‘Michael?’ Lady Spence looked worried.
‘I have no idea,’ he said shortly.
Then his blood ran cold. Fairchilde? But would he stoop to such a thing? The man’s cold determination, the vision of him reaching for Rosalyn, flashed sickeningly though his mind. And Fairchilde hated him.
‘Michael? What is wrong?’ Lady Spence touched his arm, her face full of worry.
‘I must go.’ He shook off her arm and started towards the door. ‘I have to find her.’
He dashed down the winding staircase to the hallway, only pausing to call for his overcoat. He carried a pistol in its pocket. Outside he nearly collided with James Whitcomb, who was running up the steps. James’s face was white, his cravat in complete disarray.
‘Thank God you’re here. He has Rosalyn!’ James sounded sick with fear.
‘Fairchilde?’ At James’s nod, Michael said, ‘How can you be certain?’
‘I just arrived in London. I wanted to call on her, apologise to her, but when I got there…the housekeeper said she saw him seize her. Or at least she thought it was him. But who else would do such a thing?’ All trace of the cynical, wild young man had vanished. He looked more like a frightened school boy. ‘It is all my fault! God! If I hadn’t invited him to Meryton, hadn’t lost the money—’
‘Never mind that now! I will find her.’
‘I’m coming with you!’
Michael looked at him. ‘Very well. Then…’ He spun around and saw Charles, Philip, and Giles behind him, their faces grim.
‘Thought we might be of assistance,’ Charles said. ‘Where to?’
‘Ask Rosalyn’s housekeeper if she has any information. I’m going to Fairchilde’s. Meet me there.’
And he was going to kill Fairchilde.
But Fairchilde was not there. His manservant, a beefy man with a surly expression, was disinclined to talk until Charles shoved him up against the hallway wall. Michael levelled a pistol at his heart.
‘Won’t do you much good if I’m dead, will it?’ the man said with a smirk.
Michael cocked the pistol. ‘It matters little to me whether you are or not. I’m certain there are others who’ll be willing to tell me what I want to know.’
The bravado left the man’s face as he looked at Michael’s cold, unwavering gaze. ‘Darley Hall,’ he finally spat out.
Charles met Michael’s eyes. ‘Does that sound right?’
‘Yes.’
Charles released the man, and they dashed from the house.
Darley Hall. Of course. It was Fairchilde’s estate, a little more than two hours north of London. He prayed they’d reach her in time. For he dreaded to think what Fairchilde intended to do to her.
Rosalyn was jolted as the carriage hit a rut. Fear kept her immobilised in a corner as she tried to stay as far away as possible from Edmund Fairchilde. He had not tried to touch her, only watched her with his cold, hooded eyes.
They had left London. She could scarcely see where they were; the night was dark, the passing scenery only an occasional shadow. Fear combined with the lack of food and the motion of the carriage made her feel slightly nauseous.
She shivered, forcing herself to speak. ‘Wh…where are you taking me?’
‘You shall see when we get there,’ he said.
‘Why? Why are you doing this to me?’
She could barely see his mouth curve in an unpleasant smile. ‘Revenge.’
‘Revenge? I…I have done nothing to you.’
‘Oh, you have, my dear. It would have been better for you if you had accepted my first offer. I do not like to be thwarted. And in this case, revenge shall be particularly sweet as I shall enjoy snatching you from Stamford. He has long been a thorn in my side, and his latest attempts to ruin me have most seriously displeased me. Instead, he is the one that will be ruined.’
Rosalyn wrapped her cloak more tightly about herself. ‘I…I have no idea why abducting me would ruin him.’ Perhaps if she kept him talking, she could discover some clue, some idea that would enable her to escape him.
‘He is in love with you, my dear. Knowing that you are in my hands, at my mercy, knowing I am enjoying your delights, will cause him to suffer exceedingly. Particularly when he realises there is nothing he can do about it.’
‘You are wrong. He does not love me. We are not going to be married.’
‘You are correct in that regard. You will not marry Stamford.’
She moistened her dry lips. She had to ask. ‘Wh…what are you planning to do with me?’
