“Second door on the right,” Lady Juliette called.
Florian, good man that he was, pushed his way past him and opened the door. He then rushed to pull back the bedspread so Thomas could lay Amelia down.
“Help me undress her,” Florian said, pulling Amelia onto her good side.
Thomas didn’t hesitate, his fingers working nimbly on the buttons at the back of her gown. He tugged at the sleeves and unlaced her stays—not because they had to be removed, but because he wanted her to be able to breathe more easily.
Her gown was tugged down and her shift was pulled up in order to reveal the angry gash of crimson that had caused her to lose consciousness. Thomas stood, studying her pale features for a moment. He was aware of Lady Everly’s presence somewhere behind him and was grateful for her lack of interference in a situation that would no doubt have caused others to chase him from the room in an effort to preserve Amelia’s modesty.
“I will be requiring a pot of hot water,” Florian said. He drew a few items out of his bag. They included squares of white linen, pincers, needle and thread, and a glass bottle containing a clear liquid. He set all the items next to each other on the bedside table.
“What is that?” Thomas asked when Florian opened the bottle and poured a bit of the liquid onto one of the linen cloths.
“Rum. I find it’s stronger than brandy, and since I’m not fond of the drink myself, I’ve no regrets about using it like this.” He held the cloth to the wound, and Amelia’s eyes flew open while air hissed between her teeth.
“You’re fine,” Thomas told her in the most reassuring tone he could muster while gently pushing her back against the mattress so Florian could do what he had to without too much resistance. He eyed the doctor. “Perhaps some laudanum for the pain?”
“We can do better than that.” Florian reached inside his bag and produced another glass bottle. This also contained a clear liquid. He handed it to Thomas. “I recommend half the dosage of laudanum. This is much stronger.”
Thomas read the label. “Morphine?” He gave Florian a dubious look. “I’m not familiar with it.”
“The discovery of it is recent, so it has not been commercially produced yet. However, I have used it on a few other patients and seen the results of the studies, so I have every confidence that it would be most effective in this instance. However, the decision of whether or not to administer it is entirely up to you.”
With this taken into consideration, Thomas opened the bottle and poured a small measure into a nearby glass. He’d specifically asked for Florian, not because there were no other capable physicians nearby, but because he appreciated Florian’s innovativeness. The man was renowned for using methods that had proven to be reliable, no matter where those methods came from or who might have discovered them. He’d traveled far and wide in search of medicinal knowledge, believing other cultures might hold the key to certain discoveries of which the English still remained ignorant. Many thought the man eccentric and anti-science. In Thomas’s opinion, he was more enlightened than most. So he held the glass to Amelia’s lips and gently urged her to drink.
She did so with a groan. The hot water arrived. Florian disinfected his tools and by the time he was ready, a silly grin had appeared on Amelia’s lips. “Is that normal?” Thomas asked when she actually giggled.
“The results of the morphine vary, but yes, a strong sensation of euphoria is known to occur.” He set his pincers to the wound and pulled out a small piece of fabric that must have gotten pushed inside by the blade.
“You’re very handsome,” Amelia said, looking up at Thomas. Her comment was followed by a smile. She turned her head in Florian’s direction. “So are you.” A sigh escaped her. “Gorgeous hair.”
Without comment, Florian added more rum to the wound, then threaded the needle and started to sew. By the time he was done, Amelia had managed to doze off with a beatific expression of pure bliss upon her face.
“How long will she sleep?” Thomas asked.
“I can’t be sure, but at least a few hours, perhaps even until morning.” Florian cleaned his tools and returned them to his bag. “Do you know who might be behind the attack?”
“I cannot be completely certain,” Thomas told him, “but I suspect Bartholomew. He has more motive than anyone else I can think of.”
Florian stared at him for a long moment, then asked, “Do you intend to have him apprehended?”
Blowing out a breath, Thomas could feel the fangs of failure drawing near once more. “I have no proof to merit an arrest besides spotting one of his men at the scene.”
