Hermoine struggled to her feet. She kicked Horace soundly and skittered out of his reach. “She will be no nuisance at all,” she said. “I’ve learned that the viscount is on his way home.”
“Learned?” The countess sat up straight. “From whom? Who is your informant?”
“That is my affair. I have made a useful friend. We will leave it at that. But Rossmara will soon have no excuse to put off our alliance, and if he doesn’t come to heel very quickly, I know exactly how to force his hand.”
Chapter Thirteen
There were times when common sense and necessity must replace other considerations. This was one of those times. Kirsty had lighted a lamp in Max’s bedchamber. She pointed to the bed.
He followed the direction of her forefinger. “What?”
“Lie down,” she said shortly. “Take off your shirt first, if ye please.”
“I don’t need a nurse.”
“Ye’re a bad-tempered man, and ye drink too much liquor.”
“Blast you, woman, leave me be, will . . .” He gritted his teeth, turned his face from her.
Her legs trembled, but she would not allow him to bully her. “A black mood ye’re in,” she said quietly. “Ye’re no yoursel’, Max, and I’m sad for it.”
“Kindly remember who is the master here.”
“Take off your shirt and lie down, Master. If ye’d been more in command o’ yoursel’, ye’d probably no’ have a scratch on your shoulder.”
“A scratch! I’ve a painful wound, and you call it a scratch!” He grumbled on but removed his shirt anyway, and sat on the edge of the monstrously large and ugly thing he chose to sleep in. “You’ll find water over there.”
“Ye’re pale,” she said, putting a hand to his clammy brow. “Lie down, if ye please, Master.”
“Oh, all right, all right. I’m sorry I was overbearing. I’d prefer you not to call me master, if you don’t mind.”
“Verra well, sir.”
He stretched out. “In fact, I see no reason why you can’t use my first name as you used to.”
“Ye know I canna do any such thing. Now be silent. Ye need your strength, and talkin’ will only sap it.”
Kirsty adjusted a pillow beneath his head, then examined a long wound on his shoulder. She pressed the flesh on either side.
“Ouch!” He arched his back. “Have a care.”
She planted a hand in the middle of his chest and pushed him flat again. “Hmm. Ye’ve a lovely body, sir. Ye were a bit o’ a puny laddie, but ye’re no’ puny now.”
“Dammit all, miss. Do you intend to stand there examining what you’ve no right to examine, or to clean a man’s serious wound?”
She glanced from his wide, well-muscled shoulders to his strong chest with its mat of dark hair. The hair continued in a slender line past his navel and beneath his trousers. A shiver of delicious curiosity warmed a number of places in Kirsty.
“Well?” he asked. “No doubt you’re about to give some other opinion about my person.”
Smiling at him, she gave all of her attention to his face. “Ye’re verra bonnie, sir. Just lookin’ at ye makes me want to cry. Not from bein’ sad, but just from the pleasure ye gi’ me. Some o’ the paintings in this castle have brought tears t’my eyes. But the pictures have given me nothin’ compared t’the sight o’ ye.” Whirling away, she picked up his discarded and ruined shirt and ripped out the sleeve that was already torn.
“Kirsty,” he said softly behind her.
“Hush. I’ll have ye tended to soon enough.”
“You are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever known. I love your face. And your body. But I love that unruly tongue of yours the most. You’re overly direct, but you are the sweetest girl.”
She glowed, but she’d not let him see how his flattery could please her. The mischief her mother had accused her of housing came tumbling out. Max had brought his decanter of brandy from his study. Precious little remained, but it would be enough. Quickly, she soaked the fine cotton sleeve and turned to press it to Max’s wound.
He howled.
“Och, hush yoursel’,” she admonished. “I’ve told ye to save your strength.”
“Hard-hearted little wench.” He grappled to tear away the cloth. “What did you use?”
“If ye’d your wits about ye, that’s a question ye’d no’ have t’ask. Brandy. A powerful good thing to clean a wound.”
“It burns,” he snapped. “I told you there was water.”
