by Claudy Conn
He frowned darkly at her. “I don’t like to hear you speak like that.”
“Do you not?” was all she could muster in a voice she scarcely recognized as her own. Was that her heart starting to crackle with worry?
“Temptress, do not make me thrash my principles and pull you off your horse and do everything I am yearning to do with you here and now,” he answered, and his voice sounded harsh to her delicate ears.
“Principles?” She eyed him and said no more.
“It was wrong of me to seduce you last night … you didn’t understand the fire you were playing with—the sort of burn that awaits such games.”
“Burned—I think I am not yet. I have been quite thoroughly singed and by my own actions, though. Yours were quite … welcome, and I do not mind the aftermath of my actions,” she said quietly.
He rounded on her. “Flip! You are an innocent, and I am a cad.”
She laughed. “Not yet, you are not.”
He shook his head and said, “I wanted to take you on this ride to tell you what happened last night cannot happen again. It was most wrong of me to take advantage of your … attraction to me and when you are so very vulnerable. You were in a terrible situation. I came along and rescued you and Scott—and in your mind, you, well, you have fixated on me. That is not what I want. You think me some sort of hero, and I am not worthy of one hair on your head.”
She hung her head. Was he just being kind? Breaking it to her gently that she did not suit him? He was a hero, and that was what he would do. He had thoroughly and completely wiped away all joy in their morning. “I see,” she said softly.
“No, you do not, but from here on out, I mean that you shall,” he said in something of a passion.
She eyed him then, for her spirit was indomitable. She was not the sort to cave and give up. She said, “Are you afraid of me?”
“I am afraid that any honor I ever thought I had is being blown into the wind because of you,” he answered softly.
“Take heed, sir, for this is the truth. I went to you—and not because I was vulnerable,” she said, her chin up. “I am never vulnerable.”
“Are you not?” he said doubtfully. “Good girl.”
Good girl? She almost rounded on him and wagged her finger. This was not how she imagined their ride would be.
They proceeded for only a short jaunt before he said they should get back before anyone remarked upon their absence.
She said nothing to this, and a glance at his profile told her that he was certainly still troubled. Her instinct told her he wanted to say more—that it was on the tip of his tongue—but he was holding off.
What? What did he want to say?
Felicia considered this notion, and her brain developed yet another road to pursue.
Oh, yes, she had seen more than lust in his dear, warm, silver eyes last night, and now, again, she saw that same warm light. All she needed to do was to get him to look inward and see it as well.
* * *
Scott had leaned into Felicia and asked if dinner could be served in his room.
“Why, dearest … are you not feeling well?”
“To be honest, I don’t want to fuss but feel a bit unsteady on my feet,” he answered.
Thus it was that dinner was served within the cozy confines of his bedroom on a small round table that had been set up near the slowly burning fire in the grate.
Scott was, Felicia noted, in spite of his fatigue, in good spirits, and dismissed his mild complaint as his color and smile were both, she thought, quite normal.
She and Scott were left alone for a bit, and he frowned at her and said, “I know, Felicia, that you think I have no ready understanding when it comes to er … people’s emotions, but it isn’t true, you know. For example, I know that you are not feeling quite the thing yourself.”
“Nonsense.” She tried to laugh this off. “Whatever are you talking about? I feel just fine. And I never said you did not have an understanding. What I said was that men in general do not always perceive what is right before their eyes … when it comes to women.”
“Well, that may be true,” he said, chewing over this. Then he laughed. “Still, something is off with you. I have known you too long not to know that.”
“What makes you say so?”
“For one thing, it is in your eyes, Flip, especially when you happen to be looking at Ashton. I know you like him—”
“Stop.” She pointed a finger at him.
“No, I won’t stop. Why should I? You never do. I tell you what … he has been looking grim all day as well. Have you two had a row? I tell you what, it would be too bad if you have upset him. Damned good man.” He shook his head. “It isn’t that, though, is it?”
“We have not had a row. Absurd boy. What has gotten into your head?”
There was nothing more to be said at that moment, as Ashton had arrived, a glass of something in his hand, which he sipped as he entered the room. Behind him were two serving girls, who went ahead and set the table.
Conversation between the three was lively, and Scott’s concerns were set aside until Scott pushed away his food, frowned towards Ashton, who suddenly seemed absorbed in his own thoughts, turned a narrowed eye to Felicia, and said loudly, “Well, well, Flip, ol’ girl. I know what we need to liven up the evening. What say you to a game of cards?”
Felicia eyed him and smiled before turning to Ashton. “No, I don’t think so, but perhaps you and Mr. Ashton?”
“Mr. Ashton?” retorted the gentleman in question with a touch of impatience. “I thought we had settled on Glen?”
She inclined her head and her lashes fluttered. She saw Scott watching them intently as though trying to piece together a puzzle that had him baffled.
Scott tried again. “Come on now, surely you cannot deny us a little game of cards, Flip—that isn’t like you.”
Once again she eyed Scott and was struck by the worry in his eyes. “Oh, how selfish of me. Of course, if that is what you really want. Cards, it is.” She put on a brave face and said, “I will be but a moment and fetch them, but I tell you so that you will listen, Scott, I shall not play cribbage!” So saying she laughed and went off.