His eyes roved over her in a way that made her skin crawl. ‘Bed you, of course. Perhaps I will marry you myself.’
Sick revulsion flooded her being. ‘You cannot force me to do that.’
He laughed unpleasantly. ‘Oh, I can. There are many ways. A dose of laudanum, perhaps. Whisky. None of it may be necessary. You may decide after a few nights in my bed you will be most willing to marry me.’
She lifted her chin. ‘I doubt that.’
He laughed again. ‘Shall we see? Come here, Rosalyn.’
‘No!’ Her stomach lurched along with the carriage. She tried to fold herself into the corner as far as she could.
‘Come, or I will make you sorry you didn’t obey me.’ He made a move toward her.
‘I…I feel quite ill,’ she said faintly. Indeed, she did. She feared if he touched her, she would be sick all over him.
He stared at her, then settled back in his corner, apparently deciding she was serious. A moment later, he shot up as the coach lumbered to a halt.
‘What the devil!’ He grabbed a pistol hanging from its leather near his seat.
‘Stand and deliver!’
‘Blast it!’ He turned and flashed a hard glance at Rosalyn. ‘Stay there!’ He pushed his pistol through the window and fired.
The coach door on the opposite side was yanked opened. Rough hands pulled Rosalyn from her seat at the same time she heard more shots. She was vaguely aware of Fairchilde tumbling back. Frantic, she tried to aim a kick at her attacker.
‘Rosalyn! Damn it! It’s me!’
‘James?’ She collapsed into his arms, shaking. He hugged her close.
‘My God! Are you all right? He didn’t harm you?’
‘No. Oh, James, what are you doing here?’
‘I came with Stamford.’
‘Michael?’
‘Yes. I’m sorry, Rosalyn.’ He pulled away from her, his face haggard with shock and worry. ‘This is all my doing.’
‘Oh, no! You…you don’t know how I…I worried about you!’ She clutched at him.
‘Whitcomb? Do you have her?’ She recognised Philip’s voice.
‘Yes. She’s safe.’
‘Bring her here. We need you to cover the coach. Michael’s been shot!’
‘No!’ The sound was torn from her. She jerked out of her brother’s arms, and stumbled around the back of the coach.
She saw his figure on the ground, heard a low moan. Philip, kneeling beside him, looked up as she ran to his side. She dropped to her knees, heedless of the muddy road. Fear clutched her when she saw the dark stain spreading down the left arm of his evening coat. ‘Michael!’
He was sitting up, half-supported by Philip. He looked at her, his eyes glazed with pain. ‘You’re safe?’
‘Oh, yes. Michael, please…’ she whispered.
‘We need to get him out of his coat. Can you help me?’ Philip said.
‘Yes.’
Michael swore. ‘Get away, Rosalyn.’
‘Be quiet,’ she told him sharply.
She helped Philip ease him out of his coat, her heart in her throat. Philip ripped the sleeve from his shirt exposing his arm. A gasp escaped her at the sight of the raw ragged hole in his arm just below the shoulder.
‘We need to stop the bleeding.’ Philip was making a pad of his neckcloth. ‘Ask the others for cravats, shirts, if we must, anything.’
‘Yes.’ She rose, almost running into Charles. He heard her request and with
out a word removed his cravat. She took it, then kneeled.
Caught in a nightmare, she tried to help as Philip attempted to stem the blood seeping from the wound. The voices of the others, the mud of the road, the light misty rain receded from her consciousness as she passed strip after strip of dry cloth to Philip. Michael said nothing, but she could see from the way he gripped her hand and the set look of his mouth it was all he could do to remain silent.
At last, Philip bound the arm with a strip of her shawl. He looked up as Charles approached.
‘How is he?’ Charles asked.
‘It should hold, but we need to get him to a surgeon. The shot is still in his arm. Where’s Fairchilde?’
‘Bound up near the coach. Giles shot him in the leg after he shot Michael. Only a flesh wound,’ Charles said. His easy manner was gone, his eyes were hard. ‘What should we do with him?’
Michael struggled to sit up. ‘I shall be glad to dispose of him,’ he said grimly.
