was in charge of the running of props backstage. “Find Joan. She must go on at once.”

  Andrew gaped then nodded.

  It would be the understudy’s chance to prove her metal, but Emmaline thought nothing of that as she joined John. “Take me to him,” she demanded.

  He whisked her out the back, their steps racing along the rough wood stairs.

  A coach awaited them with the ducal crest of Huntsdown.

  As soon as they were inside, sitting upon the green velvet squabs, she grabbed John’s hand. “You must tell me what has happened.”

  A muscle tightened in his jaw. “You must be brave, Emmaline.”

  “I am brave and well you know it.” She leaned towards him. “Now, tell me.”

  “He has been stabbed.”

  “My God,” she gasped.

  “The surgeons are with him but he has lost a great deal of blood,” John said in a stunned rush. “If it were not for the Duke of Clyde’s quick actions, he would have died in the gutter.”

  “We must hope,” she said immediately, even as she felt like casting up her accounts.

  John looked away, his free hand balling into a fist.

  “What is it?” she demanded.

  “It is my fault,” John bit out before he made a shocking cry of anger.

  “How can it be?” she commanded.

  “Lord Conrade,” John said, lost in his fears. “The very tool I used to hurt James, to hurt Garret and Edward. . . And you by default. . . It is he who stabbed Edward.”

  “Conrade,” she whispered. “I thought he was gone from England.”

  “We all thought so,” John said, his gaze wild. “How I wish he could have been banished.”

  “He’d committed no real crime,” she said softly. “Only cruelty.”

  John nodded but, to her shock, tears shone in his eyes.

  “Damnation,” he growled. “He can’t. . . He can’t die. I love the fool.”

  She squeezed John’s hand. “As do I.”

  “Emmaline, I am so sorry,” John lamented.

  “Quiet now,” she soothed. “I will have none of it. John, we are victims of the past. And you did what you did for good reasons. I cannot blame or hate you. And you must not blame or hate yourself now. Were we not in accord when I left London years ago?”

  He nodded as he blinked his tears away.

  “Then we must be in accord now. For we will be family.”

  His gaze widened.

  “I won’t let him go,” she vowed. “Not ever again.”

  Unless he was taken from her. Anguish coiled in her belly.

  Edward, a fool? No, that was her. For she’d had happiness and what had she done? She’d prevaricated. She’d done just what she’d sworn not to do. She’d been afraid. She’d chosen fear over love.

  How she wished she could go back to that Highland hill and say yes, again and again.

  What if now she never could?

  No. She would not believe it. She could not. She refused to believe her love had been ended in a back alley by a man not worthy of the mud Edward had no doubt fallen in.

  Edward Hart was going to live. And she was going to be his. Emmaline repeated it again and again to herself, for surely if she said it enough times, she could make it true.

  Chapter 20

  Emmaline lingered in the doorway, terrified by the hushed tones of the sick room.

  A fire flickered in the hearth, its flames bathing the room in red.

  A surgeon lingered over Edward and all of his brothers were in the corner looking as if death were waiting to pay call.

  Their horror washed over her and, for one brief moment, she despaired. She bit back a sob. It could not be true. She would not allow it to be true.

  Shaking her head, and the despair away, she squared her shoulders. She would not give way. She and Edward had survived too much. They had suffered too
much. It could not end like this.

  She strode across the room and, without waiting permission, she knelt beside the bed. Her skirts belled about her as she gently leaned against the bed.

  The surgeon’s gaze snapped to her. “Who are you, madam?”

  “I’m going to be his wife,” she returned, slipping her hand around Edward’s still one. She did not even look at the man who would hopefully save Edward’s life.

  The only place she could look was at Edward. His eyes were closed, his lashes dark crescents on his shockingly pale cheeks.

  His naked chest, save for a large white bandage about his middle, rose and fell in rough draws. How had her beautiful, darling Edward been hurt so gravely? For in her eyes, he had been untouchable. Yet, here he was.

