A Dangerous Man

by Janmarie Anello

  "Oh, dear. This is terrible. This way, please."

  Lady Cunningham led them to a bedchamber at the top of the stairs, then went to issue instructions and reassure her guests.

  Richard gently set Leah on the center of the bed. His hands shook as he pushed the soggy hair from her cheeks. "Leah? Can you hear me? Open your eyes..

  Margaret came up behind him. "Please, let me help you-"

  "Go away," Richard snarled, never taking his eyes from his wife's face, as pale as the crisp, white sheets beneath her head, save for the bright patch of red staining his cravat. "Haven't you done enough already? Are you proud of what you accomplished with your jealousy and spite?"

  "You cannot think I planned this?" Margaret cried, reaching for his shoulder, pulling her hand away when he sent her an I-will-kill-you-if-you-touch-me glare. "Richard, truly, I didn't know where I was. In my confusion, I thought we were together again. I surely did not mean for your wife to see us like that, or for her to injure herself."

  The sight of tears streaming down Margaret's cheeks jolted him from his blinding rage. Margaret might be lewd, crude, and more than a little rude, but Richard had never known her to be vindictive or purposely cruel. He sighed heavily. "I do believe you, Margaret. It's just that I am worried."

  Margaret bit her lip and nodded. A moment later, he heard her footsteps retreat. It seemed as if an hour passed before Lady Cunningham returned with an armful of blankets, followed by a portly, bewigged man of about fifty who introduced himself as Doctor Somebody-or-other.

  Richard didn't catch the man's name, nor did he care.

  All he could think about was his wife.

  The doctor stripped off his jacket and marched to Leah's side. "What happened?"

  "My wife fell and struck her head"

  The doctor clucked his tongue, but said nothing as he performed his examination.

  Richard's gut twisted with each passing second until he could stand the silent torture no more. "There is so much blood ..." The room seemed to swirl around him. It was absurd and sent a tingling chill over his skin. He should be immune to the sight of blood. He had seen enough of it during the war. But this was different. This was his wife.

  "Head wounds tend to bleed profusely, even with very little damage," the doctor said matter-of-factly. "And she has quite a nasty cut to the back of her head, no doubt from striking a rock or the pavement during her fall. The gash across the temple is more superficial, a scraping off of skin as she twisted. No, it isn't blood loss that is a danger to her. It is the trauma to the head"

  The doctor snipped away a chunk of Leah's glorious hair at the base of her neck. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle, but it sped up again as he washed the wounds. He smeared a thick paste over the gash, then wrapped a clean bandage around her head. Turning her onto her side, he examined her for injuries to her arms, back, thighs. She never opened her eyes.

  An eerie sense of time grinding to a halt afflicted Richard. His heart seemed to stop. His skin, which only moments before was so frigidly cold, now seemed numb. "What can I do?"

  The doctor frowned. "There isn't much anyone can do, except watch and wait. If she regains consciousness soon, I should hope for the best. . ."

  He forced himself to ask, "And if she doesn't?"

  "Let us wait and see, shall we? There is no use in dealing with uncertainties."

  Richard ran his fingertips along her jaw. She was so still, so pale. What if he lost her when he'd only just found her?

  "I would like to take her home," he said, his voice a shaky rasp that scraped his throat.

  "I would advise against it, Your Grace. A jostling carriage ride is the last thing she needs right now."

  Lady Cunningham came up beside Richard and placed her hand on his arm. "Leave her to me, Your Grace. My maid and I will get her out of her wet clothes." "

  "No! I will do it myself." He lifted his gaze to Lady Cunningham's. "Please, forgive my rudeness, madam, but I am worried. I would not leave her."

  I understand" Lady Cunningham gave his arm a reassuring squeeze, then ushered everyone from the room.

  Richard unfastened the buttons of Leah's gown. He chafed her arms, her legs, her hands, then wrapped the blankets around her like a woolen cocoon. "Please, darling, open your eyes. I want to see your beautiful, green eyes"

  Lady Cunningham returned, carrying on a tray a steaming bowl of broth, a pot of tea, and an assortment of medicine bottles.

  A footman followed with extra blankets and a change of men's clothing in his arms.