‘Although I fully comprehend your sentiments, we don’t need a murder to complicate matters,’ Philip said. He stood. ‘How far is Darley Hall?’
‘Michael?’ Charles asked.
‘A half-hour’s ride,’ Michael said. He had slumped back against Rosalyn, his face drained, the spurt of energy he’d shown at Fairchilde’s name now spent.
‘We’ll leave him a horse and take the carriage. He can make his way to Darley Hall,’ Philip said. He looked down at Rosalyn. ‘Can you manage him for a moment? Don’t let him move.’
‘No,’ she said.
The rest of the trip passed in a haze. Michael could not be laid in the coach, so they made him as comfortable as possible, tucking coats under his head so he could rest his head in one corner. Rosalyn sat at his side, refusing to leave him, trying her best to cushion the jolts. He remained conscious, and then finally collapsed in the corner, eyes closed. Philip sat across from her, James next to him, pale and worried.
Once Philip leaned forward and touched her knee. ‘Don’t worry, Rosalyn. I’ve seen worse. He’ll pull through.’
She nodded, her heart numb. Because if he didn’t, she had no idea how she would survive. For she realised, with utter overwhelming clarity, she loved him.
Chapter Eighteen
His arm ached. He slowly opened his eyes and realised, some wonder, he was in his own bed. He had no idea what time it was or the day. He vaguely remembered voices coming and going, but time had passed in a hazy, drugged stupor. The last thing he remembered before fainting as the surgeon cut into his arm was Rosalyn’s white face hovering over him.
He must have made a sound for he heard the rustle of skirts, and then his eyes focused vaguely on a familiar figure.
‘Michael, are you awake? Do you know me?’ His aunt Margaret hovered over him, lines of concern on her drawn face.
‘Yes,’ he managed to whisper.
She passed a gentle hand over his forehead. ‘Your fever has finally broken.’ She knelt by him. ‘We have been so worried. I am so thankful you are awake.’
‘How long…?’
‘Three days. You developed a fever after the surgeon removed the bullet. You have been very ill, Michael.’ She brought him a glass of water. ‘Can you drink?’
She helped him take a few sips, then he fell back on the pillows, willing himself not to drift into another sleep.
He closed his eyes, then they shot open. ‘Rosalyn. Where is she?’
‘She is here. She has been staying with us since the night you were wounded. Can you take a little more water?’
He pushed her hand away. ‘I must see her.’
‘Michael! I think it would be best if you waited.’ She sighed as he attempted to throw back the covers. ‘Very well, don’t agitate yourself. I shall fetch her.’
Rosalyn quietly closed the door behind her. Michael lay very still, his eyes closed. He turned his head as she approached the bed and opened his eyes. His usually olive skin was pale and his hair, unruly under the best of circumstances, tumbled over his forehead in complete disorder.
‘Rosalyn.’ She had to bend to catch his voice. ‘Did he hurt you?’
‘No, I am quite safe.’ His pallor and weakness alarmed her. She fought back tears that were all too close.
‘I am glad.’ He fumbled for her hand. ‘Sit by me. I must talk to you.’
She sunk down in the chair by his bed. ‘Not now. You need to rest. You have been very ill.’
He focused on her, his eyes drugged from the laudanum he’d been given to dull his pain. ‘Stay with me.’
‘I will. Please try to rest, Michael.’ She smoothed his hair back from his brow, and he closed his eyes.
Rosalyn sat with him for a long while, as she had for the past few interminable days. The candles slowly burned down, casting a soft glow in the room. His breathing was slow and even, and he no longer tossed and turned in feverish delirium as he had been doing during the past few days.
She stroked his hand, then brought it to her cheek for a moment, tears of thankfulness streaming down her face. For the first time since that terrible night, she had hope that he would live.
After a while, Caroline tiptoed in to relieve her, touching her hand in passing. Unable to sleep, Rosalyn wandered down to the library. She was startled to find the Duke still up, idly browsing through a book. He laid it aside when she entered.
