by Connie Mason
The storm abated shortly before they reached London. Their mad dash from Dashwood’s estate brought them to the city in the wee hours of morning. The streets were wet and deserted as they proceeded directly to Graystoke Manor. Pettibone pulled the coach to a stop before the front door, then hurried off to rouse the coachman and his assistant from their beds. Colin was sent immediately to summon Dr. Dudley, while the coachman helped to carry Jack to his room. Matilda stood aside, wringing her hands and worrying over what was to become of her.
“Mistress Matilda?” Matilda gasped and whirled, surprised to find Pettibone standing at her elbow. “I’m Pettibone. Lord Spence told me about what you did for Miss Moira. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your room. It’s on the first floor; you’ll find it quite comfortable.” His friendly smile gave her a small measure of confidence, and she smiled back.
“I’m not fussy, sir. Any room will do.”
“Just call me Pettibone. I’m Lord Graystoke’s right-hand man. We’re all grateful for what you did for Miss Moira. Lord Graystoke is uncommonly fond of the lass.” Fond wasn’t a strong-enough word in Pettibone’s opinion, but it wasn’t his place to presume.
“I did what my conscience directed, Mr. Pettibone. I’m ashamed of the years I did nothing for those poor girls brought in for the disciples’ pleasure. Granted most of them were…er…soiled ladies, but some were not. When I saw that Miss Moira was an unwilling victim, I knew something had to be done.”
“You did the right thing,” Pettibone said, awkwardly patting the woman’s rough hand. “Lord Graystoke will wish to reward you.”
Matilda’s blush was her first since she had been a very young girl with stars in her eyes and dreams of a happy future.
Moira set to work the moment Jack lay stretched out on his bed. First she removed the black robe and then his jacket, instructing Spence to hold him steady while she pulled off his muddy boots. Rolling him on his stomach, Moira saw that the pad she had placed over his wound was saturated with blood.
“Tell Mr. Pettibone we’ll need lots of hot water and clean cloths when the doctor arrives, Lord Spencer.”
“Lud, Moira, all that blood! It doesn’t look good.”
“He’ll be fine. Just do as I say.” Her voice was sharp and fierce. Spence gave her a strange look, then hurried off to do her bidding.
Choking down a sob, Moira looked into Jack’s ashen face and willed life into him. “Don’t you dare die, Black Jack Graystoke!”
It was her fault he lay injured and perhaps dying. She hadn’t wanted to involve Jack in her problems; that’s why she had lied to him from the start. But the more lies she told, the more enmeshed their lives became. Then she had lost control of her senses and had allowed Jack to make love to her. But she had fallen in love with Black Jack Graystoke long before that memorable night.
Moira was attempting to remove Jack’s shirt when he opened his eyes and groaned. Moira went still, disconcerted to find Jack’s gray gaze steady, albeit clouded with pain. “Did I hurt you? I’m sorry.”
“You could never hurt me,” Jack said. “I like your hands on me.”
“I’m sorry I misjudged you, Jack. I thought you were a member of the Hellfire Club. I was willing to believe Lord Mayhew instead of my heart. I should have known you weren’t capable of such debauchery.”
“You should have trusted me, sweetheart. I wanted you to confide in me. Did you think I’d believe that you were capable of theft?”
“You didn’t know me. How could you not? You found me lying in a gutter and thought I was a…a prostitute. If you believed that, then you’d believe I could steal a valuable piece of jewelry.”
Jack’s eyes drifted shut, and Moira could tell he was having difficulty remaining lucid. Where was that doctor? “Hang on, Jack. The doctor should be here shortly.”
Jack reached for her hand, and Moira could not deny him as she placed her smaller hand in his. “Don’t leave, Moira. Don’t…leave…”
Suddenly the door opened and Dr. Dudley strode briskly forward, exuding confidence. Moira breathed a sigh of relief.
“Leave me with my patient,” the doctor said crisply. “Pettibone can assist me.” No sooner had the doctor spoken Pettibone’s name than the man entered the chamber, bearing a pitcher of steaming water and clean cloths folded over his arm. With marked reluctance, Moira joined Lord Spencer in the hall.
