He had looked magnificent.
His family had been there. They were not strangers to the Queen and she’d greeted them warmly. In a ceremony earlier in the day, Mercy had been formally presented to Her Majesty. But her honor was nothing compared with Stephen’s.
He’d traded his uniform for a black swallow-tailed coat, white shirt, silver waistcoat, and pristine white cravat. He moved about the ballroom with such grace, no evidence of a limp. All his physical injuries healed. She wished she could be as certain of his emotional wounds.
When the party ended, a little after midnight, they would return to their residence. It was not so far away. An hour at the most. She couldn’t wait to be absolutely and completely alone with him. She was even thinking that the carriage might suffice for a bed. Her love for him was so grand, her passion immeasurable. She wanted his hands on her and hers on him. She would tease him about the fact that she’d never taken a knight to her bed before.
Sir Stephen. Lady Lyons.
Her father was certain to be impressed. Since Christmas, she’d received a letter from him, inviting her to visit. She still felt some awkwardness around him, but in time, perhaps it would lessen until it no longer existed. She could hardly fathom how wonderful—
“Mercy?”
The familiar voice turned the blood pumping through her veins into ice. A chill went through her. She straightened her shoulders and her spine. If she’d learned nothing else from tending to soldiers, she’d learned defeat came after the battle and not before. Turning slowly, she smiled as brightly as possible. “Miss Whisenhunt.”
The black hair she’d refused to cut while they were in the east was captured into an elaborate style decorated with loops of pearls. Her blue gaze roamed over Mercy as though she was searching for something, and unfortunately, Mercy had a good idea of what it might be.
The woman smiled warmly. “Mercy, after all we’ve been through, surely there is no cause for such formality between us. But please, tell me. How is my son? How is John?”
Mercy felt as though she were standing in a foggy haze, the ballroom fading away until she was once again in Scutari, sharing a sparsely furnished room in the north tower with a dozen other nurses. Her bed had been next to Sarah’s.
One night Mercy heard her crying softly. Fearing Sarah had encountered ruffians as she had, she crept out of bed and knelt on the cold floor beside her bed. “Sarah, whatever’s wrong?”
“Oh, Mercy, I’ve been a naughty girl. I’m in trouble.”
“What sort of trouble?”
“The sort that … ruins reputations. Captain Lyons and I …”
Mercy felt the sharp pain that the man who had been so kind to her had chosen Sarah, had been intimate with her. “We should talk about this in the morning, somewhere private.”
Sarah nodded, and Mercy returned to her bed, where she wept her own silent tears. How silly she had been to think that she’d meant something special to the captain. He had saved her and comforted her simply because that was what soldiers did. They protected.
She’d thought something special existed between them, but it was simply her longings, her desires. He was in love with someone else.
But the following morning, as they walked near the waterfront, Sarah confessed, “I believe I shall go to Paris, have the babe, and leave it secretly at a foundling home.”
Mercy was appalled. “Surely Captain Lyons will marry you.”
“If he knew of my condition, possibly.”
“You can send word.”
“I do not wish to marry him.”
Mercy stared in stunned silence, trying to wrap her mind around this woman not wanting what Mercy desperately longed to have. Finally, she stammered, “Why ever not?”
“I have no desire to be a military wife. Coming here was a lark. And Stephen is the second son. He will inherit nothing. He is not a man of independent means, except for what the regiment gives to him, and that is pitiful. I would have to do without so much, and as I have learned since coming here, doing without does not suit me at all. No, I will not tell him of the babe. No one must ever know, Mercy. I wish to find a man who will provide for me as I wish to be provided for. Knowledge of my indiscretion would hamper my becoming well situated.”
“I’m sorry, Sarah. I don’t understand what you’re talking about. But to give his child away—”
“I do not wish to have children, ever. This was a mistake. If I did not fear that ridding myself of it now might bring me death, I would do so this minute.”
“I cannot believe—”
“No, you probably can’t. You no doubt believe in love.”
“Don’t you?”
“No, I believe in being well taken care of.” She squeezed Mercy’s hand. “I don’t suppose you’d consider coming with me, because quite honestly, I’m terrified.”
Mercy thought of Captain Lyons—how he had rescued her and comforted her. She thought of how wonderful it had felt to be held in his arms, to inhale his masculine scent, to feel the warmth of his body penetrating his clothes and hers. She thought of his child, given away to someone who might not have a care for it. “Yes, I’ll go with you.”
Two weeks after the child was born, she’d placed him in Mercy’s arms. “Do something with him. I care not what.” The next day she’d disappeared, and Mercy had not seen her since. She’d taken John as her own, making a silent promise to Captain Lyons that his son would never be unloved, would never come to harm.
In Westcliffe’s ballroom, she stared at the one person who had the power to shatter her promise.
Mercy opened her mouth to assure her that John was well and that he would remain so as long as Sarah remembered that she’d willingly given him up, when Stephen’s familiar hand landing on the small of her back stopped her.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, sweetheart. What say we … Sarah?”
Everything within Mercy—every hope, every dream, every desire—died. Stephen remembered nothing at all about her.
But apparently he did remember the woman who’d given birth to his son.