  "This is Robert," Lady Cunningham said, nodding at the servant as she set the tray on the bedside table. "He will be just outside the door should you need him. The doctor has agreed to stay the night. I dispatched a servant to your house to gather some clothing and such. These will have to do for now. I do hope they fit. They belonged to my husband when he was much younger, and much thinner."

  Richard gave her a weak smile. "Thank you for your kindness, Lady Cunningham"

  "Yes, well ... if you should need me . .

  Richard nodded. He waited for Lady Cunningham and the footman to leave before he stripped off his wet clothes and grabbed the borrowed garments. The shirt pulled across his shoulders. The breeches left his knees exposed. But at least they were dry, not that he cared.

  Nothing mattered, save for his wife.

  He pulled a chair next the bed, stroked Leah's cheeks with his fingertips. Her skin was so cold, despite the blankets and the blazing fire. Not knowing what else to do, he climbed onto the bed and gathered her into his arms.

  "Oh, God, Leah, I don't want to lose you now."

  Rachel smiled at Margaret as the two women stood beneath the portico waiting for their carriages. Nothing could depress her high spirits, not the soggy night air that would render her hair a tangled mess, nor her companion's grim face. "What is wrong with you, Margaret? Our plan worked perfectly, yet you stand there looking as if someone has stolen your favorite brooch"

  Margaret leaned her hand against the nearest Doric column, as if she needed the smooth marble to help her stand. "I wanted to drive the girl into the arms of another man, not kill her."

  "Do not be absurd. The child will be fine." A gust of wind spattered rain across the stone floor. Rachel pulled her cashmere shawl around her shoulders. "She has suffered a simple bump on the head. Why, Alison is forever tumbling here and there with nary a care. The chit will be up and about by tomorrow, with only a few scrapes and bruises to mark her injuries."

  "I hope you are right," Margaret said, edging toward the steps leading into the carriage drive, as if to escape Rachel's presence. "Did you see his face? He loves her, even if he has yet to realize it."

  "Nonsense!" Rachel would never consider it. Caught up in carnal lust, yes. But not love. Rachel was the woman he loved. Not some worthless slut pulled from the laboring masses. "She is a piece of fluff who has caught his fancy."

  Margaret's dark-eyed stare held more than a hint of suspicion. Her lips moved, then she shook her head, as if she couldn't voice the accusation rolling around the tip of her tongue. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "But I do not want to hurt her. Not physically. That was not part of the plan."

  "Of course not," Rachel said, shrugging her shoulders. "Neither do I. But we cannot let this inconvenient accident deter us from our course. We must march onward toward our goal."

  Margaret gave a sulky nod. "What of Prescott? Once I left the ballroom with Richard, I never saw him again."

  The torches along the wall flickered in the breeze. The flames danced golden over Rachel's skin. How much longer would she have to wait to feel Richard's hands running over her breasts, making her burn in her most secret places?

  "Prescott left just after he and Leah danced. That boy is so green, he wore his heart on his sleeve all through their waltz. It was perfect" Rachel laughed aloud. "Mark my words, Margaret. The gossipmongers will have plenty to keep them busy tonight."

  Leah heard voices floating in the darkn
ess. She tried to open her eyes, but her lids felt swollen and wouldn't part, as if someone had sewn them together. She persevered and finally managed to drag them apart.

  The room swam before her eyes in a misty haze.

  Richard's face appeared above her, his mouth twisted in a fearsome frown. She should tell him not to scowl so fiercely-he was ever so handsome when he smiled-but she couldn't seem to find her voice. Her mouth was dry, her tongue felt thick. The only sound she could hear was a roaring in her ears, like ocean waves whipped up by a hurricane, the wind swirling through her head, the deafening pounding of the tide against a rocky shore.

  The canopy above the bed caught up in the swirling storm spun rapid circles around her head. Her stomach heaved. Her heart beat faster, her throat convulsing until the nausea passed.

  Richard disappeared. Another face appeared above her. A stranger this time. He spoke to her, but Leah couldn't attend to his words. A vision of Richard with another woman clutched in his arms swam before her eyes. Leah moaned and sank willingly into the sweet, painless void that hovered beyond the light.

