“Then you make all the arrangements. I’ll stay with Mr. Westbrook.” She turned to Mark. “Regardless of what the captain may say, I want you hanging over the rail ready to take off the minute we dock.”
“I’m sure we can arrange for the captain to let him out of his duties,” Charles said.
“Then you think more of the captain’s Christian charity than I do,” Kate stated waspishly. “Handle it anyway you think best, but the doctor must be notified as soon as possible.”
Charles returned moments later to say the captain had released Mark and all his preparations were made.
“In that case, you can get Mr. Westbrook’s things ready,” Kate instructed. “I have to go to my cabin and pack, but I’ll be back in a few minutes. I don’t have much to do.”
Kate was back in fifteen minutes. She had changed her gown, tied her cloak around her Shoulders, and put on her boots and mittens. “My baggage is packed and ready to be unloaded. How are you doing here?”
“I’m finished,” Charles said as he closed the last piece of luggage. “I’ll need to arrange for porters because Mr. Westbrook has a great deal of luggage stored in the aft cabin. All of it has to be taken with him.” He ignored her questioning look. “I’ll send someone to let you know when we’re ready to take him to the inn. It shouldn’t be long. And miss, on behalf of Mr. Westbrook’s family, I want to thank you for what you’ve done for him.”
Charles left the room before he could see the tears that sprang to Kate’s eyes. She walked over to the chair beside the bed and sat down. Brett looked so pale. Surely he would die if they didn’t get him to a doctor soon. The tears coursed down her cheeks, streaking them like windowpanes in a spring rain. She leaned forward and touched his cheek with her fingertips. After staring at him for a long while, she bent over and lightly kissed his hot, dry lips as tears from her cheeks dropped onto his.
“I’ll see that you get well,” she said fiercely. “I swear it before God and all the saints. And I’ll find some way to take care of myself,” she added more softly. “You’ll never have to suffer because of me again.” Her tears streamed down until his face had become as wet as her own.
A sudden onslaught of running feet claimed Kate’s attention. The boat was docking and all hands were busy securing her moorings. In a little while she would be able to relinquish responsibility for Brett’s care. Then she could go to London and her uncle Milford.
All during the years she had been kept in Virtual seclusion, she had dreamed of going to London, of going to balls and parties, and meeting lots of new people. Now when there was no bar to the fulfillment of her dreams, she found it wasn’t nearly as important as she had once thought, especially if one arrogant-but-ever-so-handsome man wasn’t going to be there.
You’ve got to stop this foolish daydreaming, she told herself. He will get well and you will never see him again. You’ve got to think of your own life, your own future. Think of all the other men you’ll meet in London. There ought to be dozens who are just as handsome as he, and they can’t help but be more considerate and kind.
She imagined herself admired and pursued by a crowd of handsome young men, all vying for the Chance to place themselves and their considerable possessions at her feet. In her dreams she laughed a laugh so gay and smiled a smile so stunning they were sent into raptures and were made helpless before her.
But she refused them all easily, even joyfully, because she knew there was one who offered her a love that had nothing to do with jewels, fortunes, or professions of devotion uttered while kneeling at her feet. His was a love that would transcend time and space, that would enfold both of them in its all-encompassing warmth. His was a love that would make of her more than she already was, one that she returned with equal ardor.
A hush would fall over the room and the throng of admirers would fall back, first in surprise and then in recognition of the superiority of the one who came to claim her hand. She knew he was Coming, she could sense his approach even before his form began to take shape through the mists. On and on he came, his tread firm and his purpose steady. As the mists began to thin, he stretched out his hand and Kate, her arms outflung, rushed to meet him.
She heard him calling her name, and as she covered the few feet still separating them, a cry tried to escape from her throat, a cry that would be his name. She reached out, she was almost there, but as she tried frantically to call out to him, the vision vanished and Kate woke up with a Start to the sound of vigorous knocks on the cabin door.
“Miss Vareyan! Is anything wrong?” Charles called anxiously. “The door is locked.”
