Rogues, Rakes & Jewels

by Claudy Conn

  A sound from the bed made her look around, and she discovered her patient had tossed off his covers. She hurriedly soaked some cloth and began pressing it to his head, bringing up the blanket to cover his exposed chest.

  For the next two hours he tossed, fretted, and called for ‘Kit.’ It was all she could do to keep him from tearing off the bandages. At last Tabson came in.

  “I’ve put your bag in the room you took last night, m’lady—thought ye might be needing it.”

  “Oh, Tab, thank you—I do. But would you stay here with him awhile? He is burning up, and I want to go to the kitchen and prepare a tisane to ease the fever.”

  “Yes, m’lady.”

  She went downstairs and cautiously made her way to the kitchen. Once there she found a pleasant, round-faced woman scurrying about with pots and pans and giving orders to her sons.

  “Excuse me?” Myriah called attention to herself.

  The woman was startled into a gasp, but then simply nodded a silent greeting and waited, obviously uncertain what to make of the young woman before her.

  “I am so sorry to interrupt your work. I am Miss …” Myriah hesitated to give away her identity and came up with, “Miss White. I … I was on my way to my family in Dover when we lost our way. I remembered that my cousin’s home was nearby, and so we stopped here for a night’s shelter.

  “Apparently Cousin William”—she hurriedly adopted him—“has a fever, and so my groom and I will remain until he is feeling more the thing. I do hope you will not be put out too unduly by our sudden descent upon you.”

  Cook appeared to like Myriah’s manners, for she smiled readily and replied she was happy her master had someone to look after him.

  Myriah then asked to be given the herbs she needed for the tisane. It didn’t take long to stir and prepare the brew, and soon Myriah was back in Wimborne’s bedchamber.

  Tabby held him up while Myriah attempted to get the potion into him. This accomplished, Tab was dismissed, and Myriah continued applying a cloth soaked in rosewater to his head. He continued to toss for a few moments, rambling incoherent words, and then he drifted off.

  A light lunch was sent up to Myriah, and Fletcher attempted to relieve her, but she would have none of it. For some odd reason she felt she had to care for her ‘new charge’.

  At length his sleep seemed more relaxed, and then suddenly she saw him open his eyes. She was beside him instantly. He scanned her face and smiled feebly as his memory returned, and then his lids closed and he seemed to sleep again.

  For an hour Myriah watched the changes of expressions flit over his face while he slept. She was fairly certain he was out of the woods and that the fever had broken when all at once he began to start tossing again and fretfully calling for Kit.

  Who the devil was Kit, she wondered as she soothed his agitation. His forehead was on fire, and Myriah had a sudden urge to cry. He couldn’t die, she couldn’t let him die, but he had lost so much blood! Again she wiped away the sweat from his face, neck, and chest. She cooled his forehead with rosewater, and she prayed.

  When he seemed to relax and began sleeping peacefully, Myriah wrung her hands, hoping this was a good sign as she sank down on her chair. Weary with physical discomfort and mental stress, she closed her eyes, laid her head back, and tried to compose her faculties.

  “I may be in Hell, but I have changed my mind—you are an angel!” Wimborne croaked out, startling her forward.

  “Mr. Wimborne!” Myriah exclaimed, going to take his hand. “Oh, oh, you do look better—not well, but ever so much better.”

  “Thanks to you.” He grinned boyishly at her.

  She smiled and squeezed his hand. “Oh, no. Thanks to your good man, Fletcher. He has a wondrous skill with a knife. But you lie still now … I shall be back in a moment. What you need now is some gruel.”

  “No,” said the man, horrified.

  “Well, not perhaps right away. First I will bring you some tea and toast,” she said, taking pity and hurrying out of the room.

  Some time later, having plied her patient with buttered toast and tea, Myriah watched him fall off to sleep, feeling extraordinarily pleased with herself. She had herself only dozed for a few minutes when a knocking at the open door roused her and she found Fletcher in its frame ready to relieve her.

  She smiled and dragged herself to her bedchamber, threw off her clothes, and sank naked beneath the satin coverlets, where she fell quickly off to sleep.

