Whisper Always

by Rebecca Hagan Lee

"It may mean nothing to you, because even I'm aware you're very free with your favors." Cristina stared at Claude, who lay watching the mother-daughter confrontation with interest. "But it means something to me. I'm not like you."

  "Yet you're demanding the necklace in payment for last night...," Patricia mused aloud, fingering the emeralds and diamonds she still wore around her neck. "Perhaps there is more of me in you than you think." She smiled a decidedly catlike smile, arching her brow as if to pursue the thought more fully.

  Cristina could stand no more. Anger welled up inside her and demanded release. "There is nothing of you in me," she said. "I'm not a whore."

  Outrage and naked hatred gleamed instantly in Patricia's eyes. "You will regret that remark, Cristina."

  Cristina masked the apprehension hidden deep inside her. Pulling herself to her full height, Cristina glared down at her mother. "I don't think so, Mother. I only wish I had had the courage to say it sooner. It might have saved me a great deal of grief."

  Patricia was livid. She scrambled out of bed, raised her arm, and slapped her daughter with all her strength. She detested this stranger who stood before her refusing to quiver in fear or humiliation, refusing to look at her with those green eyes that had begged to be loved, refusing even to place a hand over her burning cheek, to show any sign of pain or regret. Cristina stood her ground and she reminded Patricia so much of William that she wanted to hit her again just to make her cry out.

  "Claude, take Cristina to her room and lock her in. I'll deal with her later. In the meantime, you may punish her in any way you see fit. Give Leah the key to her room when you've finished." Patricia turned and began dressing.

  Claude made a move toward Cristina, but Cristina stopped him with her words.

  "Claude isn't taking me anywhere. I'm not leaving until you hand over the necklace." Cristina smiled at Patricia, then played her trump card. "It won't go very well for you if my 'gentleman friend' has to force you to surrender his gift." Cristina's heart hammered in her chest as she plunged ahead, weaving a fabric of half-truths, not daring to let them know just how alone and afraid she was. "You've made me a mistress, Mother, but I'm still a lady and a member of the peerage. My lover"--Cristina stressed the words--"would be shocked to learn I don't have his little token of affection. And, I'll tell him if that's what it takes to get my way. He was disappointed that I didn't wear his gift last night. Shall I tell him the truth and explain why I didn't wear the necklace? Is that what you want, Mother, to have the whole of London know you acted as procurer and sold your own daughter for less than a traditional wedding band?" Cristina began to tap her foot against the floor in a deliberate show of impatience. "Now, please. I've kept him waiting long enough."

  Claude stepped to the window, ignoring his nakedness, and drew back the drapes.

  Cristina was glad she had had the forethought to ask the cabbie to wait.

  "There is a cab waiting outside."

  "She's bluffing." Patricia jeered.

  "That may be," Claude admitted. "But the driver is obviously waiting for her to come out. And we have an early train to catch."

  Cristina copied her mother's purring tones. "Well, Mother, what shall it be? The necklace or the truth?" She held out her hand. Waiting.

  "Take it!" Unwilling to risk her social standing with London society further, Patricia unfastened the diamond and emerald creation and flung it at Cristina. "Take it and be damned!"

  "The feeling is mutual." Cristina caught the heavy jewelry against her body and squaring her slim shoulders, walked away from her mother and out of Fairhall into the blinding rain.

  She didn't dare stay long enough even to pack a bag. The cramps had begun wracking her body during the confrontation and Cristina couldn't risk remaining a minute longer than necessary. She couldn't risk having them see how weak she was.

  She slipped on the stone walkway as she trudged through the puddles on her way to the carriage and fell to her knees. The driver jumped down from his seat to help her inside.

  "I hope it was worth the chill we're going to catch, miss," he grumbled.

  "I hope so, too." She answered, stuffing the necklace into the pocket of her cape and climbing into the shelter of the cab.

  "Where to, miss?"

  Cristina hadn't thought about her immediate concerns, only about using the necklace to locate her father and join him. She had no money and no place to go. She couldn't even pay the driver unless she managed to sell the necklace.

