by Laura Landon
So many thoughts raced through Hannah’s mind that she was incapable of speech.
“I know you’re worried, but don’t be. This wasn’t your idea, so you’re not responsible for anything that happens. Skinner’s been asking for this for a long time. He wants to own every prostitute on the East End, and everyone knows if they don’t stop him now, he’ll eat them up one by one.”
“It’s dangerous, Dalia. You didn’t see the satisfaction he took from nearly killing Rafe.”
“Saving innocent girls has always been dangerous. Skinner’s made it worse. That’s why he has to be stopped.”
Hannah looked from Dalia to the bed where Rafe lay. Yes, Skinner had to be stopped. No one was safe until he was.
Dalia stood. “I’ve got to get ready for tonight. It’s been unusually busy lately. And the Earl of Parnes will be here tonight. Clorise and Fanny always argue over which one gets to entertain him, so I’d better separate the two before they have words.”
“I’m sorry I’m not helping you—”
“I’m fine. You stay here. Your vicar needs you more than I do.”
Dalia gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then left the room. When Hannah was alone again, she turned her concentration back to Rafe.
A sheet covered his body. Except for the bandage around his back from the gunshot wound, he was naked beneath it. Bruises covered every part of his body that she could see, as well as areas beneath the sheet she couldn’t. Not that she hadn’t looked. She had. He was as beautifully formed as any man she’d ever seen—and she’d seen more than her share. But never any who were as bruised and battered as he was.
Hannah walked to the table beside the bed and rinsed a cloth in a basin of fresh water. Several of the cuts still bled, and she placed the damp cloth over a particularly ugly cut on his forehead. When she cleaned it as the doctor ordered her to do several times a day, she dried it, then applied the salve the physician had left. She did the same to several other cuts, both on his face and on his chest. When she finished, she lifted the bowl of warm broth Cook had sent up. The doctor had left orders to get as much liquid down him as she could, but this was the most difficult part. How did you get an unconscious man to eat?
She dipped a piece of twisted cloth into the bowl and let the cloth soak the broth. Then she slipped the cloth into Rafe’s mouth and prayed he would suck on it. Thankfully, his throat moved and he swallowed at least a little. She repeated the process again and again.
Eventually, he refused to open his mouth for her, and she set the bowl of broth back on the table and gently washed his face. When she finished, she placed the damp cloth back in the basin and sat in her chair to watch him sleep.
The doctor who’d come to tend Rafe had warned her that he might not recover, but Hannah refused to accept that. He would live, and he would recover. She couldn’t live with herself if he didn’t. It was her fault he’d been shot and beaten, her fault he’d placed himself in danger. And she asked herself for the thousandth time why he hadn’t gone home when she’d told him to.
Rafe moved, and she leaned over to hold his hand in hers. He was more restless than he’d been earlier, but the doctor said that was to be expected. Even though he wasn’t conscious, deep in the back recesses of his mind he still remembered what had happened to him. His mind realized he was in pain.
Before she could protect herself, Rafe pulled his hand from her grasp and swung his arm in the air. His fist hit her hard. She grabbed on to the corner of the bed to keep from toppling to the floor.
As if he were trying to escape Skinner’s men, as he had when they held him and beat him, Rafe thrashed from side to side.
“Rafe, lie still. You’re going to hurt yourself.” Hannah was afraid he’d undo all the good the doctor had done to the open wounds that covered his body.
She tried to calm him and hold him steady, but he was too strong. He pushed her off him with such force she landed on the floor.
Hannah pushed herself to her feet and ran to the door. She needed help. She needed someone who was strong enough to hold Rafe down.
“Humphrey!” she yelled, hoping someone would hear her and get Humphrey for her.
Thankfully, someone heard her, because in a short time, Humphrey ran into the room.
“Help me, Humphrey,” she pleaded, and was relieved when Humphrey’s strong arms pinned Rafe to the bed.
For several long minutes, Humphrey struggled to keep Rafe calm. “Those bastards hurt him bad,” he said. “If you get a chance to take Skinner down, you make sure I’m there.”
The indomitable expression on his face was filled with such bitterness it took Hannah’s breath. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and knelt at the side of the bed so she was closer to Rafe. She needed him to know how anxious she was for him to heal, how desperately she needed to know he wouldn’t die. She wouldn’t feel better until he had healed and she knew he was living a productive life someplace—even if that someplace wasn’t anywhere near her.
She leaned toward him to whisper in his ear. “Did you hear that, Rafe? Humphrey is concerned about you.” She lightly brushed her fingers across his forehead. “All the girls are worried about you too. They ask about you every day.”
She continued talking to him, soothing him with her voice and her touch. Eventually, he calmed.
Humphrey slowly eased his grip and stood. “You want me to stay, Miss Genevieve?”
Hannah shook her head. “No, Humphrey. We’re fine now.”
“I know you won’t want to hear this, but the vicar’s hurt real bad. You should prepare yourself in case he doesn’t make it.”
Humphrey’s words were like a blow to her heart. She knew Rafe was badly hurt. When Dalia had first seen him, she didn’t recognize him.