Mercy wanted to die right on the spot. The sight of Sarah had been enough to cause his memories to come flooding back. She despaired looking at him, at seeing the disgust and knowledge in his eyes. But when she did dare look, he was gazing on Sarah with fondness. It was as though a thousand swords were slashing into her heart, her soul.
“Sir Stephen,” Sarah said, a delicate pleat beginning to form between her brows as her gaze darted between Stephen and Mercy. “Congratulations on your knighthood. Your mother must be delighted to have three titled sons.”
“My mother is delighted about a good many things, Sarah.”
“Modesty does not become you, Sir Stephen. And please, you must call me by the pet name you gave me.” She looked at Mercy. “Fancy. It was a little joke between us, but I’ve begun to use it with some regularity. It suits better, don’t you think, Sir Stephen?”
“It does indeed. I see you’ve met my wife.”
All the blood drained from Sarah’s—Fancy’s—face, and her mouth opened slightly. “You’re married.”
“Not a word I ever expected to associate with myself, but yes. Mercy and I met in Scutari. She was one of Miss Nightingale’s nurses.”
“Yes, I know. That’s where she and I met.”
“In Scutari?” Stephen barely whispered. His fingers, still on Mercy’s waist, spasmed, and she saw the devastating combination of panic and despair in his eyes.
He didn’t remember Fancy! He had to have known her before. Of course. Fancy had mentioned his scandalous reputation, but Mercy had thought she spoke of gossip, not knowledge. The joy spiraling through her was unforgivable.
She could not leave him to flounder, to risk Fancy discovering the affliction that still embarrassed him.
“Stephen and I seldom talk of that time. Such harsh memories,” Mercy said. “Do you remember how crammed together we were in the nurses’ quarters?”
“Yes, of course,” she said, but Mercy could see the wheels spinning in her mind as she tried to make sense of things. “Married,” she repeated. “More congratulations are in order, it seems. When did this happen?”
“Not soon enough,” Stephen said. He seemed to hesitate, then said, “We have a son.”
“Do you?” Fancy asked, as though all breath had been pounded from her body. “It seems there is no end to the good fortune that has befallen you.”
Mercy wished she could have a moment alone with Fancy to explain … before disaster had a chance to strike.
“And what of you, Fancy?” Stephen asked. “Who did you choose, for you wear too much jewelry not to have landed with someone?”
Mercy had no idea what he was on about, but Fancy apparently did, because a fine blush crept up her cheeks. “Lord Dearbourne.”
“He’s a damned lucky man,” Stephen said, “and he has the means to keep you in style.”
“Yes, I am most fortunate that he has favored me.”
The strains of a waltz filled the room. “If you’ll excuse us, Fancy, my wife was saving this dance for me.”
“Yes, it was so lovely to see you again.”
“And you.” Stephen took her gloved hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Take care of yourself, Fancy.”
“Oh, yes.” She seemed to struggling to speak past a clog of tears. “I will.”
Mercy didn’t think Stephen could guide her away quickly enough. She’d been holding her breath, fearful that Fancy might say something about John, might reveal that she’d given birth to him.
When he swept her onto the dance floor, he said in a low hiss, “God help me. She was in Scutari?”
She realized he’d been as tense as she, fearful that he’d give away his affliction. Perhaps tonight would be the only time that Fancy—why ever had he called her that?—would make an appearance in their lives and they could carry on as they’d been. Happy and content. Joyful.
“Yes,” Mercy said, “but you seem to know her from sometime before. Were you friends?”
“In a manner of speaking. She was … one of the ladies who contributed to my notorious reputation.”
“You were lovers.” Even before Scutari.
He gave a brusque nod, and silence stretched taut between them.
“It seems a long time ago,” he finally said.
“Did you love her?” Her heart cramped up waiting for his answer.
His gaze traveled over her face and finally settled on her eyes. “I didn’t love any of them, Mercy. I was a cad. I cared only about pleasure, mine and theirs. No promises were ever made, none to be kept.”
They dipped and swirled, and she realized his leg was truly healed now. It could support him, give him mobility. She wanted to remain in his arms forever, but the fine hairs on the nape of her neck rose … and she saw Fancy standing off to the side studying them speculatively, and Mercy feared her wish would not last.
“I don’t understand how she could have been a nurse,” he said finally. “She was not studying for it when I knew her.”
“I don’t know. There was an application process, an interview. She must have wanted very badly to go.”
“Was she a good nurse?”
She laughed, trying to make light of things. “The men liked her, but I’m not certain it was her nursing skills that impressed them. She had the ability to make even our ugly black dresses look becoming.”
“What might she ask that I should know?” he asked, and she detected the concern in his voice that he’d be unable to keep his affliction from her. “What might come up in conversation?”
“It’s impossible to know. Perhaps it would be best if I am always near when you speak to her so I can fill in any emptiness between you.” And could strive to steer all conversation away from John.
He angled his head thoughtfully, and all the worry that had been marring his features disappeared. “Is that a bit of jealousy I’m detecting?”
“No, of course not. I just … I know you prefer that people not know the full extent of your injuries. That’s all.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’ve never lied to you.”