Scott watched her leave and looked at Ashton to say, “Don’t know what has come over Flip. She is never one to pout, and I’d swear that was what she has been doing all day.”
“Has she been?” returned Ashton, his bright eyes suddenly glinting.
Scott was surprised Ashton rose from the table and told him, “I shall go and help her find a deck of cards then.”
* * *
Felicia had been sent off by a chambermaid to look in the private morning parlor for a deck of playing cards. As she bent to go through some odds and ends in a sideboard table drawer, she felt a sudden shiver scurry up her spine.
She spun around with a startled motion to find Ashton there, standing near, so very near.
“Faith!” You did make me jump,” she exclaimed and felt the heat rush through her body. What an astounding effect he always had on her. It was as though he breathed life into her, as though everything around her faded and all there that existed was him.
“Did I startle you? I am sorry for it. That was not the end I had in mind.” His voice was low, husky, and full of a meaning that made her tremble deep inside.
He held her shoulders, and she closed her eyes. His touch sent bolts of desire through her—oh, yes, she was most certainly a wanton woman for this one man.
“Ah, Felicia …” he said in a tone so quiet she wasn’t sure she had actually heard him; however, it didn’t matter. The next thing she knew he had swept her into his arms as though he could not live another moment without her in them.
She shouldn’t allow this, she told herself. Now was the time to keep herself aloof, but, oh, she wanted his kisses and more, so much more.
“I am a cad, but I can’t seem to keep my hands off you,” he whispered into her ear. “All through dinner … you looked so dejected …
I felt a blackguard … and still, all I wanted to do was reach over and taste your tongue.”
“Why, sir—why me?” she said in the smallest voice.
“Because you are the only one that drives me mad with wanting. I have … a need for you I cannot explain to myself. You are the most desirable woman I have ever encountered!” he answered as though the words were wrenched from him against his will.
“I must tell you, sir, you are driving me mad as well. You confuse me … you accept me and then push me away and then take hold once again.”
“Find the cards!” he snapped as he stepped back from her. It was as though her words had scalded him.
“Where are you going?” she said softly.
“Upstairs—where Scott’s presence shall deter my devil soul,” he said irritably.
“Ah,” she answered and smiled to herself.
She watched him walk out of the parlor, and all the blue-devils she had been experiencing vanished. Everything about this man touched a chord in her, and she was sure he felt the same. He just had to see it. A man of his years and experience who said—and she believed him when he said—he had never felt this way before her had to feel more than lust.
You don’t stand a chance, said her inner voice. He is a London Corinthian with far more beautiful women chasing him—and never having caught him—than you can even count. What makes you think, you, countrified green girl, will end with anything but a broken heart?
This question did not corral Felicia’s spirits. Instead, this thought made her smile to herself. Scott had told her often she was irrepressible, and here was the truth to the word. She would win this wonderful man’s heart—and hush that naysaying voice in her head!
~ Seventeen ~
SCOTT TOUCHED HIS shoulder with a wince as pain shot through him. Something was wrong with the blasted thing. The wound was oozing a bit right through the new bandage he had just managed to put on … and that after Flip had already changed the bandage for him earlier that morning. It shouldn’t have needed changing so quickly.
She had, in fact, remarked upon it, saying that the wound looked wrong to her.
“Wrong?” he had asked on a chuckle. “How could a wound ever look right?”
She had laughed but said, “Well, I shall feel better about it once the doctor has visited you today. Much better, for I am a bit worried, Scott.”
“Nonsense.” He had shooed her away and tried eating his breakfast. However, a few bites had made him feel queasy, and he had lifted the tray, got up, felt a bit wobbly as he set it outside his bedroom door, and had climbed back into bed.
He was heartily bored and thought that Flip would have returned to him by now … and then he looked and saw the bandage she had managed for him earlier was oozing badly.
He was a bit surprised and just a bit worried as he changed it himself, struggling a bit to get the wad in place, but thought when he was done that he had made a good job of it.
“Zounds,” he told the empty room. “Damned sick of being here alone.”
What he needed was a shot of exercise and fresh air—that was the ticket, he told himself. Up he got to his feet, and though he still felt just a bit off, he shrugged on the new cloak that Ashton had supplied him, wincing as he finally got it over his shoulders. He made the way out of his room and down the stairs to the main galley, where he stood for a moment to catch his breath. Something was damnably wrong, he thought. Air … probably only need fresh air, he told himself as he looked around and wondered where Flip had gone off to. He smiled to himself. She never could sit still. No doubt she was taking a ride on Whiley.
Aye, then, a walk would do him good.
As he stepped outside and took in a long drink of fresh air, he felt suddenly worse. Dizziness hit him like a punch to the head, and all at once he knew he needed to hold onto something to continue to stand. He reached out to hold the side of the building and said under his breath, “What the deuce. Well, that’s what I get for staying indoors too long.”
Determined, he took a few hard strides forward and realized he felt a bit hotter than he should. The day was cool, very cool.
What was wrong with him?
A few more steps, and he saw trees and courtyard table and chairs all begin to spin before his foggy eyes.
