by Liana Lefey
God.
Anything smacking of sickness was to be loathed and above all avoided. Illness, an invisible killer, had robbed him of everyone he had ever cared about. His entire family had succumbed to it. It was an enemy one could neither hit nor shoot nor cut with a blade.
William had invited Death by deliberately putting himself in close proximity to its agents—here, in this very place. All it had taken was a cold. A particularly nasty cold had settled in his chest and turned into pneumonia. His brother had drowned in his own fluids.
Roland turned around and went back the way he’d come, or so he’d thought. The hallways all looked the same to him. A moment later, he stopped, arrested by a soft, motherly voice. Going to the one door that wasn’t quite closed, he eased it open a bit more and looked in. There was a boy, a very pale, thin little boy in the bed. He was emaciated. Every bone in his face and the arm atop the coverlet stood out in sharp relief.
The woman he had heard was spoon-feeding him from a bowl, her back to the door. “I know you want more than broth, but this is what’s best for you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” sighed the disappointed boy.
Roland watched as the child dutifully opened his mouth to accept another meager mouthful. When the bowl was empty, the woman stood.
“But I’m still hungry,” complained the boy.
“I shall tell the night nurse to bring you a bit of bread in a few hours. Now, I want you to rest.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Roland backed away. His blood boiled. He’d recently signed away a small fortune to support this place—quite a lot of it for provisions. Where had it all been spent? Surely not on broth. He waited until the woman came out. The instant the door closed behind her, he grabbed her and spun her about to face him.
She gasped, her eyes growing huge above the edge of the white mask she wore over her nose and mouth. The bowl dropped from her hands and landed on the floor with a clatter at his feet.
“What sort of an establishment is this?” he demanded, kicking the crockery aside. “Do I not pay to feed them better than broth? Why are you depriving that child of food?”
Her brows snapped together. “Depriving him?”
“Yes, depriving him!” Reaching out, he twitched the ridiculous mask down until it hung off the end of her nose. Strangely, the woman did not flinch. No indeed—she had the temerity to glare at him as though he were a recalcitrant child. He looked down at her, at the stains on her apron, at the messy brown hair straggling out from beneath her white, rumpled cap. There was something familiar about her...
“I was not depriving him!” hissed the insolent wench, yanking her arm out of his grasp and edging away. “He came here yesterday morning at death’s door from starvation. His stomach cannot yet handle more than broth—if I were to feed him anything else, it would only make him ill and do him no good at all.” Her hands went to her hips. “Now, I don’t know why you’re here early, but I must ask you to leave this area at once and wait in the foyer.”
Despite her frumpy dress and imperious manner—or perhaps because of it—he suddenly found her attractive. He’d always liked a woman with spirit. “My apologies. I misunderstood your intent,” he said, smiling his most charming smile and moving a little closer.
She shrank back, the bridge of her nose wrinkling above her skewed mask.
Damn. He’d forgotten about the brandy. He must stink. She, on the other hand, smelled of lavender. It reminded him of...something. “You know, I believe you might be in the wrong line of work. A pretty thing like you belongs in silks and velvet, not this”—he picked at the ruffle on her apron—“coarse thing.”
He expected her eyes to fill with admiration and hope. After all, it wasn’t every day a duke paid compliments to what amounted to a scullery maid. Instead, the girl’s brows pinched together in an expression of complete outrage. His gaze belatedly dropped to her left hand, searching for a wedding ring. There was none.
However, the presence of another, altogether different and very familiar ring stopped him cold. His gaze rose, fixed upon it as that hand traveled up to remove the mask entirely. Once more, he met the woman’s furious, hazel-green eyes.
Oh, my God.
~ * ~
“My Lord Manchester, I demand that you remove yourself from this facility immediately. And you are not to return until such a time as you are sober and can conduct yourself in a manner befitting a gentleman. I believe you know the way out.”
Harriett gave him her back and began walking, making every effort to keep her spine straight and her legs steady. The nerve of the man! Not only to show up a day early, reeking of spirits and poking about where he didn’t belong, but to proposition her! It didn’t matter that it had only been a coarse joke. The fact that he’d even said such a thing was, was—
Heavy footsteps sounded behind her, and she quickened her pace. Dignity be damned! But it was too late. Before she could reach the door, a vise-like hand gripped her shoulder and again spun her about.
“What the devil are you doing here?” growled Manchester, moving closer, forcing her back a step until she bumped up against the wall.
“I happen to be volunteering my services!” Perhaps, if she was quick, she could slip past him.
He must have read her thoughts, for he raised his arms and laid his palms on the wall on either side of her, trapping her.
“Still playing the martyr, Harriett?” His voice was a soft rasp that caused gooseflesh to break out across her skin despite the heat reaching across the scant space between them. “Do you really think my brother is beneficently watching from on high? That he sees and approves of your toil and sacrifice in his name? I can assure you he does not. The dead have no care for the living.”
His breath stirred the hair at her temple, and she was transported back to that awful day. William had just been buried, and this horrid man had disrupted the memorial service with his drunken irreverence. Giving him the benefit of the doubt—she’d seen he was mad with grief—she’d taken him aside to calm him.