  "Miss, I ain't standing in this rain for nothing. Where to?"

  "St. James," she answered. She would be able to find a hotel there and maybe someone would buy the necklace or at least loan her the money to pay the driver.

  Cristina closed her eyes against the swaying of the cab. She was tired--tired of thinking--tired of everything. Reaction was beginning to set in. Her head hurt, her body ached. She was exhausted, doubled over in pain, and could not seem to get warm. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her wet hair. The hood was as wet as the rest of her but it helped block the morning light. Shivering, she leaned back against the seat and willed herself to sleep.

  She was pleasantly drowsy when the carriage swerved violently in the street, sending her tumbling to the other side of the seat. The door flew open as the carriage came to a halt and a dark-coated figure agilely leaped inside, slamming the door behind him to escape the downpour.

  He sat on the opposite seat. He wore no hat and the rain dripped from a lock of dark hair that hung over his high forehead. Cristina could see the sparkling droplets clinging to his lashes. He ran an impatient hand over his face to wipe away the rain, then slid his fingers hastily through his hair, combing it back into place. He had removed his coat and was stretching his long legs out in front of him before he noticed the bundle huddled in the corner of the opposite seat, as skin-soaked as himself. "Pardon me for grabbing your vehicle like that, miss, but my own carriage met with an unfortunate accident." He nodded toward the window.

  Cristina craned her head to look out and saw an overturned vendor's cart and a damaged wheel on a shiny victoria. He continued making conversation.

  "I have a meeting shortly and I've no wish to be late or drowned or both." He smiled ruefully.

  Cristina sat very still. She had recognized him at once and was afraid of giving her identity away. She could hardly expect Lord Lawrence to be sympathetic to her plight after the night they'd shared. In fact, Cristina was quite sure that her early-morning flight had likely angered him. Her only chance was to keep her mouth shut, her face averted and pray he didn't recognize her.

  Blake stared at his bedraggled companion, who was trying her damnedest to appear small and insignificant in the corner of the padded leather seat. Something about the way she tilted her small pointed chin defiantly and hid her face from his curious gaze tugged at the corner of his mind, imploring him to remember. He thought of Cristina Fairfax. He'd left her sleeping at dawn while he went downstairs to collect her dress from the kitchen where he'd taken it to dry and to get a pot of hot chocolate and some toast for her and some coffee for himself while he tried to figure out a way to smuggle her out of the house. He returned to find she had sneaked out of Marlborough House on her own. Blake shook his head. The girl across the seat from him couldn't be Cristina. Because Miss Cristina Fairfax had had plenty of time to make it home safe and sound. Still innocent, and apart from sharing a bed with an exhausted man for a few hours, none the worse for her little adventure. He peered at his companion a bit more closely. It couldn't be Cristina. But something about that cape and the stubborn set of her chin. Surely she had more sense than to sneak out of Marlborough House, then traipse around London all morning in her wet cape and underclothes. But then, she hadn't had the sense not to climb out a third floor window on the Prince of Wales's bed linen.... He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. Now that his fear for her had passed, now that he knew s
he was safe, Blake could smile at her impetuousness and her stubborn audacity.

  Cristina huddled against the wall of the cab, utterly miserable. The sodden velvet cloak and her wet undergarments clung to her like a second skin, leaving her feeling cold and clammy.

  She shivered visibly and drew her cloak closer around her.

  "You'll never get warm that way. Your cape is soaked through."

  Did nothing escape his sharp eyes?

  "Why don't you remove it? I'm sure you would be much more comfortable without it."

  He didn't know everything, Cristina thought uncharitably. She would find it impossible to be comfortable while sitting across from him wearing nothing but her wet underclothes. She ignored his suggestion and pulled the cape even tighter. Within minutes, her teeth began an audible chatter.

  "Oh, for God's sake!" He exploded, his dark eyes menacing in anger. "Are you going to let your stubbornness make you a victim of pneumonia?" He didn't wait for her answer. Instead, he reached across to where she sat and yanked the velvet cloak from around her shoulders.

  "Christ! It is you!"