* * *
Rebecca handed her gray gelding to the stableboy and made her way into the inn and up the stairs. She was looking forward to finding her friend, Felicia, again and having a good long chat, but besides that she also wanted to see how Mr. Scott went on. Her black eye was already yellowing, but she had managed to put a splattering of powder on it, though her father had tsk-tsked at her and said it wasn’t necessary. At least her hair was looking more the thing, and she found she cared very much how she would appear … to Scott Hanover.
It never occurred to her that she would not find Felicia within as she made her way down the hall. A maid stepped out of Felicia’s room, put a hand to her heart, and said, “Lor … Bless ye, Miss Wilson, but ye look a sight better than ye did after yer ordeal. It’s that glad I am to see ye looking so well and so pretty in yer blue silks.”
Becky thanked her sweetly, and the older woman bobbed her head and hurried off with a basket of linens, saying over her shoulder as she moved away, “Miss Felicia went off for a ride, she did, high-spirited that one, lovely, lovely young woman always has a moment to chat and smile.” She eyed her then and added, “But Mr. Scott is about somewhere. Saw him come down the stairs just a few moments ago.”
Becky hurriedly went back downstairs, holding up her riding skirt as she went, stopped at the bottom, and gave herself one final adjustment, making certain her tawny hair was in place and her blue crown hat with the pretty lace ribbon sat jauntily on those curls. She took in a long breath of air and with a smile on her face stepped into the courtyard.
Becky found Scott tottering and looking as though he were about to collapse right before her eyes. She ran to him, shouting out his name, “Scott!”
He smiled like a fool as she caught him and struggled to hold him up, for although he was not heavy, he certainly was a handful for even her tall frame. He eyed her adoringly and said, “Ah, an angel in blue … Miss Wilson.”
His voice was scarcely audible, his color white, and his body, she thought, warm … too warm, and she suspected he was feverish.
She called for the innkeeper, who luckily was nearby and came hobbling towards them just in time to help her with Scott’s weight. He shifted the woozy young man against his ample side.
“Glad you are here,” Scott said.
“Are ye, lad?” the innkeeper teased.
“Not you … well, yes, and you … but … Miss Wilson … glad Miss Beautiful in Blue is here,” Scott said, a silly look on his face.
Becky knew now that he most certainly was feverish and probably did not even know what he was saying. She thought, however, it would be best to humor him and answered, “Are you, sir? I am glad of it too. But now we must get you inside and see what the trouble may be.”
“Trouble? No trouble now that you are here.” He beamed at her. “Inside? Very well … been thinking about you,” he said confidingly.
“Have you been?” She blushed and looked up to find Glen Ashton and Felicia hurrying towards them.
* * *
“Scott! Oh no, what has happened?” Felicia cried fretfully as she went to him but then immediately stepped out of Ashton’s way.
“Dash it!” Ashton swore under his breath as he took hold of Scott’s weight. “What has the boy gone and done to himself?” All at once, he had taken control, and Felicia watched him with absolute admiration as he asked for the doctor to be sent for immediately, took hold of Scott as though he were naught but a featherweight, and lifted him like a babe in arms. He told the innkeeper as he moved towards the stairs, “That’s a good man, if you will see that a bucket of lukewarm water is brought up … and a bottle of gin.”
Felicia knew this method of bringing down a fever. T
he wonder was that Ashton knew it as well. He was such a man, she sighed, between worried thoughts for Scott.
Ashton managed to get Scott situated in his bed, and Felicia saw that her friend was perspiring severely. She wrung her hands and said, “Where is the water …?” She went and used the wash basin water, dipping her handkerchief in it and rushing back to wipe down Scott’s face.
Becky did the same, and they took turns at this.
“He is so hot,” Becky whispered.
“Indeed,” agreed Ashton. “No doubt the wound has become infected. It happens.” He had already opened Scott’s shirt and removed his soaked bandage to find that the wound was indeed oozing badly, swollen and red.
“We need warmer water and the gin,” Felicia said and then breathed with relief as the innkeeper appeared with the bucket and the bottle.
Ashton took the gin and poured some of it into the warm water. He then dipped one of the clean rags the innkeeper had supplied and went about the business of wiping Scott’s forehead, face, chest, and even his wound.
Becky leaned over Ashton and said calmly, “It will need to be cauterized after it is cleaned. My father suffered such a wound from a stray bullet—poachers—and his wound looked just like that.”
A few moments went by as Becky sat beside Scott and used a wet cloth from his wash basin, warmed it by the fire, and cleaned his damp face over and over again.
Felicia went downstairs to see if the doctor had been sent for and paced a moment when they told her he had over twenty minutes past.
Ashton took to pacing, and Felicia returned and helped Becky wipe Scott down. She knew an urge to cry, for he did not look well at all.
Suddenly Ashton was there, gently touching her cheek as he whispered, “Good girl, Scott will do. As Becky says, the wound needs cauterizing.”
The doctor arrived, and when he inspected the wound a bit too roughly, Felicia thought, Scott screamed out in pain, which made Becky clutch at her.
When the hot iron was set to the wound, Scott let out one yelp and passed out.