Bart blushed and nodded. “If you insist.”
“I do,” she said and hooked her arm around his to lead him to the study where she kept extra coins.
o0o
Billie planned well and fast. She informed John that she would be visiting Claudia after supper to discuss a possible dinner party at the manor.
Being preoccupied with his paperwork, John wished her an enjoyable evening and reminded her to take her cloak since there was a chance of rain, the sky having been overcast all day.
Billie informed Pembrooke that Claudia’s coach would return her this evening and waved good-bye as she descended the steps.
Seconds after Pembrooke shut the front door, Billie flew around to the back of the manor and into the stables. There among the horses, who stared at her oddly while they munched their food, she changed into boy’s clothing.
With her clothes folded neatly in her cloak and hidden behind a bale of hay, Billie tugged her stocking cap down around her ears and drew up the collar of her jacket. She then set out on her spy mission.
A light mist had begun to fall by the time Billie reached the appointed area. She glanced about for a good spot to hide herself and chose an outcropping of rocks close enough to the shore that she could see—and hear she hoped—what was going on.
She settled herself on the damp ground, glad she wore the heavy jacket that would protect her from the moisture, and waited.
The mist turned to a light rain and the sea began to take on a rough roar that Billie hoped wouldn’t drown out the voices of the meeting pair.
Her wait was brief, to her relief. She edged up, peering between two rocks, catching sight of Derry and clearly distinguishing his voice. She waited impatiently for the other person to speak and attempted to catch a peek, but was unable to see him from her cramped position.
She strained to hear the voice and shook her head when she thought she caught the high-pitched voice of a woman. Thinking the rough sea and her distance must have garbled the voices, she attempted to inch closer.
The voices rose as if in an argument.
“You will do as I direct,” the decidedly feminine voice shouted.
“The bloody hell I will,” Derry argued.
Shocked by the female voice, Billie moved closer, hoping to learn the woman’s identity. Was it this mysterious woman who was the leader of the wreckers? Billie’s curiosity itched at her and slowly she crept forward.
The rain had turned heavy and she stayed low, maneuvering her way around rocks and tall grass. She took careful steps, approaching with caution, wiping the rain from her face and hoping she would reach a spot where she could see the woman clearly.
The voices began to fade as if they were walking in the opposite direction and Billie hastily followed in an attempt to catch up. Her quick actions made her careless and her foot grazed a slippery rock, causing her to lose her balance.
Wisely she bit her lips to stop from crying out and alerting the pair to her presence as her legs went out completely from under her and she landed with a hard, jaw-rattling slap to the ground.
The last thing she recalled was her head snapping back before all went black.
“Billie. Billie, do you hear me?” the voice urged.
Gently, hands raced over her body.
“Billie!”
She recognized the frantic voice of her husband and fought to open her eyes, though the pain that speared her head warned her not to.
“John,” she mumbled, his name reverberated in her pounding head. She caught a quick glance of his rain-speckled glasses sitting on the end of his nose before her eyes closed of their own accord.
“Yes, Billie, it’s me,” he assured her. “I’m here, don’t worry.”
The next thing she was conscious of was being carried in strong, powerful arms and cuddled against a solid chest. His heartbeat was rapid against her ear, but the strength of its mighty beat made her feel safe.
She forced her eyes to flutter open and she caught a clear sight of Maximillian’s sharp features. “Max,” she sighed with relief.
“You little fool,” he snapped. “I would throttle you if you weren’t so injured.”
She winced when she attempted to smile.
“Don’t move,” he ordered sternly. “You’ve taken a severe blow to your head. I must get you home.”
“Where’s John?” she asked with difficulty, feeling herself on the edge of unconsciousness again. “He found me.”
“That fool of a husband should have been watching you.”
Billie attempted a protest, but the darkness claimed her before the words reached her mouth.
She woke next in her bed, dressed in her night rail, the covers tucked around her, an icy cold cloth helping to relieve the pain that throbbed incessantly in the back of her head and her husband on his knees beside her bed in prayer.
She tried to say his name but the darkness began to descend on her once more and all she could hear was his urgent prayers for her full recovery.
“Billie, fight. Open your eyes. Do you hear me? I demand that you open your eyes.”
She fought the urge to stay in the safety of the dark cocoon. She was annoyed that Max should dare disturb her throbbing head. With a great effort she squinted to force her eyes open.
“Fight, damn you,” he said, though he sounded as if he shouted.
“Shut up,” she barely whispered before her eyes forcibly drifted closed.
“You will fight and get well,” Max insisted angrily. “Do you hear me, Billie? Fight. I dare you to.”
When she woke again it was to John easing her head up and replacing the cloth that had warmed with a cold one. He tended her gently, speaking softly and reassuringly to her, telling her in a tempered voice that all would be well.
He held her hand, his head bent, praying fervently to the Lord. “Please, dear Lord, I love her so, don’t take her from me. Life would not be worth living without her. Please. Please, I beg you to spare her.”
