Seductive Wager

by Leigh Greenwood

  Brett became increasingly restless during the early morning hours, moaning and moving about in his bed. Kate sponged him constantly, but he continued to be hot and uncomfortable. The heavy drainage persisted and the wound seemed more raw and inflamed when Charles brought the poultice shortly after three o’clock. They gave him another dose of medicine, and for the rest of the night only his raspy breathing betrayed that all was not well.

  Morning brought Dr. Burton, but no comfort. “It’s just as I expected. The wound is badly infected, but it’s still draining so there’s no need to open it up.” Kate continued to sit with Brett after breakfast, but there was no lessening of the fever or his restlessness.

  She was reluctant to leave him at lunchtime, but Valentine marched her off to her bedroom with orders to remain there until supper. Kate was certain she was too worried to fall asleep, but she had no sooner laid her head on the pillows when she sank into such a deep slumber she had to be roughly shaken to wake her up.

  Brett was restless throughout the evening, and the wound continued to drain. Kate feared Nancy would refuse to get up in the middle of the night again, but Charles informed her that Nancy had agreed to make as many poultices as they needed. Everyone in the inn knew Brett was fighting for his life.

  Kate increased Brett’s medicine as he grew ever more restless, but it didn’t seem to help. He was burning up with fever and she had to sponge him almost constantly. When they tried to give him another dose after changing his poultice, he wouldn’t take it. He became steadily more uneasy, flinging himself about the bed. His fever continued to mount until his lips cracked and his breath came in dry rasps.

  By five o’clock Kate could stand it no longer. She banged on the wall until she woke Charles.

  “Send Mark for the doctor,” she told him when he stumbled in, sleepy and half-dressed. “We’ve got to try to give him some medicine one more time. He’s thrashing about so wildly he’ll either injure himself or break the wound open.” It took all their strength to hold Brett down long enough to pour the medicine down his throat. Even then, half of it ran down his chin or spilled over the bedclothes. It was the last of their supply and they would have to wait until morning to get more. Charles looked at the deathly pallor and the dryness of Brett’s skin, and feared that death had already set its imprint upon him.

  The drought only quieted Brett for a short time. He was fitful and fought Kate’s efforts to keep him sponged. She sent Charles to the spring for cold water, but even that didn’t seem to have any effect on his fever. And now he was also beginning to have difficulty breathing.

  The doctor arrived about six o’clock and removed the bandages. The wound had turned ugly, but it was still draining. “I’m going to probe,” he said tensely. “There must be a pocket of infection I can’t see. If something doesn’t break soon, we’re going to lose him.” He opened his bag and began to lay out his instruments. “I must have boiling water, two extra lamps, and someone to hold him down. I’m going to probe deep, and he may react violently.”

  Valentine, awakened by all the noise and movement, volunteered to bring the hot water, and Kate and Charles brought the lamps from their rooms. While the doctor positioned these to throw as much light as possible on the swollen flesh around the wound, Kate readied strips of lint for bandages. The doctor positioned Charles and Mark on either side of Brett’s chest to keep him as still as possible.

  Gently at first, he probed near the opening and then gradually moved farther into the wound. Brett lost color and twice jerked convulsively. Valentine returned with the water just as the doctor probed deeper with a firm thrust. Brett suddenly gave a convulsive leap that nearly hurtled Charles across the room; blood and puss spurted from the deep-seated infection and ran down his chest to foul his bedclothes.

  “That’s what I’d hoped to find,” the doctor said, extracting a small piece of bone from the escaping poisons and holding it up to the light. “He’ll be very sick for the next few days, but I don’t think we have to worry about gangrene any longer.”

  He began the work of cleansing the wound. “You will have to continue the poultices for a while, but if no new infection sets in, you can probably stop them in a couple of days. What’s most important now is to keep him quiet and the wound clean. His strength is completely gone.”