“How long do you think the doctor will be in there?” Spence asked worriedly. “Jack will be all right, won’t he? Lud, he’s the best friend I ever had.”
“You’re the best friend he ever had,” Moira said with conviction.
“Oh, milady, you’re home! I’m ever so glad. We were all so worried when those men took you off to prison. Are you all right?”
Jilly had been awakened by the commotion and left her room to see what the fuss was about. When she saw Moira standing in the hallway, her face lit up with pleasure.
“I’m fine, Jilly, but I’m afraid Lord Graystoke isn’t. He’s been shot. The doctor is with him now.”
Jilly’s face drained of all color and her hand flew to her mouth. “Shot, milady? Oh, my.”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine, Jilly. Go back to bed.”
“What should I tell the others?”
“Others?”
“Aye, Mr. Pettibone hired a staff of servants. There are two maids besides myself—Annie and Agnes. And Mrs. Harcourt is the new cook. Then there is Colin, the assistant coachman.” At the mention of Colin, Jilly’s face turned a bright red. “They’re all waiting in the kitchen.”
“Do what you can to calm them, Jilly. Tell them there’s been a minor mishap and that Lord Graystoke is going to be fine.”
“Aye, milady,” Jilly said, hurrying off down the hall.
“I wonder what the doctor is doing?” Spence said as he stopped his pacing to stare at the closed door. “He’s been in there a bloody long time.”
Just then the door opened and Pettibone flew out. “Mr. Pettibone!” Moira cried. “What is it? Is Jack…?”
“The doctor needs more hot water,” Pettibone called over his shoulder.
“I’m going in there,” Moira said determinedly. “The doctor might need another pair of hands.”
Before Spence could stop her, she opened the door and stepped inside. “Bring the water here, Pettibone,” Dr. Dudley said without looking up.
“It’s not Mr. Pettibone, Doctor, it’s Moira. I want to help.”
The doctor peered at Moira over his spectacles. “Does blood make you squeamish?”
Moira swallowed, then lied, “No. What can I do?”
“Pettibone is a good man, but he’s all thumbs. You can hold the retractor while I probe for the bullet. It went deep, but as far as I can tell it missed all the vital organs.”
Moira hurried forward and grasped the instrument the doctor indicated. “Is Jack awake?”
“Thank God, no. He passed out when I started to probe. Now, miss, hold the retractor steady.”
Moira tried but could not look away as the doctor dug into Jack’s flesh. Fresh blood welled up around the probe, but the doctor seemed unconcerned. Pettibone returned and set the hot water on the stand, then awaited further instructions. When none came, he backed away but did not leave the chamber. Suddenly the doctor gave an exultant cry, withdrew the bloody bullet and dropped it into a waiting basin.
“ ’Tis done,” he said, plucking the retractor from Moira’s nerveless fingers and setting it aside. “Nothing left now but to stitch the wound.”
“What about infection?” Moira asked, well aware that infection killed more people than the actual wound.
“I’m scrupulous about cleanliness. I’ve long believed that infection is the result of dirty instruments. I know my colleagues scoff at such nonsense, but I’ll stand by my record. Few of my wound patients die of infection, and I’m conscientious when it comes to washing my hands and immersing my instruments in boiling water before and after each use. If one of those
country doctors had removed the bullet, His Lordship wouldn’t have had a chance.”
The doctor threaded a needle and took the first stitch. Moira gasped. “He’s so pale.”
“He’s lost a lot of blood, but I’m confident he’ll recover. Feed him plenty of liquids. Lord Graystoke is strong and healthy. In due time, he’ll be as good as new. There,” he said, taking the last stitch and affixing a bandage, “finished. I’ll leave laudanum for pain and return tomorrow to look in on him.”
After he dipped his hands in the hot water Pettibone had brought, and scrubbed them with soap and dried them, Dr. Dudley took his leave. Pettibone followed him out the door. Spence entered the chamber almost immediately.
“How is he?”
“Dr. Dudley seems to think he’ll be fine.” She glanced at Spence, noting the fatigue lines etched around his mouth and eyes. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll sit up with Jack.”
Spence hesitated. “Are you sure? You must be as exhausted as I.”