Kate shook her head to clear away the remaining wisps of her daydream and rose quickly to open the door, but her feet felt weighted and her mind somewhere outside reality.
Charles looked first at Kate and then at Brett. “I was worried something might have happened to you.”
“I didn’t feel safe with both of you gone,” Kate explained, her momentary confusion gone. “I guess I dozed off.” Charles looked at her closely, but he could see nothing wrong.
“I’ve talked with Madame Marcoule, and she’s agreed to turn the whole inn over to us. She was going to ask her only boarder to leave, but he became so incensed over the idea of foreigners under the same roof that he left on his own.”
“Where are the men?” Kate asked. Her immediate concern was to get Brett to the inn, not Madame Marcoule’s boarders. “Are you sure they can get him up those stairs without jarring the wound?” Now she wished she had put Brett in the cabin on the main deck.
“I will keep a strict eye on them to make certain they are mindful of his wound,” Charles assured her. The men arrived, and Charles piloted them through the difficult part of moving Brett out of the cabin and up the stairs. In spite of their care, however, they were unable to negotiate the stairs without putting stress on the wound, and Brett groaned aloud.
“Why is he groaning so?” Kate cried, unable to see what was happening. “You must be hurting him.” Charles sighed with relief when they reached the deck. After the stairs, it was easy to convey Brett to the carriage even though Kate’s fussing did more to hinder their efforts than the weight of the limp body, but it took both Charles and Kate to hold him on the seat as the carriage swiftly covered the short distance to the inn.
But when they reached the inn, Kate stared in openmouthed disbelief at the person who met them at the door. She was as fat as she was tall and dressed like a woman of thirty made up to look ten years younger. Her face was heavily rouged, her hair colored and crimped, and her lips lavishly covered in a gaudy shade of red. Her eyes were green and her lashes heavily blacked; her eyebrows had been ruthlessly plucked and a thin set penciled in above. Great gold loops hung from her ears, rings nearly covered her fingers, and an expensive-looking rope of pearls fell over her ample, tightly corseted bosom. She wore an emerald-green dress trimmed in gold-and-cream lace that was cut low even for evening wear. The whole startling phenomenon was balanced on a pair of flimsy shoes with heels so high she was forced to mince rather than walk.
Enough traces of her former looks remained to show that Valentine Marcoule must have been a beautiful woman in her youth. Though time had destroyed her figure and the perfection of her features, nothing had diminished her spirits and energy. Kate was shocked, affronted, and overwhelmed by her before she even stepped down from the carriage.
Chapter 10
“Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! she cried. “Il n’est pas mort?” She switched abruptly to English. “Such a pallor. Careful, you fools. Do you want him to bleed on my carpets? Keep his head up and put him in the big room on the first floor. Valentine is too fat to be running up stairs to see if the doctor has killed him. Sacrebleu! Can you not get through a door without running into it? Must Valentine remove the side of the inn for such a clumsy as you?” The men redoubled their efforts under the lash of her tongue.
Valentine peered into the carriage and recoiled in horror. “Blessed holy virgin! The angel of death
has come already!” She crossed herself twice, then in a complete aboutface, she fixed the startled Kate with a defiant stare. “You shall not have him.” And with that strange pronouncement, she turned and hurried into the inn, her mincing step not slowing her down in the least.
“She doesn’t really think you’re the angel of death,” Charles reassured a stunned Kate. “She’s very excitable. Just forget she ever saw you. She will. I’ve taken the liberty of telling Valentine Mr. Westbrook was shot by a disgruntled loser in a card game. The French seem to accept these things. I also told her that one of Mr. Westbrook’s young relatives was traveling with him to Paris.”
“You’ve managed very well,” Kate said with genuine appreciation. “Now if we can just find a nurse. I’ll feel so much better once I know he’s in competent hands.”
“Maybe the doctor can recommend someone. If not, Valentine might be able to help.”