Kirsty took her opportunity to slap the cloth over the cut again. “Water’s no’ as good as this. Now behave yoursel’.”
He fell back, hissing through his teeth. “Cruel, cruel,” he said.
“If it burns your flesh so, think o’ what it does t’your insides.”
“Don’t—lecture—me.”
“It’s nothing,” she said.
“It’s damnably painful, you heartless hussy.”
“No, I’m no’ speakin’ o’ the sting. I mean the wound’s nothing. Just a wee, shallow thing that’ll cause ye no trouble now it’s clean.” She noted blood on his neck. “Turn on your face, if ye please.”
Max squinted at her. “It’s a deep wound. And turning on my face won’t please me. God knows what manner of torture you’ve got up your sleeve.”
She raised her arms, letting her sleeves fall back. “I’m hidin’ nothin.”
He looked at her, at the parts of her that no gentleman should openly peruse, and said, “How right you are. You’re hiding nothing.”
Blushing was a waste of energy, but she blushed anyway and attempted to gather her robe more firmly about her. “I’d be grateful if ye’d turn over so I can look at your neck, sir. It’s got blood on it, too.”
He clamped the brandy-soaked sleeve to his shoulder, winced dramatically, and rolled to his stomach. “Water this time,” he mumbled into the pillow.
Kirsty brushed his hair aside and looked closely at his neck. A mass of small punctures was responsible for the bleeding. “Ye’ve glass in ye. I’ll have to take it out. I’ll be as gentle as I can.”
He mumbled some more and she set about carefully extracting small pieces of glass and dropping them on a chest beside the bed. Her back began to ache and she straightened. “A minute, if ye please. It’s awkward.”
Max’s back was long, wide at the shoulder, the muscles thick and well used, and tapering to his slim waist. Just above his trousers there was another patch of hair, just a sprinkling, a fine patch, but Kirsty’s limbs felt funny from looking at him there. Below the waist he was very finely made indeed, all firm flesh and long, strong limbs. His trousers, she decided, were blessed.
“What are you doing?” he said.
“Lookin’ at ye.” She clapped a hand over her mouth.
He groaned and pressed his head into the pillow again. “And what are you thinking now?”
She shouldn’t answer him. “I’m thinking that it’s a shame ye ever wear a coat. Ye should never cover up any o’ ye.”
He laughed.
Kirsty picked up the almost empty decanter and drizzled the last of its contents over the punctures in Max’s neck.
For her efforts, he roared, and leaped to kneel on the mattress. “What d’you think you’re doing?” His lips drew back from his teeth. “Trying to shock me to death?”
“I’m done now, sir,” she told him. “Ye’ll no’ be the worse for what that wicked creature did. Now we’ve to get the constable from the village and have him track the villain down.”
“McCrackit?” Max’s pained expression dissolved into one of amazement. “You think I’m going to ask that fuddle brain to come and poke around here? Oh, no, Miss Mercer, I’ll be doing my own hunting, thank you. I’ll deal with this alone and in my own way, and the villain, as you call him, will get swift punishment.”
“But the constable—”
“There will be no constable called in. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes,” she said meekly, remembering o
nce more that she was scarcely covered at all. “If ye’ll excuse me now, sir, I’d best return to my rooms. I would ask ye to lock your door, though. I’ll sleep better that way.”
His hand shot out so quickly she had no time to avoid it. “You’ll sleep better knowing my door is locked?” He pulled her closer, grinning like a fisherman reeling in a succulent catch. “If the door’s locked and we’re not on the same side of that door I might understand your feeling a certain type of safety. But I assure you I have no intention of allowing you to be alone and unprotected until I bring our intruder to justice. Why, Kirsty, you might not even make it safely back to your rooms.”
Unless she exerted herself, she would find herself sharing his big, ugly bed. “I may have little experience in some matters,” she told him, “but I’m not a silly thing. If ye’d be so kind, I’d appreciate ye walkin’ back to my rooms wi’ me, and makin’ sure it’s safe for me to lock mysel’ in.”
“You want a wounded man to leave his bed?”
She started for the door to the ransacked library.