His aching plea touched her heart and she returned to her dark slumber, content with the new knowledge of how deeply her husband actually loved her.
Accosted by a sweep of cold air Billie hurried to wrap her arms around herself.
“No,” Max sharply demanded. “I need to change your gown. Don’t fight me, Billie.”
She shivered and he quickly dispensed with her damp gown before easing a clean, dry one gently over her head and down her chilled body. He laid her back down on the bed and hastily tucked the covers around her.
She listened to his tirade of demands that she get well and when he tired of tormenting her he turned his demands on the Lord.
“I will not tolerate You taking her from me. She is mine and I refuse to relinquish her. She is to get well. Do you hear me? She is to get well.”
Funny, she thought, floating slowly into a slumber, Max assumed she belonged to him. Why? She belonged to John. He was her husband, and a wife and husband belonged to each other. Poor misguided Max.
Billie fully woke from her stupor late the next morning. John was seated in a chair that had been drawn up beside her bed and he dozed in sleep.
“John,” she said, not in a strong voice, but audible and without a pounding madness in her head.
Startled, his head shot up. “Billie? Thank the Lord,” he cried and reached for her hand that inched out from beneath the covers. “I was so worried.”
“Water,” she almost begged, her throat felt dry as though she hadn’t had a drop in days.
He released her hand and fumbled with the pitcher of water on the night table until he finally filled a glass. He eased his hand under her head, being considerate not to apply pressure to the bruised area. He tilted the glass to her lips.
She drank slowly, finishing half the glass.
He fussed with the covers around her after bracing a few more pillows behind her head. “How are you feeling?”
“My head hurts and I’m hungry.”
“Your head will pro
bably continue to ache for a few days and being hungry is a sure sign that you are on the road to recovery.”
She smiled at him.
“I will have Matilda heat some broth for you.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I feared I had lost you and that I could not tolerate.”
His eyes were strained with pain and worry and too little sleep. Billie felt the need to comfort him, to let him know how much he meant to her, how very much she loved his gentle soul.
She said the only words that mattered. “I love you.”
“And I you.” He kissed her forehead again and pressed a soft kiss to her lips before moving toward the door. He stopped with his hand on the latch. “Billie, when you are better we must talk.”
Her eyes questioned why.
He understood her silent query. “I want to know why you were on the shore dressed in boy’s clothing, and I want to know why you lied to me.”
Guilt attacked her as soon as he closed the door. Now she had no choice but to tell him the truth, but how much of the truth? Should she include Max? Oran? Where to begin and what to omit?
o0o
Later that evening John had an appointment at the vicarage. He intended to cancel it, feeling he still belonged at his wife’s side. Billie insisted she was fine, especially with Matilda fussing over her, and urged him to keep it, offering to wait and share a pot of tea with him upon his return.
He agreed and after seeing she was settled comfortably he left for his appointment.
Billie was grateful he hadn’t questioned her about last night’s escapade. She was in no condition to speak of it just yet. She required time to heal and time to decide just what to tell her husband.
“What the bloody hell were you doing on the shore alone and dressed as a boy?” Max demanded, walking out of the shadows in the corner of the room.
Billie winced, shut her eyes and cupped her head with her hand. “Must you yell?”
He walked over to her, dropping down in the chair that remained by the side of her bed. “I’m sorry I caused you discomfort, but you damn well had me upset. I thought I had lost you and that I could not tolerate.”
For a moment Billie thought John sat beside her, Max’s words echoing her husband’s early sentiments. Both voices sounded similar, but then her head had been bruised and her senses confused. She could almost see the two men blending as one.
“Are you all right?”
He sounded like John again. She opened one eye to make certain that Max occupied the chair. He sat there, broad-shouldered, heavy-chested and handsome as ever, this man who was not her husband.
“I’m fine,” she finally said.
“Good, now answer me,” he said, poised on the edge of the chair as if he were ready to pounce on her.
Billie could barely put a coherent sentence together without her head protesting, and he wanted an explanation? “I think not.”
He was about to erupt again when Billie, with great effort, poked him in the chest. “Quiet.”
He looked down at her finger, then up at her and then took her finger gently in his hand and pressed it to his lips.
She smiled at his complete surrender and ran her finger over his soft lips. “Thank you for helping me.”
He took her hand in both of his. “I told you I would always be here for you. Now tell me what you were doing on the shore, alone, in boy’s clothing.”
“Investigating.”
He placed her hand on the quilt and held up his own. “Is this going to anger me?”
She grinned. “Probably.”
“Then perhaps we should postpone it until you are well enough for me to raise my voice.”
“A wise decision,” she said, knowing full well he lacked the patience to wait.
He already shifted uneasily in the chair. “Of course, if you feel it is imperative, I could attempt to control my temper.”
“Is that possible?”
He leaned forward. “You’re teasing me.”