  “He will live,” she said firmly.

  “I’m glad you are confident, young woman,” the surgeon replied as he stood. “The blade struck between his ribs and did not penetrate any vital organs. I’ve stitched the wound. Now, we must wait and see if he will survive the blood loss and any potential infection.”

  “He will,” she decreed.

  “Emmaline,” James ventured as he crossed to her. “I am so sorry—”

  “There is nothing to be sorry for. He will be fine,” she countered firmly, even as her eyes swam with tears. But she would not succumb.

  “I’ve done all I can,” the surgeon said as he went and washed his hands in a porcelain bowl near the fire. “Give him water or broth. Keep him cool. That is all we can do now. Besides changing his bandage and keeping an eye out for infection.” The surgeon paused. “If he survives the night, he has a good chance.”

  With that, the older man crossed to the duke and whispered in his ear. James nodded tightly and the surgeon left, his footsteps barely making a sound.

  Emmaline looked up at the grim faces of the Hart brothers. “I’d like a moment with him, please.”

  None of them argued. They all looked heartbroken. But she would not allow that to affect her. She could not.

  James touched her shoulder tentatively. “We are here for you. Please know that.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” she managed, though words could barely pass her tight throat.

  Silently, they left her alone with Edward.

  She waited several seconds then squeezed his hand and leaned over him. She stroked back a lock of his hair from his brow. “Now, you listen to me, Edward. You are going to live. You are going to live and we are going to be married. And have a host of children. Who knows, perhaps I am carrying your child now,” she declared, determined to convince his soul to fight.

  She bent her head, refusing to shed tears.

  Instead, she pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “I love you. I will love you forever and you must not leave me again,” she said, desperate. “We cannot be parted by circumstance again. I will not allow it.”

  A faint tightening of his hand around hers caused her to gasp.

  “Edward? Edward?” she asked. “I know you hear me. You will never leave me again. Do you hear?”

  “N-never,” he whispered so quietly she might have imagined it. But that single word gave her hope and she held on to his hand, determined to never, ever let him go.

  The night was hell.

  The brothers came and went quietly, helping her to keep the vigil.

  She cared not that she was still wearing her costume, or that her back ached with the position she was forced to hold to keep his hand in hers. Nothing mattered but Edward and willing him to stay.

  All through the night, she spoke to him. She spoke of the life they would have, the children who would grace their lives.

  Of the plays she would perform and the ways they could improve his club.

  She listed the many charitable works they could begin. Together.

  She did not stop, even when her voice grew hoarse.

  Well past midnight, a sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead.

  The terror of it nearly undid her and Garret passed her cool cloths to keep his fever at bay.

  When the first rays of dawn crept through the window and over the soft blue carpet, his breathing eased and the ruby color of his cheek faded to a more comfortable hue.

  She pressed her head to the bed, still speaking to him, still urging him to stay with her.

  “Y-you have quite a-a list of things to. . . Do.”

  Her heart leapt and, immediately, she looked up into his opened eyes, hardly daring to believe she wasn’t dreaming.

  “Yes,” she answered as she caught full sight of him. “I have no intention of doing them by myself.”

  He licked his lips. “I won’t do them with you. . . Out of pity.”

  “Edward,” she said, her body nearly shaking with the feelings overflowing her being. “Last night, I was afraid you were going to take my heart with you. Now, I have an answer to your question.”

  “Which was that?” he asked, his pale lips parting in an attempt at humor.

  She smiled with him, loving him more for his bravery in the face of such a night. Still, tears slipped down her cheeks, now that he had opened his eyes.

  “Marriage,” she replied, sniffing. “You silly man.”

  “Don’t cry, my love,” he said softly. “You don’t have to answer now.”

  Even now, he was trying to think of her. Of what she wanted. Well, she was ready to tell him exactly what that was. “I will marry you today, tomorrow, every day, Edward,” she pledged. “If you want me.”

  “Emmaline,” he rasped, “I have wanted you every day that I have known you, and I will never stop. Not even a knife can stop me.”