“Then I suggest you have someone look into his taxes. From what I understand, he owes a great deal to the Crown.”
Thomas frowned. “How on earth would you know that?”
“I cannot say, but you can count on it being true. You’ve my word on that.”
Thanking him, Thomas paid him for his help and saw him to the door.
Before donning his hat and heading back out, Thomas told Lady Everly that he would return later in the day to check on Amelia. It seemed he now had a criminal to apprehend, and he knew precisely who to turn to for help.
Chapter 22
“Tax evasion, you say?” King George punctuated the question by popping a piece of sweetmeat into his mouth. His regal eyes were bright with interest. “Are you certain Bartholomew is guilty of such a crime?”
“That is what I have been told,” Thomas assured him. “And I am inclined to believe my source.” One of the benefits of being a duke was having the king’s ear. And since Thomas never abused this privilege, he was always taken seriously whenever he came to call.
“Why?”
“Because he is highly respected. Indeed, I would trust him with my life.”
The king’s expression grew pensive. “What is your interest in this, Coventry? I do not suppose you are simply looking out for the Crown’s coffers?”
It was time to be honest. “The truth is Bartholomew has threatened the Duke of Huntley’s sister, Lady Amelia. This afternoon, she was brutally stabbed by one of his men.”
“Good God!” The king’s posture grew rigid. His hands appeared to tighten against the armrests of his gilded chair. “Would it not be simpler to arrest Bartholomew for attempted murder then?”
“You know as well as I that he will escape such a charge. The blame will merely fall on the man who wielded the blade.”
“So you hope to find Bartholomew guilty on a different charge entirely.” The king gave a thoughtful nod. “A smart move, on your part. The only problem I see is that a thorough investigation would have to be carried out. We will have to involve the accountants, and that is going to take time. However . . .”
“Yes?”
“Keeping the attack on Lady Amelia in mind, I propose we send the guard out immediately and arrest Bartholomew on the assumption that he is guilty. It will then be up to his lawyer to prove him innocent, allowing us the necessary time we need in order to find some proof. These things can be dragged out with a bit of bureaucracy. There is also a good chance that more incriminating facts will rise to the surface if we offer his people rewards in exchange for reliable information.”
“As long as Bartholomew pays for his crimes, then I am happy.”
“You may rest assured then, Coventry, for I am certain justice will be served in this instance. I thank you for bringing the matter to my attention.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Thomas stood and executed a bow. “I will leave Bartholomew’s address with your secretary on my way out.”
Drifting back to consciousness was decidedly unpleasant, Amelia thought. She was becoming increasingly aware of a horrible ache in her side. And the headache! Good Lord, she could not remember experiencing so much pain before she’d drifted off in a delirious state of bliss. Now it felt as though her skull was being sliced into little pieces.
“My dear.”
She recognized Lady Everly’s voice and tried to open her eyes.
Thankfully, the curtains had been pulled tightly shut, shrouding the room in muted tones that were wonderfully soothing.
Lady Everly drew close and reached for her hand. “How are you feeling?” she asked.
Amelia blinked, tried to adjust her position and instantly groaned in response to a sharp twinge. “Not my best.” She sank back against the plump pillow with a sigh. “What happened?”
“A vile miscreant stabbed you.” Lady Everly’s voice trembled with emotion. She squeezed Amelia’s hand. “The duke brought you here with Doctor Florian who tended to your wound. He said it wasn’t too serious—that a good rest should lead to a speedy recovery.”
Amelia nodded, acknowledging her understanding of the situation. “Where are they now?”
“Both departed three hours ago. Coventry did say he would come back later in the day to check on you.”
Amelia’s heart expanded with that thought, then deflated again when she recalled the last words they’d spoken to each other before the attack. She regretted the tone she’d taken with him. He hadn’t deserved it, no matter how frustrated she’d been by his insistence that there was no choice for them but to marry. It still annoyed her, but she now had other things to think about, like the possibility of her brother returning home to find her like this. The mere idea of having to explain it all to him was exhausting.