“Sometimes there’s damage done on the inside of a person’s body you can’t see from the outside.”
Hannah tried to block out Humphrey’s warning, but she couldn’t. She knew what he said was true. The doctor had cautioned her with the same advice.
She tried to tell Humphrey she was prepared for the worst, if it happened, but she couldn’t speak the words. She would never be prepared.
As if he realized there was nothing more he could say or do to help her, he said, “Well, I’ll be going, then, if you’ll be all right here by yourself.”
“I’ll be fine, Humphrey. Thank you for your help.”
“Call if you need me again,” he said, then walked away from her.
Hannah held back her tears until she heard the door close behind Humphrey, then the river of pent-up emotions rushed to the surface. Tears welled in her eyes, then streamed down her face. Uncontrollable sobs racked her body.
She didn’t know how she’d manage if he didn’t survive. She wasn’t sure she could. How would she ever be able to live with herself, knowing a kind, generous man was dead because of her ignorance?
She thought of all the girls she’d rescued from a horrible existence and would never regret what she’d done to save them. She remembered how she’d struggled to make Madam Genevieve’s a success—not because she took any enjoyment in running it or felt any pride in what she was doing, but because Madam Genevieve’s provided her with the income she needed to support Coventry Cottage.
But none of that would mean anything if it cost Rafe his life.
She remained on the floor at his bedside for hours and held his hand. With trembling fingers, she gently brushed back the hair that fell to his forehead. She’d give anything to be able to relive the night she’d walked into Skinner’s trap, and change her decision to go. Then Rafe wouldn’t be lying here near death.
She brought his hand to her mouth and pressed her lips to his flesh. His hands were the only part of his upper body not bloody and bruised. That’s because Skinner’s men hadn’t given him the chance to use his hands to defend himself. She could still see two of Skinner’s men restraining him. Every time she closed her eyes, she relived the beating he’d received.
Rafe moaned, and Hannah rose to dampen a clean cloth and press it to his lips. Then she dampened another cloth in cool water and dabbed his face. When she finished, she felt his forehead for any sign of a fever. The doctor had warned her to watch for a fever. He’d said the wounds weren’t nearly as dangerous as a fever.
She was relieved that he wasn’t hot to the touch. Maybe he’d be spared the worst and would heal more quickly. With a sigh, she sat on the chair beside the bed and waited.
Tonight would be another long night. Just as the last three had been.
Chapter 14
Hannah sat at Rafe’s bedside and continued to do something she hadn’t done in fifteen years—she prayed. Over the last five days, she’d prayed more fervently than she’d ever prayed. She’d even considered making promises she knew she wouldn’t keep—such as stop searching for the innocent children Skinner wanted, or close Madam Genevieve’s—but had stopped short of making a promise God knew she couldn’t keep.
God knew what was in her heart, and He knew she had no intention of doing either of those things. Allowing so many innocent children to fall into Skinner’s hands was unthinkable. And the income from Madam Genevieve’s supported Coventry Cottage. Without the revenue Madam Genevieve’s took in, she couldn’t feed or clothe her children.
No, God already knew what she would do, so she simply prayed that He would spare Rafe’s life. She closed her eyes and began her request again. A soft moan stopped her short.
She focused on Rafe’s injured body just as he slowly opened his eyes.
He tried to move his head and stopped on a moan. “Bloody hell,” he hissed, then lay quiet again.
“Don’t move,” she whispered. She placed a hand on his shoulder to hold him steady.
“Hannah?”
“Yes.” She reached out and took his hand. “I’m glad you decided to finally wake up.”
“I’m not sure I am.”
“No, I don’t suppose you are.” She moved so she was close enough that he could lift his gaze and see her without moving.
“You look tired,” he whispered.
She smiled. “I look better than you.” She reached for a decanter on the bedside table and poured some water into a glass. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Yes.”
She held the glass to his lips, and he took a few sips.
“Where am I?”
“We brought you here—to Madam Genevieve’s.”
“I’d laugh if it didn’t hurt so badly. I’d lay odds that I’m one of the few men of the cloth who’s ever spent a night in a bordello.”
“That would be something your parishioners might not find amusing.”
“No, I don’t suppose many of them would.”
Hannah placed the glass back on the table and sat in her chair. “Do you remember what happened?”
“Not everything. But Skinner was there.”
“Yes, Skinner and several of his men.”
The frown on his forehead deepened, and she knew he remembered at least some of what happened that night.
“How long have I been here?”
“Five days.”
“No wonder you look tired. You haven’t gotten any rest since then, have you?”
Hannah rose from her chair and walked away from him. “Why were you still here? I thought you’d returned to Wedgewood Manor. Why didn’t you?”
“I couldn’t.”
She turned. “Why?”
“You know the answer to that.”
“I know that because you stayed, you almost got yourself killed.”
“You were in danger. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I’d have left you and something happened to you.”
“You’re a vicar, Rafe. A vicar! Not an officer in Her Majesty’s army who’s been trained to kill.”
“I could have been.”
“Could have been what?”
“An officer. In Her Majesty’s army.”
