The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 6

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  Oh, she had never harboured any romantic designs upon Randall, even though he had been one of the most noted rakes in London and Paris after the war.

  Michael certainly not, for he had been terrifying to her, the Grim Reaper, the epitome of the perfect soldier in the Peninsular War, hardly taking a day of leave from 1808 when he had gone over to Portugal with the first of the British forces in July of that year, until he had been badly wounded at Toulouse in April 1814. No, she had never wanted a war hero for a husband.

  Yet, judging from the appalling scars all over Simon's body, it would appear that she had might have got just that. Yet Michael and Simon were like night and day so far as she could tell.

  Simon didn't terrify her at all, except in the sense of wanting to be with him, but being painfully aware of her own shortcomings. Of course he would want and be interested in her. He had been locked away for a long time.

  With her red hair and odd eyes which people said were like that of a sea-witch, she certainly didn't think she was beautiful. Not compared with Lucinda, who was the English ideal, with blond hair, blue eyes and a delicate, slender beauty.

  Gabrielle was thin and lithe as well, but her bosom had always been embarrassingly full, and her bottom too most definitely rounded and well-shaped, not suited to the straight hang of the gowns of the past few years at all.

  But she also hated all the flounces and furbelows that seemed all the rage these days. Why on earth any woman wanted to look like a bell she had no idea. But at least the puffed out skirts distracted men from her bottom. Before those gowns had come into fashion, she had been pinched and subjected to even worse at the few balls she had been able to attend.

  Well, now that she was for the most part poor, she didn't have to worry about that any longer. Balls and soirees were in her past now, well and truly.

  But that brought her to another practical matter. Did Simon have anything to call his own, even a change of shirt? Not that she cared, but if she was to help him, and possibly one day have a romantic future together, they were going to have to both work and effect a continuous household economy.

  She made a modest competence at the clinic, and the little money she had left after her parents' and brother's death, and Lucinda's marriage, was invested well, she thought, her mind whirring down the blissful path of happily ever after as she applied some liniment to blackened eyes and bruised cheeks.

  If she did her best to not touch the principal and let the interest accrue, the small sum would grow nicely. She could take in more work, sewing and so on, perhaps even be a governess....

  She didn't know what Simon had been trained for. She didn't even know about his background, except that he had told her he had seen her in the past in Dorset.

  He could not have been a friend of her brother, he was too old. Nor of her father. Too young. A Rakehell, then, one of Randall and Michael's set from Eton? Not close in age to Antony though, for they would have known each other, and Simon seemed older.

  All of them had been to school together, were cultured, educated. Simon had the unmistakable bearing of a man of importance for all he had been humbled before her, naked, writhing in his illness and trembling from his lack of opium.

  She wasn't sure if he had trained for any profession, or if he was monied, but he had to come from a family of some means for him to be so educated. Well, the main thing was to get him built back up, and above all, weaned from the opium. Once they did that, they could manage anything...

  She drew herself up short there. That was really putting the cart before the horse. She wanted to help him, but was she the only one? He had to have a family, a home, people who cared about him, would be willing to help him. It really wasn't her responsibility. She would make inquiries and find...

  "And this one needs to have..." Antony scowled down at his cousin. "I say, Gabrielle, do please pay attention."

  "I'm sorry. I've not had much sleep, and I'm worried about Lucinda. Can you go up and see her again just to be sure that the bleeding has stopped and all seems well to you?" she said, covering her embarrassment with the most convenient excuse she could invent. She blushed even more hotly with guilt over the little lie.

  "I will in a moment. Just help me with this lady first."

  "Thank you. I was just contemplating what might have happened if..."

  "Don't think about it."

  She pressed her lips together and sighed, trying to refrain from voicing her fears aloud. In the end she couldn't help but say, "But the fact is that Simon came along when we needed him, and helped us when he could very easily..."

  His face closed up again for the third time that day. "If this is another hint for me to try to find him, it's a waste of time. We're far too busy to..."

  She put down the pot of ointment and dared to meet his eyes. "But you heard what he said. He needs opium. He might be tempted to eat the food and kill himself in error. Or on purpose," she added after a moment, recalling the incident the might before with the opium bottle when he had begged he to let him die.

  At that alarming thought, he nodded. "You're right. Of course. I shouldn't let a few obstacles stop me from pursuing the just course of action. He was clearly in despair last night, and you're right, he doesn't seem the least mad to me, simply ill. Just think about the madness of our late king, and how much could have been done for him with the right medicines. All right, I'll see what I can do."

  She flashed him a relieved smile. "Thank you, Antony. Here, take these pies, and..."

  "I know, I know. Fresh water and some opium if he's desperate."