“Is he all right?” she asked Lady Everly. “I do not recall if he was injured in any way.”
“If he was, he made no mention of it to me. His entire focus was on you, Amelia.” Withdrawing her hand, Lady Everly poured a glass of water and helped Amelia drink. “I understand your hesitation regarding marriage, but I do believe you ought to reconsider.”
Amelia groaned. “Must we discuss this now?”
“No, but I would like you to hear my opinion on the matter since it likely differs from most.” She set the glass aside and perched herself on the edge of the bed. “I was prevented from marrying the man I loved, and so I married for duty instead. It wasn’t the worst union in the world, but it wasn’t a very happy one either.” She drew a deep breath and exhaled it. “Nobody can force you to marry Coventry, and if you are truly opposed, then I believe your brother to be the sort of man who will help you set up a life for yourself somewhere else, away from Society’s censure. Just look at what he did for Gabriella’s sister after all. But . . . I think that would be a mistake on your part. I know how deeply you care for Coventry, and instinct tells me that he cares just as much for you.”
“No. He would have said so if he did.”
Lady Everly chuckled. “Men can be such fools when it comes to confessing their feelings. Just mention ‘love’ to them and they begin to perspire. But his reaction when he brought you here earlier—his desperate stride and anguished tone—spoke volumes about the inner workings of his heart.”
Closing her eyes, Amelia tamped down the giddy sensation of joy that threatened to spiral up through her. She would not allow herself to be influenced by a few words and to let hope in, only to be disappointed.
“Even if what you say is true, he and I are an impossibility. Coventry needs to marry a woman who can make him proud. He needs a wife who can fit the duchess role to perfection.”
A tentative smile emerged on Lady Everly’s lips. “My dear, it is time for you to realize that you can be that woman, but to do that, you must stop wearing your past like a millstone around your neck. Remember, the way people perceive you has a lot to do with your state of mind. If you think yourself unworthy, everyone else will too.”
A knock on the door made them aware of Pierson’s presence. “The duke is here,” he said. “Shall I send him up?”
Lady Everly glanced at Amelia who hesitantly nodded. “Please do,” the dowager countess told him. She waited until he was gone before saying, “I think you and Coventry have much to discuss, so I will give you the privacy you need.”
She began to move away, but Amelia caught her by the hand, staying her progress. “You cannot mean to leave us alone in my bedchamber.” A sudden blast of nervousness made her want to keep Lady Everly as close as possible. “It would not be proper.”
“I do not think there is too much harm in it. After all, you are affianced, the door will remain wide open and you, my dear, are hardly in any position to do much of anything besides talk.” She gave her hand a gentle tug, and Amelia reluctantly released it. “I will be in the sitting room if you need me,” she added, referring to the small intimate space at the top of the landing. It wasn’t far, but it still didn’t feel close enough under the circumstances. Not when she had to contend with a very determined duke.
Another knock at the door brought said duke into the room. He greeted Lady Everly as she slid past him, making her exit and leaving Amelia quite alone with Thomas, whose dark gaze did little to put her at ease. It seemed to bore straight into her, devouring her until she felt weak with longing. Oh, if she could only develop some defense against the effect he always had on her. But every time she was sure she had built a wall around her heart, he would break it down with his mere presence, and she would respond like a moth drawn to a flame.
“I am glad to see you awake,” he said, striding toward the bed where she lay. “How are you feeling?”
“As though I’ve been stabbed.” When he paused and winced, she said, “It hurts, but it is not fatal. Let us take that as a blessing.”
Pressing his lips together in a tight line, he reached her side and extended his hand. Amelia drew a sharp breath and held it in anticipation of his touch. It came a second later—the careful stroke of fingertips upon her cheek.