  “I blame myself for not opening the wound last evening. I should have realized the chance of a massive infection was too great to be ignored. I was misled by the wound’s being open and draining.” The old man looked tired and defeated. “It’s a good thing I don’t practice anymore. That kind of carelessness is unforgivable.” He began to clean and pack his instruments.

  No one spoke. Valentine remained motionless by the door, but Charles began to restore the bed to order and make Brett more comfortable. Already he was quieter. The doctor placed the last of his instruments carefully in the bag and closed it up. “I’ll call again after lunch. Keep him cool and quiet. I’d like one of your boys to help me home, Valentine.” She took his arm and helped him out to his carriage.

  Charles finished straightening the room then looked at Kate. She was as white as a sheet and leaning against the wall for support.

  “We’re through the woods, Miss Vareyan. He’s going to get well for sure now.” He looked as though he wanted to say more but instead turned and left the room closing the door softly behind him.

  The enormity of what had nearly happened left Kate feeling numb. Suddenly unable to stand unsupported, she staggered to her chair. Blindly she groped for Brett’s hand and kissed his fingers fiercely again and again. Dry sobs threatened to choke her. Her eyes were blinded with tears and her heart was gripped by the horror of losing someone who had inexplicably become very necessary to her.

  Over the next three days, Brett’s fever gradually abated, his color grew stronger, and his breathing became less labored. The poultices were discontinued and the quantity of sheets consumed by the daily ritual of bandage-making was reduced to a number Valentine could contemplate without horror. Even though Brett had not yet regained consciousness, he had progressed so well that Dr. Burton thought it unnecessary for anyone to sit up with him all night, and a trestle bed was set up in his room so Charles could sleep close by.

  On the fourth day the sun shone brightly, so following lunch, Kate put on her heavy cloak, tied an old bonnet under her chin, thrust her fingers into thin mittens, and went out for a walk. The wind was still cold, but after so many days in the sickroom, it felt good to be outside. She found a sunny corner in the garden next to some dead columbine vines and slowly walked back and forth.

  Her thoughts were running more and more on what to do when Brett no longer needed her. She still had not been able to make up her mind when or by which means she should go to London. For some reason, she didn’t want to leave him to the sole care of Charles and Valentine. It wasn’t that Charles was a servant and Valentine an innkeeper. What was she but a stranger forced upon him by a card game? No, there was some more subtle reason …

  For seven days she had sat next to him, stared at him, watched over him; there was no part of his face she didn’t know as well as her own. Illness had removed the harshness from his countenance, and it had become warm and endearing. Even though his face was covered with a week’s growth of beard, he had found a way into her heart in his need that he never could have found while well and riding roughshod over everyone around him. A mirthless laugh escaped her. Need! He wouldn’t need her or anybody else in a few weeks, and she was fooling herself if she thought he had any use for her other than the satisfaction of his boundless physical needs.

  Kate knew she wasn’t looking for a relationship based solely on physical gratification. She wanted a tenderness and thoughtfulness that Brett had never shown. True, he had exhibited some occasional concern, but it was perfunctory, something he did out of politeness. He had been reared a gentleman and knew how to treat a female of his class, but his concern was one of manner, not of the heart.

  It has
n’t been perfunctory all the time, some inner voice objected. Kate heard, wished it were true, but feared it would be wishful thinking to read more into his actions.

  She admitted she was inexperienced with men, but surely a woman could tell when a man was interested in her in more than the ordinary way, and if this was the way Brett treated other women, she was surprised his face hadn’t been scratched to ribbons before now.

  Kate sighed heavily. From a heartless father to a heartless brother to a heartless seducer! Why couldn’t men see it was better to be loved by choice rather than by force? She wanted someone who would take the time to find the way to her heart, someone who would think of her first, want to please her, seek ways to give her pleasure.

  Somewhere that man existed. In her heart she could feel he did. As in her daydreams, she felt he was near, only just beyond her reach and out of her sight. She reached out, almost able to touch him, knowing somehow he had finally come within her grasp.