  He went on his way with a brisk air of determination, but came back a half an hour later with a full basket and an apologetic look.

  "Everyone tells me there is no such person. I don't understand. I saw him, spoke with him. He was as real as you or me."

  Her brows knit. "Why would they pretend he didn't exist?"

  "I have no idea. I mean, it's not as if you can hide him easily. He's rather large and distinctive looking."

  "Aye, too distinctive."

  He raised his brows. "What do you mean?"

  She thought for a moment before replying, "Doesn't he seem, well, familiar to you somehow?"

  "Hmm, a bit, now that you mention it, but..." Then he shrugged one shoulder. "No, can't place him now. But he does remind me of someone...."

  She didn't want to reveal all that Simon had said to her, so shook her head. "But even if he weren't a possible acquaintance, I just hate thinking of him suffering somewhere because of the opium and us being unable to reach him. Alone, cold, frightened, and worst of all, thinking..." She halted abruptly and blushed.

  "Thinking what?" Antony asked softly.

  "That we were repelled by him, or changed our minds about him or that he was at fault in some way."

  "But Gabrielle, he has to be in here for a reason. Why do you insist upon making him into some sort of, I don't know, a kind of romantic hero?" he asked as he began to sort through his medicine bottles once more.

  "I just feel, um, connected to him in some way."

  "He tiddled you when I was asleep, didn't he?"

  Gabrielle's blush gave him all the answer he needed.

  He looked appalled. "I can't believe he would force..."

  She shook her head quickly. "There was no force. I tiddled him just as much, if not more."

  Antony thumped his head with the heel of his hand. "I can't believe this! Gabrielle, what were you thinking? If I didn't know better I would say his madness was contageous. What on earth--"

  "I'm old enough to know my own mind and body," she said, squaring her shoulders.

  "But he isn't!" he rasped, shaking her lightly by the elbow. "He's an opium addict. And he's been committed. Even if he isn't really mad, it makes no difference. Don't you understand? There's no future for you! He had no legal rights, can't vote or marry. Can't sign himself out of Bedlam. Only his family can do that. He's trapped in here for as long as they and the authorities see fit to keep
him. He has less future than a man in prison, for God's sake. Even they have a fixed sentence and a chance for parole."

  His words chilled her, but Gabrielle argued hotly, "He may have been unwell once, but is it not possible that he was only in here because of the epilepsy? Or the addiction, which he says was not his fault? You've seen plenty of women and babies at the clinic who take a tonic thinking it's going to help, and end up addicted to opium or alcohol! Don't attribute it to some sort of character defect in him. It would be the height of hypocrisy!"

  "Now I never said..."

  "So if we can get his strange fits under some sort of control and wean him off the drug, why can't he come out?"

  "And how can you control his epilepsy?" he demanded in exasperation.

  "He did say he gets warnings of the fits. We can make sure that he rests, does not get agitated..."

  "You want to tie yourself down to an invalid and former addict? When your sister, is ill, and when there are thousands of other men who would give their right arm for..."

  "I can't explain it," she argued vehemently. "All I know is he needs me."

  Antony shook his head. "If I were you I would concentrate on rescuing my own sister. If you have all the answers, then help Lucinda so she can get out of here before that child is born.

  "And now, if you will forgive me, I am going to go tend to that man over there. I really don't want to listen to any more of this nonsense. I have work to do."

  He strode away without a backward glance, leaving Gabrielle staring at him, wondering what had got into her normally placid cousin.

  And what had got into herself for ever dreaming of a future with a madman she had just met in an asylum...

  Antony was stunned at the force of his emotions, and finally had to admit to himself what they were. He felt more ragingly jealous than he ever had in his life.

  He could not believe his lovely auburn-haired cousin was so smitten by a mad stranger that she would have allowed him to take liberties and was now speaking of him as if...

  As if he was her intended.

  Well, he would soon see about that.

  When he was sure most of the injured inmates had been tended to, he told Gabrielle to tidy up their supplies while he went to see Lucinda.

  Instead he went to the hospital authorities. He stared at the attendant behind the desk, for he was short and portly, nothing like the man who had appeared to be in charge earlier that morning when they had been rescued from the bathroom.

  "I'm sorry, Doctor, er..."

  "Dr. Herriot, sir. I was just wondering, well, the inmate known as Simon. I don't know his last name. He did a great deal to help my cousins yesterday, before he collapsed into some sort of fit. I was just wondering if there was something we could do for him. If I could perhaps come see him and try to help him with his condition."

  The tubby little man shook his head. "Your Christian sentiments are most admirable, young man, but some people truly are not worthy of being saved. That man Simon is just such a one. He is an animal. You should thank your lucky stars you were unharmed."