  The next time she opened her eyes, morning sunlight filled the room. An open window let in a humid breeze-and the clatter of horse hooves striking cobblestones on the street below her window? That wasn't right. Her room overlooked the gardens, not the street, and the Chinese wallpaper and crimson draperies confused her. This was not her room. Where was she?

  Do not panic, she told herself as she drew a deep breath, her heart starting to race, her skin tingling with cold and fear. She lifted her head, but it set off a fearsome pounding, like a chisel striking her brain. The small movement threatened to send the contents of her stomach swishing up her aching throat.

  She swallowed quickly to keep from retching.

  Someone was clutching her hand. She turned her head by slow degrees, breathing deeply between each torturous inch until she saw Richard sitting on a chair pulled close to the side of the bed, his head resting on his arms, her hand clutched in his fist.

  She wiggled her fingers, and even that small movement sent a spasm of pain up her arm. Bloodshot eyes popped open. A dark growth of hair bristled his cheeks. Shadows and lines etched the hollows of his cheeks and the creases of his lips.

  Then he smiled. Slow. Soft. Tender.

  One hand reached out to stroke her brow. "How do you feel?"

  Some vague memory tugged at her awareness, reached through her confusion, but Leah couldn't seem to grasp it. She tried to return his smile, but her head hurt too much to risk moving even her lips. Her fear must have shown in her eyes.

  He smoothed his knuckles over her cheek. His gaze shifted away for a moment. When he looked back at her, a grimness hardened the lines around his mouth and eyes. "You fell and bumped your head. Do you not remember?"

  Another brief flash of memory, lost in the fog. Leah reached for it, but it dissolved before she could catch it.

  A feeling of foreboding crawled over her skin. Perhaps she did not want to know. Perhaps it was better this way.

  A soft knock sounded on the door before it opened.

  Leah expected her aunt's cheerful smile to greet her, not the tall, stately woman who stood in the doorway with a breakfast tray in her hands. She looked vaguely familiar, but Leah could not remember where they might have met.

  "How is our patient this morning?" the woman said.

  "Finally awake," Richard replied. "And her belly is furi ously grumbling for food, which is rather a good sign, do you not think, Lady Cunningham?"

  Leah's cheeks burned, but she could not form a thought, much less speak a word.

  Lady Cunningham smiled. "Well, then, I will leave this tray. I fear there is nothing too substantial on it. Clear broth and honeyed tea for today. If you are feeling up to company this afternoon, perhaps I could read to you?"

  "That would be lovely," Leah managed, but she was too disoriented to truly understand the words.

  "I shall see you then," she said, then walked from the room.

  Richard took a napkin from the tray and tucked it beneath Leah's chin. He poured a glass of water, added a few drops of liquid from a bottle on the tray. He held the glass to her lips. "Drink it slowly. There is laudanum in it to ease your pain and help you rest. Rest is what you need most"

  Leah gulped the soothing liquid. Mere moments passed before the soothing effects of the opiate dulled her senses. She felt herself drifting off. "How long have I been ill?"

  Richard frowned. "We were at a ball. You slipped down the terrace steps. Do you not remember?"

  Leah shook her head, a foolish mistake, she realized, as her vision blurred and her stomach clenched.

  "Never mind." He kissed the back of her hand, then pressed her palm against his cheek. His morning beard felt soft and familiar against her skin. "Rest and get well. That is all I want you to concern yourself with."

  By the end of the next week, Leah thought she might scream if Richard fussed over her for one more moment. As much as she enjoyed his ministrations and the proof that he cared about her well-being, she was tired of lounging around as if she were an invalid, incapable of so much as brushing her own hair.

  The swelling at the back of her head had diminished. The scab covering the wound no longer itched. How she had injured her head remained a mystery. Vague images tortured her dreams, but she could not discern them. Richard told her she'd stumbled down the terrace steps, but why would she leave the ball in the middle of a storm? Why did his eyes shift away whenever she questioned him?

  With a disgusted sigh, she pushed herself off the bed and paced to the cheval glass. A wave of dizziness nearly dropped her to her knees, but she breathed deeply until the spell passed.