  Then suddenly she knew, knew with a certainty that sent her hopes plummeting to the earth. She loved Brett, and she loved him with an intensity that brooked no denial; she had loved him from the moment he sank to the deck of that yacht, felled by Martin’s bullet. I might as well die right now, she thought, and sank to one of the benches placed about the garden to be used when the breezes were soft and the night air inviting. It was thus that Valentine saw her.

  Even though she had lived by the world’s remorseless code all her life, beneath her tough exterior and foolish facade, Valentine was a hopeless romantic. Yet she was a shrewd judge of people, and she had known almost as soon as she set eyes on Kate that she was in love with Brett. She had also guessed within minutes that Kate was no ordinary girl of easy virtue, that there was something more to this young woman than one saw in the little tarts of face and figure she had dealt with. By the end of the first day she knew Kate was not only hopelessly in love with Brett, but that she was as innocent and trusting as she was beautiful.

  Valentine looked at Kate’s slumped shoulders and hanging head and knew her moment of realization had come at last. She walked across the dry grass of the small lawn. The girl must have heard her coming, for she looked up, her face tearless, her expression bleak, and her eyes filled with a pain more intense than anything Valentine had ever experienced. So great was the weight of grief she saw in Kate’s face that Valentine’s own romantic heart overflowed. Abruptly she sat down, threw her arms about Kate, and burst out crying as though the tragedy were her own.

  If Kate was surprised at the older woman’s actions, she showed no sign of it. She returned the embrace but remained rather stiff, and though her eyes swam with unshed tears, she did not cry. Valentine soon stopped sobbing and raised her brimming eyes to Kate’s drawn face.

  “To love but one man till the day you die is your fate,” she said compassionately. “It will not be easy. From the depths of my heart I wish you happiness. There can be no greater joy, nor any greater sorrow.” She enfolded Kate in another long embrace, but this time there were no tears, only an unspoken sharing.

  “It is time to go in, ma petite. The wind grows cold, and we can not have you sick, too.” She stood up and briskly shook out her crumpled skirts. “He would suffer greatly if you could not care for him. Neither Charles nor I have your touch.” She linked their arms; unconsciously, she had admitted Kate into the chosen few permitted to see the real Valentine preserved behind the hard layer of her lacquered exterior.

  Kate returned to Brett’s room after dinner, still prey to the afternoon’s dejection. Even though her eyes kept glancing in his direction to make sure he didn’t need her, her mind still struggled to cope with the unwelcome knowledge she loved a man who cared nothing for her. She stared at the candle, idly wondering if the pain of a hand thrust into its flame would blot out the pain in her heart. Was there any way to ease the suffering, the overwhelming sense of loss?

  The candle’s flame seemed to hypnotize her and she did not see Brett’s eyelids flicker and then open. The first thing he saw was her profile as she stared into the space before her, lost in her own thoughts.

  At first she was only a hazy form to the left of a small point of light. With great concentration he slowly turned his head and forced his mind and eyes to focus on the mysterious being. As her shape became more clear, he wondered who she might be and why she was there, but when he did see her face he didn’t know who she was. He closed his eyes and opened them again. She was still there, but her eyes were looking into his now, and a smile spread over her face wiping away the pain.

  Brett searched his mind. Who was this magnificent creature and why was she here? Why was he lying in this bed unable to move? Something must have happened, but what? What had he been doing? Where was he going? Unable to come up with any answers, his brow furrowed in frustration. Then the vision spoke.

  “You must not frown so,” she said, a soft hand smoothing the wrinkles from his brow. “There’s no need to worry. All you have to do is get plenty of rest and concentrate on getting well again.” The hand went away and returned with something cool and refreshing. Brett closed his eyes. He was weary from the effort of trying to remember, and he floated back into his world of darkness. Later he would try to figure out what had happened to him. For the moment, his mind was too weak to bear the weight of his thoughts.