Closing her eyes, Harriett tried not to think about what had followed, but it was impossible with his scent yelling in her nostrils: brandy, tobacco, leather, and something else she couldn’t put a finger on, something uniquely him. He’d staggered into her at the cemetery, resulting in the shock of her life. For just a moment as her hands had braced against his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart beneath, she’d looked into his pain-filled eyes...and had wanted to embrace him. Worse, she’d wanted him to return her embrace, to fold her in his arms and tell her she wasn’t al—
“Did you not hear me?” he barked, jolting her back to the present.
She hadn’t. But she wasn’t about to let him know it. “You will release me at once,” she said in her sternest manner, the one she reserved for very naughty children.
A corner of his mouth lifted as he removed his hands from the wall beside her and straightened. “The years have not mellowed you one whit, have they?”
“Nor have they made you any more of a gentleman,” she retorted before thinking better of it.
“So speaks a lady dressed as a drudge.”
She raised her chin. “The clothes do not make the person, Your Grace. I could be wearing a grocer’s sack and still remain a lady, whereas no matter how much finery you don, you will remain an uncouth pig.”
The look in his honey-brown eyes made her uneasy as he swayed and again leaned toward her. “I’m quite convinced you would remain every inch a ‘lady’ even without the grocer’s sack.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Or am I wrong, I wonder?”
His implication set fire to her already heated cheeks. Without thinking, she licked her suddenly dry lips. As she did so, something lit in the depths of his leonine eyes, something that caused her pulse to whoosh in her ears, her head to become light, and her body to become leaden. Instinct screamed at her to bolt, but she remained rooted to the floor, mesmerized as he drew closer still.
Stopping mere inch
es from her, his lips parted in another mocking smile. “I’ve often wondered what William saw in you.” He cocked his head to one side. “Now I begin to understand, I think. Unlike me, my brother always did as he was told. Whereas I favored defiance, he actually seemed to enjoy submission. He lacked the courage to challenge authority. You, however, appear to have an overabundance of spine. I’ve often heard it said that opposites attract. You must have drawn him like a lodestone.”
His drawling tone set her teeth on edge and made her palms itch. She stood her ground, refusing to show the brute any weakness. The breath she drew was shaky at best. “You, sir, are incapable of even the barest modicum of decency. And you understand nothing. Now, you will remove yourself at once and wait for me below,” she commanded, raising her arm to point the way back for him since, given the strong scent of brandy rising from his person, he probably didn’t know which way was up.
He did not move. “William might have bowed to your every whim, madam, but I certainly shall not. You will take me to see Mr. Dun. Now.”
The urge to slap him drained away along with all the blood in her head. “I will do no such thing. Because he is not here,” she added quickly. “He has already gone home.”
“Then you will provide me with his address so that I may call upon him at his residence,” he said with a slow, cheerless smile.
She squirmed. “I do not know his address.”
“Then take me to someone who does.”
“I—I don’t think—”
“My lady!” a frantic voice called from the other end of the hall. It was Nurse Hayes. “Oh,” said Hayes, taking in the scene. A flush colored her cheeks. “I didn’t realize you were with...”
Harriett watched as Manchester fixed the intruder with hard eyes. “Lady Harriett was just going to escort me to Mr. Dun’s office.”
“Mr. Dun?” repeated Hayes, blinking. “But downstairs you said you wished to see the Assistant Administrator, did you not?”
He looked at the woman as though she was an idiot. “So I did. I wish to see Mr. Dun. Now.”
“But, Your Grace, there is no Mr. Dun,” stressed Hayes. “I’ve already told you there is no one here by that name.”
With a sinking heart, Harriett watched as Hayes—who’d remained oblivious to her small, frantic signals—pointed a trembling finger at her and spoke the dreaded words.
“Lady Harriett is the Assistant Administrator.”
Five
Damn. Harriett’s heart went right down into her shoes as Manchester froze. Why, oh why couldn’t Nurse Hayes have simply turned around and left them to argue in private?
Her enemy remained stock still for several long seconds, save for a single muscle that leaped in his jaw. His voice was quiet, dangerously quiet, when he again spoke to Hayes. “Are you telling me that this woman” —he jabbed a finger at her— “has been running this facility?”
“Why, yes, Your Grace,” said Hayes, beaming in apparent relief over the fact that he at last understood. “And a right fine job she does of it, too.”
“I didn’t ask for a review of her performance,” he snapped. Harriett held her breath as he started to turn back toward her, but then he stopped and addressed the nurse once more. “How long?”
Hayes blinked. “Begging your pardon, my lord?”
“How long has she been serving in such a capacity?” he reiterated, enunciating each word with exaggerated slowness.
“Since before His Grace...” Hayes trailed off awkwardly. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace, I meant no offen—”
“You may go,” he cut in. When she didn’t move, he raised his voice. “I said you may go.”
Turning on her heel, Hayes did as he bade.
The door slammed behind the woman, and Harriett shrank inside as Manchester again faced her.