Rafe’s words confused her. She stopped to focus on his face. His eyes were closed, but there was a lift to his swollen lips. He was teasing her. He’d nearly gotten himself killed and he was teasing her! “You’re impossible, do you know that?”
“I try my hardest.”
For the hundredth time since he’d been hurt, she realized how much she loved him and how desperately she’d miss him if he died. A knot formed in her throat and tears filled her eyes. She walked to the chair where she’d spent endless terrifying hours over the last five days and sat. “Go back to sleep now.”
“I’ve slept long enough. I want to stay awake.”
He was tiring. She knew she should let him sleep, but she couldn’t deny his need to stay awake for just a little while. She reached for his hand and held it. “Why did you become a vicar? Why not an officer?”
He breathed a shaky sigh. “The uniforms.”
A laugh she couldn’t stop escaped. “The uniforms?” she said when she stopped laughing.
“Yes, have you ever seen them?”
“Yes. Often, as a matter of fact. I find them very attractive—as well as the men wearing them.”
“Women always do.”
Hannah thought. “I suppose we do. But you don’t?”
“Have you ever asked a soldier how he likes wearing a uniform?”
“No.”
“If you had, they’d tell you they hated them. They’re hot in the summer. Scratchy year-round. And very uncomfortable. They’re…”
He stopped to take a breath. A sheen of perspiration covered his forehead. “They’re only appealing to the people looking at them. Not the ones wearing them.”
Hannah stopped to rinse a cloth in some cool water and dabbed his face. “I hadn’t thought of that. No wonder you chose to be a vicar.”
His answer was a moan.
He was in pain. The doctor had warned her he would be when he woke.
“You’ve talked enough. It’s time to sleep.” Hannah reached for the dark bottle on the bedside table and poured a small amount of the liquid into a glass of wine. After she stirred it, she lifted his head and held it to his lips. “Here, drink this.”
“What is it?”
“Laudanum. The doctor said to give you some when you woke. It will ease the pain.”
Rafe drank from the glass, then sank back into the mattress. “Get some rest, Hannah. You need it.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You’re exhausted, and you can’t afford to let down your guard. You’re in trouble.” He breathed a heavy sigh. “You won’t be able to protect yourself from Skinner if you can’t even stay awake.”
She straightened the covers around him and made sure he was comfortable, then sat back in her chair. “I’ll stay here until you’re asleep, then I’ll go to my room. I’ll get someone to stay here with you. If you need anything, tell them. They’ll come for me.”
She sank back into her chair and closed her eyes. He was already asleep when she checked on him a minute later.
Hannah looked at his battered and beaten body and knew what happened to him was her fault. Her goal was now to protect him—and the only way she could accomplish that was to make sure he left London.
A knot formed in her stomach. Forcing him to leave was the only way she could keep him alive.
And it would kill the part of her heart she needed to live.
Rafe opened his eyes and shifted his gaze to the chair where she always sat. It was empty.
He looked around the room and found her looking out the window.
She wore peach today, the deepest, richest shade of peach he’d ever seen. Her hair was loosely pulled back from her face, and a fistful of golden ringlets was allowed to cascade down her back, fastened at the crown of her head by an intertwining comb made from pearls. The only term that described her was gorgeous. He stared at her for a while longer before he spoke. “What kind of a day is it?” he finally asked.
She turned and smiled. “It’s a picture-perfect
spring day.”
“I’m sure it can’t equal the picture-perfect woman I’m looking at right now.”
She smiled and favored him with a graceful curtsy.
“Perhaps I can escort you outside, then?” he said.
She pursed her lips and gave him a strict glare. “Perhaps you’ll stay in bed as the doctor ordered you to do.”
“That was a week ago. He didn’t realize how quickly I was capable of healing when he issued that ridiculous order.”
“He knew exactly how much time it would take you to recover from the beating you took. As well as the bullet wound.”
“Has anyone told you how impossible you are?”
She shook her head. “No. I’ve never had anyone try to go against my orders.”
“Are you serious?”
She gifted him with a look of superiority. “Of course I am. Everyone at Madam Genevieve’s understands the wisdom in my directives.”
Rafe opened his mouth to refute her boastfulness, then stopped. She was serious. He laughed, but not too hard because of the pain he’d suffer if he did. “You are the most remarkable woman I’ve ever met.”
“I’m glad you realize that fact.”
“You’re also exceedingly stubborn and unwavering.”
Her delicate eyebrows arched. “Thank you, my lord. I appreciate your candid opinion.”
“And you are tenacious to a fault.”
Several furrows deepened across her brow. “Take care,” she warned. “Your compliments are taking on a more negative tone.”
“I assure you that is not my intent.”
“What is your intent, then?”
“I was hoping that you would question your determination, Hannah. I admit I am not well enough to do much, but I am well enough to do more than lie in this bed and be waited on.”
She pursed her lips as if considering his argument, then walked to his bedside.
“Going out-of-doors is out of the question.” She paused. “But perhaps you could sit on the edge of the bed for a while.”
“And stand?”
She laughed. “Let’s see how you manage sitting first. Then we’ll see about standing.”