Kate bridled at the mention of the woman’s name, but they were entering the inn and able to hear Valentine hectoring the men as they put Brett to bed, so she swallowed her spleen rather than have her remarks overheard. However horrible that old woman might be, they needed her help.
“I want you to speak to Mark about working for Mr. Westbrook,” Kate said. “If you’re going to be acting as butler-valet as well as handling our arrangements, you’ll be far too busy to run errands.”
“Yes, miss, but I don’t know what Mr. Westbrook is going to say when he recovers. He’s not one to take kindly to anyone altering his arrangements.”
“I’ll think of something.” She flashed one of her most captivating smiles. “I could always demote you.”
“True.” Mr. Westbrook had better watch out if he wants to avoid parson’s mousetrap this time, Charles thought to himself. This was no ordinary girl.
Kate went straight to Brett’s room to make sure he was comfortably settled. Valentine was hopping around the room fussing over everything and getting in everyone’s way.
“Poor lamb. Such a handsome young man, and he is all bleeding and white.” She rounded on Charles. “Is the one who did this terrible thing punished? Bah! They are like children, these bad-tempered ones, shooting at everyone when they get the insult. Your judges, they will hang him, n’est-ce pas?”
“He’s dead, ma’am. Mr. Westbrook shot him.”
“Magnifique! In my day men fought for the ladies only, and then never to the death.”
“I thought you said she would understand,” Kate whispered.
Charles merely shrugged as Valentine made a sign of the cross and bent over Brett peering into his face. “Sacrebleu! This doctor, he must come soon. He looks white as a virgin.” She started to shake with laughter. “White as a virgin,” she repeated and laughed even harder. Kate flushed deeply and remained rooted to the spot.
“Valentine,” came an unexpected whisper, “remove your absurdly painted face, or I shall rise up and strangle you.” Brett had spoken softly with closed eyes and barely moving lips.
“Nom de Dieu! Nom de Dieu! The dead speak!” Valentine shrieked like she had come face-to-face with the devil himself. “Blessed Virgin protect me,” she pleaded, and fled from the room as fast as her feet could carry her.
Kate hurried to Brett’s side, a bubble of merriment threatening to burst from her. She tried to contain it, but a chuckle escaped and it quickly turned into full-throated laughter. After the tension of the past two days, the relief of knowing Brett was conscious suddenly stripped away her ability to control her emotions. Tears poured down her cheeks and she laughed even harder. She started to straighten Brett’s pillows and arrange his Covers to hide her embarrassment.
“Let me alone,” Brett grumbled. “Unless Charles has become less efficient than When I hired him, there’s a doctor on his way here this very minute. By the time he’s through cutting the bullet out, I should be unconscious again. Then you can fuss all you want, and I’ll not stop you.”
Kate felt his brow. “How do you feel? Are you in much pain?”
Brett opened his eyes. “I had thought you were an intelligent girl, but that question makes me wonder. My Shoulder hurts like hell, I feel like someone’s been driving a coach over me for days, and I still have to look forward to being mauled by some jackass and forced to swallow medicine that tastes like it was drained from a dunghill. And if that’s not enough, hell probably bleed me just to make sure I won’t be strong enough to toss about in my sleep.” He closed his eyes again. “Other than those trifling complaints, I feel rather well.”
Kate straightened up. “You’re the most ill-tempered man I’ve ever met. I’ve a good mind to let the doctor cut you to pieces.”
Brett didn’t open his eyes, but a faint smile played across his lips. “You can retire to your room and wring your hands. I’m sure Valentine will be glad to take your place. She’s always had a soft spot for me.”
Kate swelled with wrath. “How dare you prefer that painted witch to me. She’s probably kept Company with half the rakes and hellions in Paris.”
“Nearly all of them. She ran the best whorehouse in France. Paris hasn’t been the same since she retired.”
Brett’s words left Kate speechless, but before she could tell him how closely he resembled something found under a rock, the door opened a crack and the painted face in question peeped around the corner. The sound of laughter had convinced Valentine that whatever was wrong with Brett, at least he was not dead. Curiosity conquered fear, and when Valentine peeped in and saw Brett calmly talking to Kate, she surged into the room, wreathed in smiles and enjoying a hearty chuckle at her own expense.