  She lifted her hair, which she wore down across her brow to cover the gash. The wound was starting to knit itself together, but the skin was still red and raw and would no doubt leave a scar.

  Her simple, muslin frock, which Richard had helped her don before he'd left, rubbed against her aching ribs. She closed her eyes, shivered as she remembered his hands sliding along the curve of her back, his movements brisk, coldly clinical, while her thoughts had been anything but.

  A quick knock on the door before it opened sent a guilty flush across her cheeks, but it was only Lady Cunningham, come for their morning visit.

  "I take it St. Austin is away," she said, her brown eyes sparkling with shared mischief. "Or he would toss you back on that bed"

  The only clues to her age, which Leah placed at about fifty, were the few streaks of silver highlighting her mahogany hair.

  She laughed, then winced at the swift onslaught of pain. Perhaps she wasn't quite recovered, after all. "The doctor said I could return home, so he is off to fetch the carriage."

  "There was no need" Lady Cunningham took a seat by the window. "I would have been more than happy to send you home in mine, though I must say, I am sad to see you leave. Since my daughter and her husband sailed for the Indies, I have been at odds and ends. I will miss our conversations, Your Grace"

  "As will I. Please, call me Leah. I am not quite comfortable with that title yet."

  "Leah. What a lovely name. And I am Abigail. Abby to my friends." She glanced around the room, as if expecting Richard to pop out of the shadows and scold her for letting her patient out of bed. "I wonder, each spring I host a subscription ball to raise funds for the Sunday schools in the poorer districts of the City, the Seven Dials, Covent Garden, and the like. Might I interest you in joining my committee? The work will not start for many months yet, but I thought, perhaps . . ."

  I should like that above all things," Leah said as she slid onto the seat across from Abby, her warm acceptance a balm to Leah's sorely bruised feelings. She did not remember much of the ball that ended with her injury, but she did recall the animosity of Richard's peers, the cold refusal to so much as include her in trivial conversation, much less the planning of a charitable event that was the perfect counterpart to her own philanthropic endeavors. They spent the next ho
ur in pleasant conversation, Abby sharing the details of the last few balls, what went right, what ended in disaster. Leah making suggestions for the next.

  Until Richard appeared at the door, all brooding dark eyes and disapproving frown as he glanced first at the bed, then swept his gaze around the room, his eyes finally finding Leah.

  The same haunted look hung in his eyes that she had seen from the moment she'd first awakened following her injury.

  What is wrong, she wanted to cry, but she forced herself to smile, albeit shakily, as she rose, careful not to let her dizziness show. His narrow-eyed gaze said she did not fool him.

  He wanted to chastise her, Leah could tell, but he folded his hands behind his back and smiled. "Good morning, ladies."

  "Your Grace" Abby swept her hands down the crisp folds of her muslin gown. "I was just telling your wife how much I have enjoyed her company, but if she does not get well soon, she will miss the remainder of the season. Leah, I shall leave you in your husband's capable hands"

  "Thank you for everything, Abby," Leah said. "I will never forget your kindness to me"

  Richard watched the door close, his smile thoughtful as he raised his brows. "Leah? Abby?"

  "We have cried friends," she said, wishing he would take her in his arms, but he made no move to close the distance between them. With a boldness she didn't know she possessed, she crossed the room and slid her fingers through his hair.

  "Kiss me," she said, and gently tugged on his neck until his lips touched hers. She longed to tell him of her love, but she spoke instead with her kiss, sliding her tongue along his lips, then deep inside his mouth.

  "We'll have none of that," he growled, pulling her hands from about his neck, though his voice shook with the same desire heating her skin and curling in her belly. "Besides, I have a surprise. Wait here" He left the room, spoke to someone in the corridor, and returned with a giggling Alison on his hip.

  Leah titled her head as she stared at them, cheek to cheek, matching smiles upon their lips, as if they had pulled off the greatest of intrigues. She could not even begin to name the emotion bubbling up within her as Richard used his free arm to pull her into his embrace. Nor could she explain the tears gathering in her eyes as they stood there, arms wrapped around each other, Alison's fingers playing with Leah's hair.