“And enjoying every minute of it.”
“It always pleases me to bring you pleasure,” he said in a low, deep voice that hinted at a much different form of pleasure than they spoke of.
His suggestive words disturbed her and she immediately directed the conversation elsewhere. “I think I’ve found the leader of the wreckers.”
She instantly caught his attention. “What do you mean?”
“I learned of a meeting yesterday between Derry Jones and someone from St. Clair.”
“From who?” he almost shouted, but caught himself and spoke more civilly. “And why ever did you go alone? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“First, who I learned it from isn’t important,” she said, counting off his questions on her fingers. “Second, I couldn’t very well ask my husband to accompany me and third, it isn’t as though I can knock on a door and ask for Maximillian Radborne. You pop in and out at your whim.”
“So you take it upon yourself to go off in the night to investigate criminal activity that could possibly get you killed.”
“To discover the identity of the leader,” she corrected, firmly.
Max shut his eyes briefly, shook his head and obviously fought to control his temper. The question that followed was not what Billie had expected.
“How did your parents ever control you?”
She chuckled. “They indulged me.”
“Spoiled you is more like it.”
She held her head up as high as she could without causing herself pain. “I could do anything I set my mind to.”
“You still do,” Max said with what Billie thought sounded like admiration.
Billie offered him a more practical reason for her foolish actions the previous night. “I had a chance to possibly help you solve your problems and I just couldn’t ignore the opportunity.”
“I don’t like the idea that you placed yourself in danger because of me.”
Her expression turned as serious as his. “We need to settle this Max, one way or the other. We can’t go on like this.”
He nodded. “You’re right, it must be settled.”
The pain in her head was nothing compared to the pain that struck her heart. Soon their time together would end and the thought that she might never see him again brought a pain-wrenching ache to her soul. How could she care so strongly about two men? How could she love both as much as she did?
“Tell me who this mysterious person is,” he said, his eyes steady on Billie and filled with regret.
She hid her ache well and fought back the tears that threatened to spill. “I was unable to see the person, but it was a woman.”
His brow rose. “A woman?”
“Yes, a woman,” she reiterated.
“You’re telling me that you think a woman is the mastermind behind the wreckers?”
“Why? Don’t you think a woman capable or intelligent enough to do so?” she challenged.
He stood, towering over the bed. “I know one that is devious enough.”
That angered her and she shot up in the bed. A big mistake. Her head felt as if a thousand drums beat opposing tunes while the room around her spun out of control.
“Max,” she cried, reaching out for him.
He was at her side instantly, bracing her against him and leaning her back upon the mound of pillows. “Easy,” he whispered. “The feeling will pass.”
He reached to the bowl on the stand beside the bed and with his free hand squeezed the cloth that rested in the water bowl. He gently wiped her face with the cool cloth. “You moved much too fast. Give your head a chance to settle.”
Billie relaxed against his chest, her arms draped across his flat midriff. She turned her face up to him slowly and he continued to ease the cloth over and around her still pale complexion.
“You need to rest and get well,” he urged.
“You don’t believe me, about the woman, do you?” she asked slowly.
“You suffered a severe bump to your head—”
&nbs
p; She didn’t allow him to finish, though she interrupted softly, “And you think I am confused about what I heard.”
“It’s possible.” He rinsed the cloth and settled it on the back of her neck.
Billie almost sighed loudly in relief. “But it’s not what happened.”
“We will discuss this another time.” He spoke in his authoritative tone.
She realized there was no point in arguing with him. His opinion was set and there was no changing it. She would have to discover the woman’s identity and find proof as to her involvement. Once presented with the facts, he would have no choice but to accept the obvious.
As soon as she was well enough, she intended to seek out Oran and speak with him. He had to have known the woman’s identity; perhaps the answer even had something to do with his death. Had he perhaps discovered something he shouldn’t have?
Her head had stopped pounding and spinning and she suddenly felt exhausted. She cuddled deeper against Max and hugged her arm more tightly around him, settling herself comfortably.
“Stay with me,” she whispered and a yawn followed.
“Always,” he promised and circled his arms around her protectively.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she murmured as her eyes drifted closed.
His answer penetrated her sleep. “I never do.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Billie sat in the conservatory, enjoying the beauty of spring in full bloom outside the wall of glass windows. Several weeks had passed since her accident. She had thoroughly rested, due to her husband’s forceful restrictions and was just beginning to return to her daily routine.
John had made her feel so guilty with his tirade of how he could have lost her and how he couldn’t face life without her that she submitted, though grudgingly, to his demands.
Max had even sung the vicar’s praises, insisting that he was finally beginning to behave like a husband should.
But she felt restless, bored and anxious. Her investigation had been stalled and she feared she had lost valuable time. With time at a premium during her recovery she had repeatedly recalled the voice she had heard on the shore. It seemed faintly familiar to her and yet she had difficulty connecting the high-pitched tone to anyone recognizable.
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