“Forgive me,” he murmured. “This is my fault. It should not have happened. I—”
“Shh . . .” His distress made her forget her own. “You are not to blame for any of this.”
He withdrew his hand, leaving coolness in its place. “I should have anticipated the attack, Amelia. I should have prevented it.”
“How? None of us expected this to happen.”
“There were warnings—the fire and the accident, Mr. Gorrell’s disappearance. I should have stopped you from going back there after those things happened but—”
“You would have failed, Thomas.” The use of his given name seemed to snap him out of the self-inflicted turmoil he was in. “I am not the sort of woman who is easily controlled by anyone.”
With a heavy sigh, he suddenly lowered himself to the edge of the bed as though pushed there by an intolerably heavy burden. She felt the mattress dip beneath his weight. “No, you are not.” He angled himself sideways in order to better face her. “But I still feel as though I failed you, just as I failed—”
“Stop.” The word cut through his, forcing him into silence. “You have to understand and accept that people have their own willpowers. You are not their keeper, nor do you determine cause and effect. What happened with your sister was tragic, but she believed herself to be in love and as such, I doubt you would have been able to stop her from meeting Fielding’s brother in secret. Especially since you were unaware of her planning to do so until it was too late.” When he looked unconvinced, she placed her hand over his. “As for me, there was little you could do to keep me from that building short of having me locked in my bedchamber, and even then I am sure I would have found a way to defy your wishes.”
He muttered something—a curse, no doubt—then locked his eyes with hers. “Why do women have to be so infernally stubborn?”
She shrugged as best as she could, given her position, then regretted making the movement since it pulled at her wound and sent pain darting through her. Twisting her face in response, she groaned. “Perhaps because we have become weary of being directed by men.”
Turning his hand, he grasped hold of hers. “You must not overtax yourself, Amelia. The wound you sustained is still serious.”
An aching smile caught her lips. “I am aware of it.”
“Of course you are. I did not mean to imply otherwise. It is just that I . . . I ca
nnot help but worry. It is in my nature to do so.”
She hadn’t really thought of it like that before. It was something with which she could easily relate, having spent her life worrying about Juliette and Raphe—Bethany too, when she’d been alive. It had been the burden of having nobody but each other. Still . . . “And it will eat you up unless you relinquish control.”
He snorted. “I fear that is easier said than done.”
“Not when you never had control to begin with.” She squeezed his hand. “The sooner you accept that, the easier life will be for you.”
Frowning, he turned his attention toward their laced fingers. His thumb brushed over her skin, prompting all of her senses to fully awaken. “It is difficult to do so. Especially when there are things that I wish I could put into boxes and hold on tight to.” His gaze met hers once more with an endless amount of emotion. “Marry me, Amelia.”
She felt herself draw back. “No.” Lady Everly had clearly been wrong.
“When will you see reason?”
His face transformed into a portrait of undeniable torment. It was as if deep feelings existed within him, and yet when he spoke . . . “You mean your version of reason? The sort of reason that involves retraining me, keeping me close and forcing me into a sheltered existence? I will have none of that, Thomas. Not from any man.”
“Then what will you have? Tell me and I will provide it.”
Closing her eyes, she forced back the tears that threatened. “It does not matter as long as you are unprepared to give it.” She was suddenly quite tired—exhausted, really. “You should go. I need to rest.”
A pause followed. “We are not done with this subject, Amelia. You and I will marry. Of that you may be certain.”
She had no energy to respond, though the opening and closing of the front door below did catch her attention. Muffled voices rose toward them, then the sound of footsteps heavy upon the stairs. They paused at the top of the landing. Lady Everly was saying something now. Her voice was followed by a far more familiar one. Raphe’s. Amelia’s eyes flew toward the door just in time to see her brother enter the room. His solid pace ate up the carpet as he crossed it with a stern expression, not halting until he stood before Thomas, who’d risen to greet him.
The Duke of Her Desire: Diamonds in the Rough Page 25