“All right, all right,” he said. “I’ll come. Of course I will. And you’re correct, my wounds are blessedly minor. Thank you for attending to them for me.”
“It was my pleasure.”
“I’m sure it was. You certainly aren’t shy about taking advantage of opportunities to study a naked man.”
They picked their way over the library floor.
“Ye aren’t naked,” Kirsty said. “Ye’ve your trousers on. They’re verra nicely cut trousers, too.”
“Let’s get you to your rooms,” he said, laughter barely restrained in his voice. “Speaking of well-cut clothes. Mrs. Moggach wasn’t pleased to have to find a room for the modiste when she arrived and you were otherwise engaged, but it was accomplished. In the morning you’ll meet with her. No more argument on the subject. And no dull colors please. If you must, be conservative with your styles, but I cannot bear the sight of black on you. It’s all wrong on one so young and fair.”
They emerged into the corridor. Kirsty decided not to comment on the modiste. This had been an exhausting night. The morning would be soon enough to deal with that matter.
“How d’ye think that creature came here?” she asked, peering along the corridor toward the stairs. “I suppose he’d plenty o’ opportunity once he was in the castle. There’s few enough as come this way—bein’ as how there’s just ye and me livin’ here.” She wasn’t careful enough with her manner of explaining herself. Reminding him that they were alone together wasn’t a good idea.
Max settled an arm over her shoulders in far too familiar a manner. “You didn’t see anyone when you came upstairs?”
“No. Nor heard anyone, either.”
“I’d wager he was already in my rooms when you came upstairs—not a happy thought.”
Kirsty wasn’t overfond of it, either. “Was he waitin’ for ye? Or did he come t’ye afterward?”
“Waiting, I think. Now, let’s make sure there’s no ghoulie behind your door, or under your bed.”
Max put Kirsty behind him and went into her sitting room. She heard his oath and hurried to join him. “Well, I never!” She marched about the room, surveying disorder created in such a hurry that there had been no attempt to spare damage. “He left ye, and came straight here. A brave one, I’ll gi’ him that. What if I’d come back direct?”
“Evidently the gentleman didn’t expect you to return direct—if at all.”
Kirsty didn’t give Max the pleasure of a response to his suggestion. “Och, he’s broken the wee, painted table. What will your sister say? I knew I shouldna be usin’ her rooms.”
“They are not Ella’s rooms.”
The sharpness of his tone silenced Kirsty. She looked at his cold face and saw again the man they said was possessed of a great temper.
“These are your rooms now and will remain so. Kindly do not move.” While she remained beside the shattered remnants of the delicate table and surveyed the strewn contents of every cupboard and drawer in the room, Max made a thorough search of anyplace where a man might hide.
At last he returned to her. He shut and locked the door, stirred embers in the grate, and started a fresh fire.
“Thank ye,” she said, when flames sprang up the chimney. “D’ye not think it would be best t’call in McCrackit, now?”
“Absolutely not. Kindly don’t mention the man’s name again. I will take care of what has occurred here.”
“What is occurring,” she said, knowing she was bold, but also knowing that blustering achieved less than plain deduction.
“I’ll thank you not to correct me,” Max said, prowling about, apparently unconcerned by his inappropriate manner of dress—or undress. “Someone is searching for something.”
Kirsty choked down a laugh.
“What amuses you?” Max snapped.
“Um, well, I suppose I thought we might no’ have to say the obvious, as it were. What we need t’consider is what they’re searchin’ for.”
“Some of us are in the habit of thinking aloud occasionally,” he said. “The greatest puzzle is why someone looking for an item of mine—as they obviously are—should come here to your rooms.”
“Because they used to belong to Lady Avenall, d’ye think? Could there be a connection?”
Max gave her a long look. “Quite possibly.”
“We ought to see if there’s somethin’ missin’.”
“How would we know?”
“Ye’d know in your own rooms, would ye not?”
He nodded. “Probably. But I’d have no idea here.”
She started straightening furniture, piling up items pulled from drawers, fluffing cushions. “The Parcheesi board,” she said. “It was on that table wi’ the patterns in the wood.”