After a few days in his company, Rosalyn could understand why his family found him daunting. Although his dark hair was flecked with silver, he very much resembled his sons, possessing the same handsome, aristocratic features. But it was his inborn air of self-assurance and command, coupled with the penetrating look in his grey eyes, that inspired awe in those around him. At first she had thought him a very hard man, but she had seen the lines of worry in his face for his son and knew he would be devastated if Michael were not to live.
‘Lady Jeffreys,’ he said politely, as he rose to his feet. ‘How do you find my son?’
‘He is much better; not so feverish and restless but so very weak. I still worry for him.’
‘The surgeon assured us once the fever has broken, the worst is over. Stamford is a survivor with a will of iron.’ He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘You should go to bed, my dear. You look peaked.’
She tried to smile. ‘I do not think I can sleep.’
‘What is troubling you?’ he asked quietly.
‘I cannot help but feel this whole affair is my fault. If it had not been for me, he would not have nearly been killed.’
‘I do not believe you deliberately attracted Fairchilde’s attentions, did you?’
‘No, never.’ She shuddered. ‘He was quite the most repugnant man I have ever met.’
‘You surely cannot hold yourself responsible for the harm he wished to do you and Michael? That would be most foolish and quite unnecessary. You are only fortunate that Michael and the others found you in time.’
‘Yes.’ She was silent and looked directly at him. ‘It is not that, your Grace. You see, Michael and I, we…we really were never betrothed. It was only a temporary bargain between us. He wished to avoid marriage with Miss Randall, I wanted my brother’s estate back…’ Her voice trailed away as he held up his hand.
‘I know this, my dear. Michael told me before we left Longbourne.’
‘Oh, dear.’
‘He feared I would coerce you to the altar so he felt he should inform me of the truth.’
‘Oh, what must you think of me?’ she whispered. Her hands crept to her burning cheeks. ‘I am so very sorry for such deceit. And then for Michael to almost lose his life because of it.’
‘My dear, this is nonsense. You have nothing to reproach yourself for. If anything, I am grateful he has met you.’ He smiled slightly, his eyes kind. ‘I suggest you retire now. Wearing yourself out with worry will not help.’
He held the door open for her, and as she passed he said, ‘I trust you care for him?’
She looked up at him, a blush heating her cheeks. ‘Yes
, very much.’
He touched her cheek. ‘That is all that matters. Good night.’
Four days later, Rosalyn stood in the doorway of the sitting room off Michael’s bedchamber. He sat in a wing-chair, facing the window looking out over the garden behind Eversleigh House. He did not turn until she came into the room.
‘Rosalyn.’ He made a move to rise.
‘Please don’t. I know you are still not recovered.’ He looked much better, but she could see he was still pale. He wore a dark-green silk dressing gown over his loose white shirt and breeches. His arm was in a sling under the gown. ‘I will not stay very long.’
‘No. I did not think you would.’ He looked at her with that unreadable expression he’d had on his face the last two days, ever since he started to recover from his fever. He was polite, but remote, as if his whispered request for her to stay at his side had never happened.
She swallowed her despair and managed a smile. ‘I know James has thanked you, but I also wanted to thank you for what you have done for James. Particularly after he did lose more money at Newmarket. You did not need to return Meryton.’
‘I have no great desire to worry about another property. I thought it fitting punishment he should learn how to manage the place properly.’ A cool smile touched his lips. ‘We will see how grateful James is after a few months. Rutherford is one of my best stewards, which is why I have sent him to Meryton. He is a good man, but a hard taskmaster. James will find there is little time for gambling. However, he could not have a better tutor for learning how to run an estate.’
‘I am certain it will be quite good for him.’
‘I hope it keeps him out of trouble.’ Michael returned his gaze to the window.
‘Yes.’ She moved next to his chair. ‘He felt responsible for Fairchilde’s obsession as he invited him to Meryton. It is nonsense, but it seems to have sobered him considerably.’
Michael glanced up at her. ‘If he ever does anything else that puts you in danger like that, I’ll have him whipped.’
‘I doubt he will.’ She took a deep breath, clasping her hands together. ‘There is something else I must tell you. I…I think I will go to Meryton for a while.’
‘Why?’
A Bargain With Fate Page 21