  Cristina heard him swear, but she couldn't hear anything else over the loud roaring in her ears, which drowned out all other sounds until blissful darkness claimed her.

  But the bliss was short-lived. Her eyes fluttered open, then closed just as quickly, trying unsuccessfully to prolong the darkness.

  "Open your eyes, Miss Fairfax," the hateful voice commanded. "And tell me what the bloody hell you're doing here. You left Marlborough House over an hour ago. You should have been home safe and warm by now."

  "I've been home, thank you, and it wasn't safe or warm for me there. I'm going someplace else."

  "Dressed like that?"

  "Yes, and only a rogue like you would mention it." She slapped at his hands as he reached for her again. "Go away and leave me alone."

  "As much as I would like to, I'm afraid that's not possible. I think you ought to see a doctor. You're not well."

  Her eyes opened and widened in fear. "I was fine last night!"

  Blake's face hardened. "You were sotted last night. And sleeping it off this morning. But you look feverish. I'm taking you to a doctor."

  Her objection was instantaneous. "No!"

  "What's wrong with you? Why are you afraid to see a doctor?"

  He studied her closely and what he saw made him gasp in fury. She was very pale despite an obvious fever and there were heavy dark rings under her eyes. It looked as if she hadn't slept for days, yet he knew she had. He pulled the cloak farther off her shoulders. The creamy whiteness of her upper arms was marred by a succession of blue-black marks. He remembered their struggle the night before.

  "Did I do this?" The idea sickened him.

  He looked so appalled, Cristina couldn't let him take the blame. "No."

  "Then who?" Someone had gripped her arms hard enough to hurt her and the knowledge disturbed Blake more than he liked. "Who did this to you?" he demanded, indicating the bruises. "Who hurt you? Tell me."

  "It doesn't matter."

  "Who was he? Tell me, Cristina."

  "It's over. It won't happen again."

  "Tell me his name." Blake gritted his teeth and reached for her shoulders. He wasn't used to defiance. He would get the name out of her if he had to shake it out of her. He was about to do just that when he realized what he was doing.

  "Let go." Cristina demanded, trying to shrug free of him.

  But she might have been an insect caught in a web, for the harder she struggled, the more entangled she became--in her long hair, her wet garments, and his arms.

  "Be still, you little idiot! Do you want to overturn us? I didn't mean to hurt you. Calm down." He bit out the words in an effort to control the rage sweeping over him. His grip about her waist became viselike, forcing her to sit close to his side.

  Cristina could feel the heat emanating from him. She wanted more than anything to relax in the warmth his body offered, but she forced herself to remain rigid.

  "I'm sorry." His voice was strangely gentle when he spoke to her. "You might as well try to relax, Cristina. I promise not to harm you. But I'm going to take you home so you can be properly tended."

  "No! Not home! Not there!" Cristina pulled out of his grasp and lunged for the opposite seat.

  He reached for her and she threw her cloak in his face, hoping to blind him long enough to make her escape. The heavy emerald and diamond necklace came out of her pocket and Cristina watched in horror as a trickle of blood appeared on the bone beneath his eye.

  "Bloody hell! First you try to break my nose and now you try to blind me!"

  Blake caught hold of her arms, forgetting about the bruises there or the fact that he would make new ones, wanting only to protect her from doing further injury to herself and to him. "You will explain yourself," he told her furiously, holding her firmly as he rapped on the roof of the carriage and shouted directions to the driver.

  "W-w-where are you taking me?"

  "Home. To my home, where we will get to the bottom of this," he promised, holding the necklace up for Cristina to see.

  She sucked in a ragged breath and stared--not at the necklace, but at the angriest pair of coal-black eyes she'd ever seen.

 

  If to do were as easy as to know what were good

  to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottages

  princes' palaces.

  --WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 1564-1616

 

  *Chapter Seven*

 

  "How is she?" Blake asked as the doctor emerged from the guest room.

  "Right now she's a very sick young woman. She has a severe chill, and a high fever that could turn into pneumonia or influenza. She's also experiencing abdominal cramps and blood loss. On top of all that, someone has taken a strap to her. Thankfully, she's sleeping. That's best until her fever breaks."