“It’s something I have to do,” Moira said. “If not for Jack, I don’t know what would have happened to me.”
“Very well,” Spence allowed. “I’ll find an empty room and grab a few hours’ sleep. Wake me if you need me.”
Moira pulled a chair up to the bed and sat down, too boneweary to notice the spectacular dawn coloring the eastern sky. She stared at Jack, afraid to take her eyes off him. Though pale as death, the steady rise and fall of his chest was comforting. He was lying on his stomach, the same position in which the doctor had left him after removing the bullet.
Her thoughts scattered. She wondered if anyone had ever really known this man. They called him Black Jack, his name hinting at debauchery, dissipation and depravity. He was known as a womanizer and gambler, a man who engaged in all kinds of excesses.
Conversely, Moira found Jack to be kind and thoughtful and brave. She loved him but realized there could be no future for them. He was a duke and she a poor farmer’s daughter. She had no right to aspire to anything greater than becoming Jack’s mistress. She quickly discounted as fanciful the story her mother told her about her possible link to nobility. She had no concrete proof that her grandfather was of noble birth, and no matter how she wished otherwise, her chances for a life with Jack remained dim. She closed her eyes against the pain that knowledge brought her.
“Moira.”
Moira’s eyes flew open to find Jack staring at her. “What is it? Would you like some water? The doctor said you’re going to be just fine,” she said.
“You’re still here.”
Moira swallowed and nodded her head. One day she wouldn’t be here, but until that day arrived, she’d not leave his side. She rose and poured water from the pitcher into a glass, mixed in a generous portion of laudanum and held it to his lips. He drank greedily, then drifted off again. Moira returned to her chair and rested her head on the edge of the bed. In seconds she was asleep.
Chapter Fifteen
Jack awoke slowly, aware of pain and sunlight and more pain. He moved his hand and encountered something soft and silken. Adjusting his eyes to the light pouring in from the window, he was surprised and pleased to see Moira sleeping with her head resting on the edge of the bed. She hadn’t left him. He rested his hand on her head, savoring the feel of her tousled copper curls beneath his fingers. She was safe and she was here and he was never going to let her out of his sight again.
Suddenly the door creaked open, and Pettibone poked his head into the chamber. Seeing that Moira was sleeping, he tiptoed inside so as not to disturb her.
“Is there anything I can do for you, milord? Breakfast will be up directly. Nothing substantial, mind you. The doctor left specific orders.”
Jack shifted uncomfortably and glanced down at Moira, still sleeping peacefully. “I do have a rather urgent need, Pettibone. But first see to Moira. She’s been here with me all night and needs bed rest. Later you can fix me more of that laudanum. I fear the pain is rather unbearable.”
“Shall I wake her or will you?”
“I will,” Jack said, gently caressing Moira’s cheek. Moira sighed, murmured and pressed her cheek into his caress. Grasping her shoulders, he gently shook her. Moira jerked awake.
“Jack! What is it? Do you need something?”
Jack managed a wobbly smile. “I need for you to go to bed. Pettibone can see to my needs. You’ve sat up with me all night; you must rest.” Moira started to protest, but Jack forestalled her. “No, no argument. I’m in no danger.”
“Very well,” she reluctantly agreed. “But Pettibone must call me if I’m needed.”
“I will, Miss Moira. Indeed I will.”
After Moira left the room, Pettibone quickly and efficiently took care of Jack’s personal needs. “And now the laudanum, if you please, Pettibone,” Jack said. As badly as he wanted an explanation of Moira’s escape and his shooting, he simply was in no condition to concentrate on details.
Pettibone administered the drug, then left quietly after Jack dropped off to sleep. A few minutes later, Spence slipped into the room and took the chair Moira had vacated a short time earlier.
Two days later, Jack was sleeping less, taking solid food and felt well enough to hear everything that had transpired after he had taken a bullet in his back. Spence related the details of their wild ride to London.
“Has anyone seen Mayhew after he shot me?” Jack asked his friend.
“Not that I know of. The talk around London is still about Moira’s unsuccessful bid into society. There’s even a bet on the books at White’s on how long you’ll keep her as your mistress. There hasn’t been a whisper about what transpired at the Hellfire Club the other night.”