“Mauvais garon. You are not nice to shame me so before your friends. You know I have no courage and flee like the rabbit. What will they think of me?” She indicated Kate by a gesture of her hand. “That one, with the face of an angel, she thinks I am nothing but an old fille de joie. She is wondering why you come to this house of an entremetteuse?” She looked at Kate again. “Because I love the naughty monsieur like an old cheese. Hélas, if I were but thirty years younger, even twenty, I would cut you out, chérie.” Kate blushed scarlet and directed a look of suppressed rage at Brett. Valentine only laughed.
“I know your story of the cousin going to stay with the aunt. Ha! Am I the complete fool? Am I blind? You can not fool old Valentine, but I will not give you away. You might be forty cousins, but you are crazy about him, too, and you can not wait to take him away from here. How you would love to see me dead, n’est-ce pas? Valentine understands the knife’s edge of jealousy.” She pantomimed a knife thrust to the throat in the best melodramatic style. “La mort!” she murmured and pretended to collapse. Suddenly her delighted giggles filled the room. Kate wished the earth would open up and swallow her. Her chagrin was almost past enduring.
Abruptly Valentine became serious and took Kate’s face in her hands, scanning every feature with an experienced and critical eye. “Oui,” she sighed reluctantly, “vous étes trés belle, even more beautiful than I was. That is a great compliment because I was very beautiful. I had half of Paris at my feet and the other half at my throat.” She chuckled again. “Valentine will tease you no more. I hear someone in the front hall. Maybe it is le docteur. I shall see.” She paused at the door and turned back to Kate. “Do not worry,” she said in a kind voice. “We will take very good care of monsieur, better than someplace where they do not love him.”
Kate labored under the stress of so many conflicting emotions she was unable to think of any way to express the disarray that reigned in her mind. Brett watched her with a curious questioning glance.
Valentine returned almost immediately with Dr. Burton. He was a thin man of about seventy years, his aristocratic face deeply lined and his hair white and thin, but he moved with surprising vitality and his eyes were alive and intelligent. He went straight to the patient.
“Good work,” he said when he saw the bandage. “It probably kept him from bleeding to death. Shame to have to cut it off.” Brett was delighted to
see Kate made uncomfortable by the doctor’s praise.
“You women clear out and bring me a basin of hot water and a sponge,” he said, taking out his scissors. “I have enough lint for one bandage, but you’re going to need a lot more. Better set someone about it right away. You can stay,” he said, pointing to Charles. “I’ll need someone to help move him, and if that young man in the hall is still loitering about, send him in. He can be off to the chemist. Things are going to get worse before they get better.”
Kate blanched. “I’d like to stay if I might,” she said tremulously. “I’ll try to keep out of the way.”
“No.” Dr. Burton was emphatic. “I won’t have you fainting while I’m trying to get this bullet out.”
Kate wanted to protest that she hadn’t fainted when he was shot, that she had kept him alive through the night, but Valentine took her by the hand and led her to the door. “You can come back when I’m finished,” the doctor relented. “Hell be cleaned up and easier on the eyes. I suggest you get settled while you’ve got the chance. He’s going to need careful nursing during the next few days. That’s when you can do the most for him.” He turned back to his work, and Kate left with a sinking heart.
“Come along, ma petite. I will take you to your room. You put your things away, and I will make some of that tea you English like so much.” She made a face. “So sweet. Why do you not drink wine? Oh well, heaven can not be everywhere.” On that Philosophic note she preceded Kate to a door at the end of the passage which opened into a large, cheerful room.
“Tell me if you want anything more. Your breakfast will arrive as soon as my lazy girls get it ready,” Valentine added. “And do not tell me you will eat nothing. You must eat while you have the time.” She smiled kindly. “He will be fine, ma chérie, just fine.” She went off to see about the tea and breakfast.
Seductive Wager Page 13