He arched a brow.
“Oh, all right. Perhaps I’m a little jealous.”
“Good.”
“Why good?”
“Because sometimes you’re a bit too much of a saint. And I like it much better when you’re wicked.”
She gave him a saucy smile. “Well, then, tonight when we arrive home, I shall do all in my power to be wicked.”
“You’ll be too tired after all this celebrating and dancing.”
“Oh, no, I am too curious.”
“Curious? About what?”
“What it is like to have a knight in my bed.”
His boisterous laughter echoed around them, made a few people stop to stare and smile. “My dear wife, I shall be only too glad to show you.”
Tessa Seymour glided through the ballroom, her head held high, radiant joy making her feel much younger than her forty-seven years. One son possessed an earldom, another a dukedom, and now Stephen had gained a knighthood. Few mothers had sons as accomplished as she. For a terrified girl whose journey into adulthood had begun with a forced marriage to a man far older than she, she had not done too poorly for herself and her boys. Their welfare had always come first, at any cost. She suspected that was the reason she felt such an affinity for Mercy. She could not be faulted as a mother.
Nor as a wife either, Tessa suspected. Stephen was happier than she’d seen him in ages. Two years of ghosts he couldn’t remember were no longer haunting his eyes. He walked with confidence again, no limp remaining as evidence of the wound in his thigh that had nearly taken him from her a second time.
She caught sight of Lynnford standing tall in a corner, observing the festivities. He’d come out of duty, as guardian to her sons, but she knew he would be leaving soon. A higher duty called. She’d once resented that he placed his family above hers. She’d been a silly girl then, full of childish dreams. Sometimes she missed that young girl.
Once she reached Lynnford, she wrapped her gloved fingers around his arm and leaned up to kiss his cheek, his scent filling her nostrils, still enticingly familiar after all these years. “I’m so glad you were able to share this day with us.”
“I would not have missed it. I’m sorry Angela was too weary to attend.”
“She and I must do the waters again. She seemed much stronger after our last visit there.”
“Yes, I believe she was. You’re a dear friend to her.”
“And to you, I hope. You must know I am always here for anything you might require.”
He gave a brusque nod and turned his attention to the gathering. When she looked at him, she saw Stephen. When she looked at Stephen, she saw Lynnford. It was a wonder others didn’t comment on the similarities of their appearance.
“I thought the knighting was a nice ceremony,” she said softly. “Brought tears to my eyes.”
“You, who never cries.”
“I cry. Just not where others can see.”
He studied her for a moment before saying, “I apologize if I ever made you cry.”
She tilted up her chin. “You did, but it was long ago, and I’ve since forgiven you.”
They stood in silence for a long while. She could see Stephen waltzing with Mercy. They made such a lovely couple. As she’d thought earlier, Stephen appeared content. Mercy not so much. She seemed unnaturally pale in spite of the dancing, which had brought a rush of color to her cheeks. Tessa wondered what was going on there.
“He has surprised me,” Lynnford said quietly, his gaze following in the same direction as hers. “I doubted he would ever become a man a father could be proud to call son. But he has achieved that end remarkably well.”
She pursed her lips and gave him the hard glare she had on numerous occasions when it came to his handling of Stephen. “You were always more harsh with him than you w
ere with the others.”
“Perhaps instinctively I always knew he is my son. Why did you never say anything before you thought he was dead?”
“It was so long ago, Lynnie. We were young, and I was not as wise as I am now. Still you’d only just gotten married. Had declared your devotion to your countess. What would I have gained except to make you miserable? You were a man of honor—”
“Who bedded a married woman—”
“After her husband abandoned her bed. Westcliffe cared nothing for me. He had his heir, he had his mistress, who apparently was willing to do disgusting things I was not. You were a joy in my life. And your son was my greatest joy.” She held up her hand. “Yes, I know, a mother should not have favorites, but God help me, I do.”
He grinned. “You never apologize for yourself, do you?”
“I see no point in it. It is a frivolous use of time.” She sobered. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, that she always had, she always would. But they were not words he’d welcome. From the moment he’d taken Angela to wife, he’d made it clear to Tessa that his loyalties would not be divided. His determination had only made her love him more. “I feel as though there is an ocean of things I should say to you about Stephen.”
“As I said, I’m proud of him.” He touched her cheek. “And I’ve always been proud of you. You hold a piece of my heart.”
But only a piece. While Angela held the whole.
“Duchess.”
Spinning around, she smiled brightly. “Leo. Lynnford and I were just discussing how proud we are of Stephen.”
“As well you should be.” Taking her hand, he brought her fingers to his lips, and she felt the heat of his mouth offering promises for later. She loved about him that he had no qualms whatsoever when it came to displaying where his affections lay. Any other man would have latched a challenging gaze on Lynnford as he staked his ownership, but Leo was not that sort. He gave all his attention to her, treated Lynnford as though he was nothing more than a bit of lint to be brushed away. “I was hoping I could entice you into a dance.”
“I would be delighted.” She turned back to Lynnford. “If you will be good enough to excuse me?”
Pleasures of a Notorious Gentleman Page 24