  Dreams plagued her peace. They were muddled, lost in time, sending images to taunt and harass her. Sir Roland was there; he grabbed her and held her, and all she wanted to do was run …

  *

  Kit Wimborne, sixth Viscount of Wimborne Towers, had arrived at his home well after dinner to find it shrouded in darkness. He unsaddled his horse himself in the courtyard rather than wake his elderly groom and set the horse into the pasture. He was tired from the day’s work and thinking about the future.

  He shrugged off his greatcoat and hung it on the wall rack just inside the kitchen entrance before he poured himself a shot of whisky and downed it.

  Lantern in hand, he moved upstairs to his bedchamber. He was surprised that the drapes in his room had been pulled tight but was too tired to contemplate the mystery. He set the lit lantern on a side table and shrugged out of his clothes. He then picked up the lantern and made his way to his bed, setting the lantern on the nightstand. However, there he stopped short.

  Someone with long, flaming ringlets of hair was lying face down, covered only to her waist—in his bed!

  His first thought made him grin. His puppy of a brother had no doubt brought her home with him, but why would the rascal send her off to his bedchamber?

  Drape mystery solved, and another one to contemplate … in a bit, but first …?

  He sat beside the woman just as she rolled over. He got a full view of her face and a slight view of her full and luscious breasts.

  Damn! He gently and deftly pulled away the thick, fiery tresses from their owner’s face and shoulders to have a better look at her face.

  The object of these ministrations sighed contentedly as he sucked in air and felt a moment’s enchantment. She was ravishing, and he released a soft whistle.

  He pulled a rueful grin as he thought his brother had certainly won himself a worthy piece of muslin—worthy a full grown and experienced man … such as himself.

  His decision to have a better and more detailed look at the creature lying unsuspectingly in his bed was a natural occurrence, given the circumstances, believing as he did that she had been paid for her night’s services.

  Again, his hands worked dexterously as he removed the quilted covering from the beauty’s tantalizing form. His eyes wandered slowly and appreciatively over her lush curves and her tantalizing nipples. Then she moaned and turned once more onto her stomach and gave him a view of her exquisite back.

  She shivered suddenly, and his lordship sought to remove her discomfort by covering her—with his own naked body. He put his arm across her and leaned over her lithe form, a sudden spark reviving his blood and chasing away all thought of sleep.

  “Now what to do with you, sweet,” he murmured. Grinning, he thought, One shouldn’t infringe on one’s brother’s property—but really, Billy, why the devil did you put her in my bed? This question repeated itself, and still grinning, his lordship decided the only thing to do in such a situation was to wake her—his way!

  His fingers moved sensuously as they stroked her soft, bare arms. He shifted position so he was stretched right up against her silky, naked body, and his hard dick began to dance and play …

  He nibbled at her delicate ears and placed a warm kiss on her throat. She groaned pleasurably. The sound stimulated him, and one masculine calf straddled her outstretched legs as he leaned over her and took her mouth with his.

  *

  Myriah felt the sweet pressure, and her dream took on a new force, one that sent a fire bolt racing through her veins. Her
arms went around the virile, muscular body, the source of her dream’s acute burning. Dreaming … she had to be dreaming—how else would she be holding a rock-hard, muscular body in her arms?

  All at once Myriah was awake. Unable to speak in spite of the fact that her lips were now quite free, she lay staring in utter disbelief at the stranger she was still holding in her arms. She lay for a moment in quiet astonishment, trying to collect her thoughts as she stared at the stranger’s face.

  He was smiling provocatively, and she noted the ruggedness of his features. Somehow, they seemed familiar. But he was a stranger nonetheless—and he was in her bed, taking advantage of her.

  This notion was followed by the next, that being it was no doubt time to drop her arms and pull out of range, which she did speedily, wondering all the while how the deuce this situation had come to pass.

  Her blue-green eyes glittered angrily as she sought words; a scream seeded itself in her throat and surely would have been emitted had not the stranger had the foresight to put his powerful hand over her parting lips.