  “Be my husband?” she asked simply.

  Slowly, he lifted her hand to his lips. He kissed her hand though his arm shook with the effort. “With all my heart, Emmaline. With all my heart.”

  At last, Emmaline truly allowed herself to cry. Tears of joy.

  Chapter 21

  Edward stood by the altar of the small nave on the Duke of Clyde’s lands, a cane in his right hand. It was damned annoying that he needed it, but need it he did. He’d all but recovered but, every now and then, he still lost his footing. But with Emmaline at the helm, he would be fully mended soon.

  Every day, she had sat with him and read to him. They had covered almost all the literature written in the last three years. He found he quite liked A Lady very much. Whoever she was, she had a most excellent sense of humor. Everyone really should read Pride and Prejudice, he had surmised.

  Though he had touched death’s door, the days after his near miss were halcyon. For little had disturbed his time with Emmaline.

  Due to Clyde’s quick action, Conrade had been caught trying to flee out of Portsmouth.

  Currently, he was in Fleet Street prison awaiting trial which would almost certainly lead to a verdict of a drop and quick stop at the gallows.

  Arguing with a witness who happened to be a duke would be impossible. Conrade’s impulsive, selfish cruelty had ruined his and Emmaline’s lives nearly twice. It had certainly ended his own.

  “You’re not going to do anything silly, are you?” Garret asked behind him.

  “That is not a jest in good taste,” Edward replied.

  “Perhaps not,” Garret said jovially. “But I couldn’t resist.”

  “Try.”

  Garret grinned. “I’m delighted to see you renounce the title of bachelor. It never did suit you.”

  Edward smiled at his brother. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  James nodded. “Indeed, happiness is in the getting of a marvelous wife.”

  John rolled his eyes. “You were all loath to wed. Every man jack of you.”

  “That is not accurate,” replied James.

  John snorted. “You had to marry to get an heir. You didn’t particularly wish to.”

  “Well, that is more accurate,” James agreed, a pleased smile softening his usually proper expression.

  “And you, John?” Edward asked. “Your thoughts on marriag
e?”

  “Bliss, old boy. Sheer bliss.” John winked. “If you pick the right one or she picks you. And you have. Without question.”

  “When do you think Clyde shall discover the conjugal club?” Garret asked, fiddling with the flower in his buttonhole.

  “Clyde?” James scoffed. “He’s declared himself a bachelor and I believe him. He shall never wed.”

  Just as Edward was about to wax on about the dangers of the word never, the doors at the back of the church opened, the organ struck up and the bridal march began.

  It was all he could do not to turn around and catch sight of her.

  But he held his ground, just as he was supposed to. And once he finally felt her presence, he turned.

  His heart swelled with awe and love. Emmaline stood in a soft yellow gown, her hair pinned with white roses. She beamed at him.

  “Who gives this woman away?” the vicar intoned.

  “I do,” the Duke of Clyde said grandly and then he took a pleased step to the side. In fact, Clyde had been very pleased for days, telling everyone he had arranged the whole thing.

  Which. . . He had.

  Edward took Emmaline’s hand.

  As she came to stand beside him, she whispered out of the corner of her mouth, “You don’t intend to make a bolt for it, do you?”

  “Emmaline!” Edward could hardly believe her sense of humor, but good Lord, he did love her for it.

  The vicar blinked and began the service in a voice that could have put the congregation to sleep. But Edward did not care, for he only had eyes for Emmaline.

  “You are absolutely terrible,” he whispered.

  “And you adore it,” she whispered back.

  “I do. I adore everything about you.”

  She glanced up at him, her eyes shining with love. “I’m glad because you’re going to have all of me.”

  “Forever,” he said, leaning his head towards her, feeling as if the happiest years of his life were finally about to begin.

  Epilogue

  When she gave birth, Emmaline did not go to Italy. Instead, she and Edward took a small house in Scotland near both John and the Duke of Clyde.