“And there won’t be,” Jack said. “Dashwood and Mayhew are the only ones besides you, me, Pettibone and Moira who know about the shooting, and they aren’t about to incriminate themselves.”
“There’s Matilda.”
Jack grew thoughtful. “Can the woman be trusted?”
“She helped Moira. Pettibone seems uncommonly fond of her.”
Jack raised a well-shaped brow. “Pettibone? You mean that old reprobate finally found his match?”
Spence shrugged. “I just mentioned it in passing.” He rose to leave. “Well, I’m off, old boy. Moira will have my hide if I tire you. She’s a veritable dragon about your state of health.”
Jack smiled, inordinately pleased at Moira’s protectiveness. “I could use a rest. Keep your eyes and ears open; I’m not finished with this caper. I’ll be up and about in a day or two, and then I’ll decide what must be done, if anything, about Mayhew’s unprovoked attack.”
If Moira let Jack out of bed in a day or two, he’d eat his hat, Spence thought.
An hour later, Moira peeked in on Jack on her way downstairs, saw that he was sleeping and smiled in satisfaction. He was gaining strength rapidly, and she was convinced now that he would recover with no ill effects. That meant she had decisions to make, none of them easy. She was grateful that Matilda was fitting nicely into the household. She had taken over the housekeeper’s duties and seemed to get along famously with Pettibone.
Moira stepped into the parlor, surprised to find the new maids and Jilly in a huddle in the center of the room. Hands on hips, Jilly appeared to be engaged in a heated argument. Moira’s entrance caused them to spring apart guiltily, and Moira realized that they had been gossiping about her. They scattered as soon as she stepped into the room, except for Jilly, who hung back with a hangdog expression on her face.
“I’m sorry, milady. I’ll see that it doesn’t happen again.”
“I presume you were discussing me.”
Jilly bowed her head. “Not I, milady. I’d never do or say anything to hurt you. You know how gossip travels among servants. I was merely setting them straight about a few things.”
“First of all, you must stop calling me milady. Moira will do. I am no lady, as you must know by now. And I’m not even remotely related to Lord Graystoke. Seco
nd, I want to know the nature of the gossip circulating about me.”
“I don’t care what they say, mila…Miss Moira. They don’t know you like I do.”
“Thank you, Jilly,” Moira said gratefully, “but I insist you tell me what is being said about me.”
Jilly swallowed hard, clearly uncomfortable. “The gentry are saying that you seduced Lord Graystoke, then convinced him to pass you off to society as a lady. They say you’re his mistress. Rumor has it that you also enticed Lord Roger Mayhew into your bed while in his employ before setting your sights on Lord Graystoke.”
Moira’s nostrils flared angrily. “Go on.” She was determined to hear everything no matter how damning.
“Are you sure?”
“Aye.”
“There’s a bet on the books at White’s concerning the date Lord Graystoke will send you packing.”
Moira’s face drained of all color. “What are people’s feelings about Lord Graystoke?”
“They’re ready to forgive him once he releases you from his protection. They think the whole prank is entirely your fault, but feelings are running against him, at least until he redeems himself in their eyes.”
It never ceased to amaze Moira how fast gossip traveled from household to household among servants. It was ever so when she was employed in the Mayhew household, and it would be ever so until the end of time. Servants managed to get to the heart of the matter rather quickly.
“Thank you, Jilly. I appreciate your honesty.”
“I don’t care what they say, Miss Moira,” Jilly declared staunchly. “You’re good and kind and not capable of duplicity. “I don’t even care if you’re Lord Graystoke’s mistress.”
After Jilly left, Moira felt the weight of the world pressing down upon her. If Jack hadn’t inherited the dukedom, his high jinks would have been considered normal behavior for a man with Black Jack Graystoke’s unfavorable reputation. Gaining a title had changed everything. Jack now had certain standards to maintain whether he liked it or not. Instead of flouting society, he must now conform. And conforming meant marrying a woman of equal rank and position. Oh, he could still drink, gamble and womanize—most members of the gentry did—but when it came to marriage, there were strict rules to uphold. The gossip, combined with Jack’s exalted rank, made her decision about her future painful but clear.