  "An animal?" Antony echoed in confusion. "Oh, surely..."

  "An animal," he reiterated, and called to his assistant. "Please get me the file on Simon. I think you'll find all you need to know on the first page."

  Chapter Eight

  When Antony returned from the office of the head of the hospital, Gabrielle could see at once that something had happened. Her cousin's face was grey from shock.

  "Lucinda? Is she...?"

  He shook his head quickly. "No, no, everything is fine. If you and Oliver are done, I should like to go home and have a bath and some supper. Then we need to talk."

  "Antony, you're scaring me!"

  "No, it's not Lucinda, she's fine. I'm just very tired and disgusted at the moment. Let's go."

  He took her arm and almost dragged her out to the front gate. She had barely had time to snatch up her cloak and basket before he hurried her out of the asylum as though the common ward were on fire.

  She shot a concerned look at Oliver, but her handsome blond colleague simply shrugged and followed on behind.

  Antony took her back not the clinic, but their home, a small townhouse which he had had divided into two sets of apartments so that Gabrielle could be moderately independent and no one would attach any scandal to the cousins sharing the same household.

  Their housekeeper Mrs. Darnell was a motherly type, but rigidly moral, and would never permit the least hint of impropriety. She sat in a corner with some darning as they conversed, and took meals with them. At the clinic, they were always in company with one colleague or another.

  In truth Gabrielle had never looked at Antony as a beau, and never would. He was handsome and decent, but had never stirred in her any feelings other than tender regard and esteem.

  She knew she ought to go see how Clarissa was managing back at the clinic, but the truth was that she was glad to be home. She was so tired, she decided to forgo a bath in favour of a lie down.

  Only several hours later when Antony was feeling calm did he sit her down in his snug parlour and break the news to her.

  "I'm sorry, Gabrielle. I can't allow you to try to help Simon. By all accounts he is a most vicious and dangerous felon."

  "Why? What did he do?"

  Antony shook his head. "I'm sorry, Gabrielle."

  "Damn it, Antony, tell me!"

  "I really don't think-"

  She made an impatient gesture with one hand. "I don't care what you think! I want the truth! How bad can it be? I'm a big girl now. I know the way the world works. What's the worst thing he could have done?"

  He sighed, then said, "Raped and killed a woman, and murdered her children as well."

  She felt her heart give a sudden lurch, and was sure it had stopped. Her eyes widened, but she immediately shook her head. "No, I don't believe it! He saved Lucinda and me from certain rape. As for killing children..."

  "I've read through all the documents, the court deposition. The fact that he even confessed. He made no secret of his crime. Expressed no remorse."

  "If all of that is true, then why is he in Bedlam?" she asked angrily. "Why not hang or transport him?"

  Antony shrugged. "Apparently he has a rich and powerful family who were able to convince everyone that he was certifiable, so he escaped the gallows. It wasn't the first time he had been given to violent excess with women, and, well, young girls. Very young girls, in fact." He looked as though he would be ill.

  "No, I refuse to believe it."

  "I'm telling you, I saw the file with my own eyes. I've never felt so, so polluted in my life as I did reading it."

  She leaned forward in her chair intently to argue, "There must be some mistake..."

  Antony shook his head. "I've seen enough of Alistair and Philip's legal documents to know the real thing when I see it. I'm sorry, Gabrielle. I know you wanted to help him, restore him to the bosom of his loving family, but they don't want the viper. All I can say is you need to stay away from him if your paths ever cross again.

  "And I know I'm supposed to practice Christian forgiveness, but if either one of us ever get the chance to overdose him again, we should take it. Put the animal out of his misery."

  "Don't you dare say that!" she shouted furiously. "You may well be a doctor, but you're not God. And he saved both of us! Saved all our lives."

  "The better to roger you both himself!" he fired back.

  She was so furious her palms itched to slap her cousin's narrow face. "No, I don't believe that for a second."

  "How can you be so naïve?"

  "How can you be so sure every word of what you're saying is true?" she returned furiously.

  "Because it's in the record, and the records don't lie. There's even a signed confession with his mark on it."

  "His mark?" she repeated blankly.

  "Aye, his mark, plain as day." He swished an ‘X' in the air.

  She shook her head. "For Heaven's sake
, Antony! He's an educated man who speaks at least two languages, and you're trying to tell me that he never signed his own name? Simon? Simon what? What's his full name?"

  Antony shook his head. "What does it matter? He signed the confession outlining all those heinous crimes and more."

  "It does matter," she persisted, feeling as though she were fighting for the most important thing in her life, though she could not have said why.