  Brett woke early the following morning. He felt much refreshed and his memory was restored. The same face he’d seen the night before was still at his side. “Do you ever rest?” he inquired, smiling at Kate in a way that made her heart throb in agony.

  “Yes, often,” she answered quietly, striving to keep the emotions churning within her breast from sounding in her voice. “I share the duties with Charles and Valentine.” She smiled tightly. “To be sure Valentine finds it difficult to remain still for very long, but she tries to help.”

  “Do you mean Valentine of the Chère Madame? Is that where you’ve brought me?” Kate nodded and was pleased to see him smile. “I haven’t seen that sinful old witch in ages.” He tried to turn so he could face Kate where she sat, but his chest, arm, and shoulder were so heavily bandaged he couldn’t move without sluing his whole body around. “I forgot. I was shot, wasn’t I?”

  “Yes,” she answered, a feeling of guilt causing her to hang her head. “Martin shot you in the chest, but the bullet didn’t hit anything vital. You’re going to be well soon.” She looked into his eyes and struggled to keep her composure. They were like deep pools, drawing her to them, entreating her to become lost in their depths, forswearing the world and its trammels. How could a face so dear be so far out of reach?

  “And Martin?”

  She tore her eyes away from those hypnotizing orbs. “You shot him.” She swallowed hard. “He fell overboard and we never saw him again.”

  “Damnation!” he swore. “You might as well tell me the whole story. I’ve got to hear it from somebody.” He tried to move again, forgetting his wound, and grimaced in pain. “But then maybe there’s no hurry. It looks like I’m going to be here for a while.” He appeared to be in deep thought. “How long have I been here? I seem to remember waking a couple of times before.”

  “You were shot a week ago. We’ve been here for six days.” She could understand his feeling of surprise, but the foulness of his curses brought a flush to her cheeks. Worn down by lack of sleep, continual worry, and a feeling of guilt, her temper rose quickly, and before she could stop to think, she blurted out, “I’m sorry you’ve been inconvenienced, but I couldn’t arrange for you to get well any faster. If I’d known it was so important, I could have spoken to Martin and he might have shot you sooner. Maybe you should hand around a schedule of your engagements next time.”

  He blinked at her, bewildered by her sudden outburst, and immediately Kate was sorry. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she jumped up from her chair and stumbled over to the window, her finger between her teeth and wishing it had been her tongue before she spoke. Would she never learn to control her temper
? Would she always speak in anger before she thought about the consequences?

  “I’m sorry,” she stammered. “That was rude and I don’t know why I said it. I guess I’m a little tired.”

  Brett looked at her as closely as he could from his position. “Maybe you ought to take some of my medicine and he down for a while,” he suggested. He didn’t understand what was bothering her, but he was feeling too awful to be able to cope with her problems now.

  “I don’t feel tired, I don’t want to lie down, and I certainly don’t need any medicine to keep me calm,” Kate replied promptly, turning around to face him. “You shouldn’t have started cursing me. I’ve spent six days and nights in that chair laboring over those vile poultices, pouring medicine down your throat, and worrying myself sick wondering whether you’d get well or if your death would be on my conscience for the rest of my life. Then the first thing you do when you wake up is curse me.” She turned her back on him again and busied herself straightening up the table next to her chair.

  “I wasn’t cursing you,” he said in a tired voice, “rather the dilemma I find myself in because of this illness. I didn’t mean to say anything to upset you, particularly not after you’ve worked so hard to save my life.”

  Kate sniffed, slightly mollified, but she didn’t seem ready to forgive him.

  Brett shook his head; she was going to be difficult, and he was too weak to think about it right now. He’d talk to Valentine later and see if she could explain this girl to him. There wasn’t much about young girls Valentine didn’t know.

  For now, however, just looking at her was arousing his senses and he was in no condition to endure the frustration of teased and unfulfilled excitement. Even now he could feel his body tensing. He closed his eyes and forced himself to think about his wound. “I think I’ll take a short nap. Wake me when it’s time to eat.”