  This quite naturally did little to inspire trust, and yet his friendly grin seemed to suggest he meant no harm. “Hush there, sweetings … I don’t mean to take any more than you are willing to give,” said the handsome man above her.

  Outrage surged through Myriah, and she managed to work the skin between his thumb and forefinger into her dainty mouth, whereupon she latched her teeth onto her target and bit down hard. This produced the required result: he jumped away. With an oath, he was out of the bed and standing in all his glory—and that glory was still at full mast.

  Myriah could not help but stare. It was the first time she had ever actually seen a man’s cock. She and her friends had often discussed and giggled about sex and the naked stone statues they had secretly glanced at, but this … this, she found momentarily diverting.

  His lordship was not diverted or self-conscious about his state of undress. As he sucked his wounded finger, he stared hard at her, noting that she seemed transfixed on his privates.

  The gasp that had been stuck in her throat finally escaped. The words of outrage got mingled with fear, and she jumped up to a sitting position. Pulling the covers around herself, she pointed towards the door as she blubbered, “How dare you! Get out of my room!”

  His voice was low, husky, and full with a sensually lined amusement. “Well, little bird, for one thing … this is my room. And for another, although I should be throwing you out, I think I’ll keep you in spite of your offense to my person.”

  “Keep me? Keep me!” Myriah couldn’t understand what was happening and who this could possibly be.

  “Aye then, my brother no doubt brought you home with him, but since he has set you up in my bed, I suppose he means to share.”

  “Your brother … share …?” Myriah put up her chin. “For your information, I brought your brother home, and he was in a very bad way—wounded, in fact—and my groom, your Fletcher, and I have been tending to him!”

  All at once, the muscular and tall gentleman frowned darkly. He crossed the room and retrieved a long black brocade dressing gown, threw it on, and demanded of her, “Now … explain yourself!”

  “Explain myself?”

  “My brother, you say …” he returned impatiently.

  Myriah could not help but note the size and breadth of the man and the fact that he was extraordinarily gorgeous, with his dark blonde hair and glittering gray eyes.

  “Yes, we found him by the side of the road. He had been shot … we brought him here …”

  He was out of the room like a charging bull, taking long, hard strides. Myriah shot out of bed and dug in her portmanteau for the sky-blue velvet robe she had packed. She quickly slid into it and tied it at her small waist before barefoot she padded after him.

  *

  Lord Wimborne stood for a moment over his brother’s still form. William looked absurdly youthful, dangerously pale, and helpless. His lordship decided not to wake him but instead brushed a stray lock of hair from his brother’s forehead. Billy’s eyes flashed open.

  “Kit!” whispered young Wimborne as though he were viewing a god.

  “Young fool—they tell me you caught a bullet,” Lord Wimborne said gravely.

  “Devil is in it that I did—but there was nothing for it, Kit … had to go out … for I got word …”

  “Never mind that now. We’ll talk about it later. I would like to know something about the chit in my bed … if you feel up to talking.”

  “Ah, you’ve seen the she-devil, have you?”

  Lord Wimborne laughed. “I have.”

  *

  “She-devil?” Myriah almost snorted as she came to stand beside Billy’s bed and touch his forehead. “Now that is a fine introduction to your brother.”

  “She makes me eat gruel,” Billy Wimborne explained to his older brother.

  “For your own good.” Myriah smiled sweetly. “And besides, I put a touch of honey in it, didn’t I?”

  “Still not palatable, and I tell you what, I want eggs and ham tomorrow morning.”

  “Eggs and ham.” Myriah shook her head and touched his arm. “Well, we shall see … I will leave you to your brother.”

  Billy reached out and grabbed her hand. “No need for you to leave.”

  “And still, I think, you need some moments with your brother.” She turned to his lordship and eyed him darkly as though silently berating him for their earlier encounter. “Do not tire him.”

  *

  His lordship watched the young woman’s retreating form. She was an exquisite beauty, and her fiery hair against the blue velvet caught and riveted the imagination.