He spoke in a low voice that, for all its softness, was filled with unmitigated fury. “Are you telling me that for the past two years I have been corresponding through my solicitor with you and not Mr. Dun?”
She squared her shoulders. Might as well own to it. “No, Your Grace. You have not. Because I am Mr. Dun.” She waited, but he said nothing. “A month had passed since William’s death and still you had not appeared. After two months, I knew you wouldn’t, so I—”
“Took it upon yourself to assume his place?” His amber eyes bored into her.
“Yes, actually.” Pride steadied her, gave her strength. “And you ought to know that I did so with the blessing of the other founding governors. All of them. I volunteered my services, and they accepted with gratitude.”
“You expect me to believe they would let a woman have control of this place?”
The carefully banked coals of her temper flared. “William and I drew the plans for this place together. I helped him design it. I’ve been a part of it since the very first stone was laid. In fact, it was my own hand that laid it, alongside his. William taught me everything about how to manage this hospital, and I have done well in his stead—as any of the other governors can and will tell you, should you care to ask.”
“The only thing I care to ask is why I was never informed that my brother’s fiancée had seized power in his absence.”
“Probably because it wasn’t a matter of power,” she countered. “It was a matter of capability and interest. Had you shown even the slightest shred of either, I and the others would have welcomed your input. But you never gave a damn about this place. You don’t give a damn about anyone but yourself. I assumed the name of the Honorable Mr. Dun whenever communication with you was necessary because I knew if you discovered my presence here, you would cause problems. So did the others, which is why they helped conceal it from you.”
“You lying little—”
Fear of him vanished. “I did it to preserve William’s legacy,” she said with righteous indignation. “I certainly wasn’t about to allow you to destroy it.”
“Allow me?” he said, laughing humorlessly. He leaned in again, towering over her. “Do you think you can refuse me my place here? I am my brother’s heir—in every respect, including his part in the governorship of this hospital.”
“I have never challenged your right to be here. What I—”
“Good, because here I am, and here I shall remain,” he barked. “You, however, will get yourself home to your father where you belong. Running a place like this is the purview of logic-minded men, not women with their bleeding hearts and open purses—my open purse, as I recall,” he amended, jerking an angry thumb at his chest.
Rage pounded through her. All the time she had spent nursing the sick herself when they were short-handed because they couldn’t afford to hire more help. All the long hours she’d spent poring over figures to make the funds stretch to feed and clothe those in their keep. He could have helped, had he not been such an uncaring, pathetic, self-serving bastard. It was only with the greatest effort that she refrained from hitting him.
Ignoring the fire in his eyes, she loaded her voice with scorn. “If you ever cared to look at the ledgers, which you have not in the two years I’ve been managing this facility, you’d know better than to utter such complete rubbish. And as to my scurrying back to ‘my place,’ the other governors won’t allow you to remove me. They know my worth even if you refuse to acknowledge it.”
His angular face hardened into a cold mask. “We shall see about that.”
“So we shall,” she replied, shaking with barely repressed rage. She wanted to claw his eyes out and send him slinking back home with his tail tucked between his legs! “Send in your auditors. Send in anyone you bloody well please. You’ll not find fault with my work.”
“No auditors. I won’t send in anyone that might be swayed by your guile, Lady Harriett. Oh, no. I intend to review your performance record myself. Meticulously.”
Her dismay must have been obvious, because now he smiled. It was a patronizing smile that again made her palms itch.
“I may be Saint William’s wastrel brother,”
he continued, “but that doesn’t mean I’m an ignorant fool. I received the same education as he. I might not have had the desire to run this place, but I am perfectly—what was the word you used? Oh, yes—capable of it.”
She had no choice but to accept his direction—if he followed through on the threat. Judging by the smell of him, she doubted he would even remember this conversation tomorrow morning. She inclined her head. “I look forward to you taking your proper place here, Your Grace. Believe me, any help you can provide will be a blessed relief. Though managing the Hospital has thus far been a labor of love on my part, I cannot continue to devote so much of my time to it indefinitely.”
They locked gazes, neither willing to give way to the other.
“Good,” he said softly. “You may expect to see me again before the week is out. First, however, I believe I shall pay a visit to Mr. Blume.” He turned to go.
Her heart leaped into her throat, and before she knew what she was doing, she’d grabbed him by the arm. “It is not his fault! Mr. Blume was directed to mislead you by the other governors!”
Stopping, he looked down to where her hand rested on his sleeve.
She jerked it back and rubbed it on her apron to dispel the tingling sensation in her fingers. Her breath caught as she realized he’d marked the telltale motion.
“Mr. Blume is no business of yours,” he bit out, his eyes narrowing as they again centered on her face. “He was my brother’s solicitor—which makes him mine—and he lied to me. I will deal with him as I see fit. I believe the magistrate will have a thing or two to say about his deceitful practices. He’ll be lucky if they only send him to prison.”
“He was not William’s solicitor!” she shouted, again heedless of the closed doors lining the hall. All she could think of was how kind Mr. Blume had been to her and how he would be ruined if he was accused of such a crime regardless of whether he was later proven innocent.