“Marquetry,” Max said automatically. “Are you sure?”
“Aye, I’m sure. Ye taught me t’play Parcheesi when we were bairns. It’s a beautiful board. Heavy. They’ve taken it and thrown down the pieces.” Shaped like ladies in ball gowns, the pieces were made of silver.
“Hardly worth stealing, I should think,” Max said. Kirsty had a horrid notion. “It won’t be supposed that I’d do such a thing, will it?”
“Steal a game board? You? Good heavens, no. Put that from your mind. I think it was taken to divert us. There are knickknacks all over these rooms that are of far more value.”
“Bravery can leave ye just when ye need it most,” Kirsty said. Her hands had begun to shake. “If ye don’t mind, I think I’d best lie down the while.”
He was at her side immediately. “You’re frightened?”
“I dinna say so. Only that I’m no’ as brave as I try t’be sometimes. That man wanted t’kill ye, Max. I heard ye call out and went t’ye. And I knew it then—that he intended t’leave ye dead, but I’d no’ the time t’panic.”
“So you aren’t angry with me anymore?”
“I was never angry wi’ ye.” Her head felt light. “Will ye excuse me, please?”
She went to the bedroom, extinguished the lamp Max had lighted, and climbed beneath the covers once more.
Max came slowly into the doorway and leaned there. “I can’t leave you, Kirsty. Not until I’m sure we’re secure here, and it’s too late to mount a full investigation tonight.”
“He’ll no’ come back so soon,” she said, too aware of the intimacy between them. “He’ll be off somewhere lickin’ his own wounds and recoverin’ his strength.”
“We can’t be sure of that. I’m going to make myself comfortable on the chaise in the sitting room. Don’t give me another thought—except to know I’m there and you’re safe.”
Safe? “I canna let ye do that. Please go t’your bed. Ye’ve had a shock and ye need your rest.”
“I’d never rest knowing you were here alone.”
“And I’ll no’ rest if I know ye’re on that chaise.” Och, but her mouth ran away with her. She coughed and added, “It wasna made for a big
man.”
Rather than leave, he shrugged upright and approached the bed until he stood over her, looking down.
She couldn’t see his face.
“Have you considered that I may need comfort, too?” he asked.
“That ye’re afraid, ye mean?”
He made a soft, whistling sound. “We all feel fear, of one kind or another. But that’s not what I meant. I meant that I need comfort.”
Kirsty closed her eyes. He was asking her again. Again he was suggesting she become something she could not countenance in good conscience. “I’d like to gi’ ye comfort. Deep in my heart ye’re still my friend, the one who walked beside me over those moors and hills, and found pleasure in small things. I love ye.” She swallowed and felt him waiting. “I love ye the way I always did, as a dear friend.” And she lied, but only because she must.
“Only as a dear friend?” he asked softly. “Remember that you have already told me otherwise. But very well, then. I’m glad of it. I will not leave you tonight, Kirsty.”
“I canna be what ye’ve asked me t’be. But I am flattered that ye’d want me.”
“Any man who looks at you must want you. It’s for me to apologize for making such a suggestion. I’ll be on the chaise.”
She reached out and caught his hand. “Ye’ve no shirt. Ye’ll be cold. I’ve more than enough covers. Take one o’ mine.”
“I’ll move the chaise by the fire.”
Kirsty turned onto her back. She didn’t release his hand, and his fingers tightened on hers. “D’ye know what a bundlin’ board is?”
He laughed, and she saw his teeth flash.
“Funny, is it? I thought mayhap ye could lie on top o’ the sheet, and mysel’ beneath it. Then, wi the rest o’ the covers, ye’d be warm and we’d both sleep well.”
Max laughed again.
“I’m wounded by ye,” she told him.
“Don’t be. You’re wonderful, and I accept.” He went around the bed, turned back the quilt and blankets, carefully smoothed the sheet that covered her, and stretched out on top of it. He pulled the covers over himself and rested on his back.
The Wish Club Page 16