  “Now tell me … who the devil is she?”

  Billy suddenly realized he had not yet asked Myriah her name. He had been teasing her all day, and they had bantered back and forth, but all he knew was that her groom, Tabby, called her Miss Myriah. He told his brother this with a heavy sigh, beginning to feel fatigued once more.

  “And that is it? You didn’t ask her where she was from, or what she was doing on the Pike Road at that hour, or what her family name is and how she can stay on here without sending word to someone?”

  “No … very ill mannered of me, I know … but … wasn’t feeling quite the thing …”

  Kit realized at once that he had over-taxed his young brother. He touched Billy’s arm, saying, “There … go to sleep. We will get this all sorted out in the morning.”

  “Aye, but Kit … Fletcher gave her your room.” Billy grinned mischievously.

  “I have already discovered that fact!”

  Dawning lit in Billy’s gray eyes so much like his brother’s. “Oh! So that is it!” He laughed, coughed, and laughed some more.

  “Good night, scamp,” Kit threw over his shoulder as he made his way to his bedroom.

  He encountered the lady in question in the long hallway. She had her bag and had made her way down the hall to open a door and sniff. She turned to him and said stiffly, “It smells dusty, but I’ll deal with that in the morning.” A nod of her head and she was in the room, closing the door, which he then heard bolted.

  An involuntary smile crept over his face.

  *

  “You look different, you do,” Billy offered as Myriah tried feeding him some gruel, only to have it pushed away.

  “I look different because, my odious friend, I have changed my clothing and brushed my hair.”

  “Well, it’s about time,” said her patient.

  Her blue-green eyes glared. “Oooh, but I think you deserve this gruel!” She made another attempt to put the spoon of the warm meal to his lips.

  “Damnation, girl!” the young man said with as much authority as he could muster under the circumstances. “’Tis food I need—not gruel.”

  “And food is what you shall get once you have shown me you can hold the gruel down.”

  “I am in Hell, and you are a she-devil!”

  “Really, Mr. Wimborne, earlier
this morning you declared me an angel!”

  “I was delirious, for you ain’t an angel but a wicked she-devil bent on having her own way. Knew it the moment I laid eyes on your flaming hair!” retorted Mr. Wimborne.

  “Aha! Not only are you an adventurer, you are an ingrate as well!” Myriah teased, pleased to see him in such spirits.

  He smiled feebly, but fatigue prevented him from further repartee, and he settled back against his pillows.

  Myriah observed this and refrained from teasing him. Instead, she said softly, “Come then … have a spoonful.”

  He groaned but did in fact allow himself to be fed, making an awful face as he swallowed the food.

  Tabson appeared with a tray and set it on a nearby table before eyeing his mistress.

  “Thank you, Tabby.” She knew what he wanted—he wanted to leave and hurry to her grandfather’s and avoid any further trouble. He had already lectured her earlier that morning. She, however, had other ideas.

  She tried to ply her patient with another spoon, but he waved a hand at her. “Go away!”

  She put the bowl down on the nightstand and propped up his pillows. He eyed her suspiciously. “What are you doing now?”

  “Making you more comfortable so you will finish your gruel.”

  “No,” said her patient.

  “No?” She eyed him warningly. She brought another spoon to his mouth and was surprised when he took it without a fight. “That’s it, Mr. Wimborne … that’s the ticket.”

  “Billy to you … after all, you cannot be shoving that slovenly mush into m’mouth and calling me, Mr. Wimborne!” He smiled broadly. “’Tis ridiculous, and I’ll not call you anything but she-devil.”

  She wedged another spoonful into the poor man’s mouth and grinned. “My name, sir, is Myriah—Myriah White.” She felt a twinge of guilt; she didn’t want to fib to him, but she had to keep up the pretense.

  “Myriah, you know, suits you. You look like a Myriah.”

  She smiled, thinking he was giving her a compliment, and then he threw in, “’Tis but another name for she-devil after all!”

  She laughed and shoved another spoonful into his open mouth. However, that was the last he would take, and he pointed to her tray of food. “What do you have?”