  "How long will that be?"

  "It's hard to say. It could break tonight or tomorrow or the day after that. But if it doesn't break by then, she could be in real danger. Blake, how well do you know this girl? Is she a special friend of yours?"

  "Don't you recognize her? That's the beautiful Cristina Fairfax. Her mother is Lady Fairfax. I met her two days ago at the last drawing room" Blake explained.

  "What on earth was she doing out at this time of morning? And in this downpour?"

  "Running away from me."

  "What?" Nigel Jameson was burning with unprofessional curiosity. "I mean, debutantes don't usually run about London in their underclothes."

  "I'm aware of that, Nigel. I'm bloody well furious about it myself." Blake raked his fingers through his damp hair. "If she'd stayed in bed until I'd returned she'd have been all right, but no, she had to try to escape. What next? What the hell next?" He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, then yelped in agony at the tenderness. Cristina Fairfax packed a mean punch.

  "What?" Nigel thought his friend was joking for a moment before he realized Blake was completely serious and very agitated. "You spent the night with her?"

  "I'm not that much of a reprobate, Nigel."

  "But.. ." Nigel began to pace. "You said . . ."

  "I know what I said." Blake sounded weary. "Let me clarify it. I shared a bed with the lovely Miss Fairfax very early this morning. It was completely innocent. She had passed out from the effects of the wine and I was half drunk myself. Too drunk to have amorous intentions. Completely disinclined after she punched me in the nose."

  "She punched you? I wondered how you got it." Nigel laughed in spite of himself. "You're quite a sight this morning, my friend. As battered as a Queensberry fighter on Sunday morning."

  "Thanks."

  "Is that it?" Nigel demanded. "Aren't you going to tell me the rest?"

  Blake looked at his friend
, then at the floor. "It's a hell of a pickle."

  Nigel smiled, glad to be of service. "I've got plenty of time this morning. We can talk over breakfast."

  Blake nodded absently, then suddenly pinned Nigel with his gaze. "Have you ever been to one of Strathemore's midnight suppers?"

  "No!" Nigel looked astonished. "That's not my cup of tea. You know that." He glanced at Blake. "I wouldn't say it's yours, either."

  "Hardly." Blake snorted. "But I was there two nights ago. I was there when Patricia Fairfax sold her daughter's innocence." Blake, realizing they were standing in the hall outside the guest room, took Nigel by the arm. "Let's go down to my study. I'll tell you all about it. God knows I need to talk to someone about this obsession."

  Obsession was the only word for it, Blake decided once they were comfortably settled in the study. It was the only way to describe his sudden urge to go against his better judgment and try to protect Cristina Fairfax. She wasn't his responsibility. He didn't want her under his roof, and yet he couldn't seem to let her go.... There was something about her--something that appealed to him despite his better judgment.

  To keep her in his home would be asking for trouble. He couldn't deny his attraction to the girl and he wasn't at all sure he could control it. Before meeting Cristina, Blake hadn't felt compelled to kiss a young woman at any function, much less a court ball.

  He did not want the responsibility of Cristina Fairfax. He had to keep his distance.

  Blake realized the folly of his plan to rescue Cristina from Rudolf as he outlined the details to Nigel. He recognized the fact that he had changed Cristina's future by whisking her away from Rudolf's bed and into his own, no matter how innocently. He should send her away. Send her back to her own home. Anywhere away from him and his sudden obsession. "Nigel, can you take her home with you?"

  "Blake, she isn't a stray puppy. She's a young woman. And right now, I think she should stay where she is."

  Blake stood up and began to pace before the fire. "I run a bachelor household. She can't stay here."

  "Not indefinitely, I agree. And not unchaperoned," Nigel declared. "But surely she can stay a few nights until she's better."

  "Nigel, I don't want her here. I want you to take her. She'll be better off with you."

  "Nonsense. Beth is in the country visiting her family at the moment."

  "But you're a physician," Blake reminded him.

  "My being a physician matters not a whit if you wish to preserve the young lady's reputation. Haven't you an older female relation here in town?" He frowned, searching his memory of older widows and dowagers, trying to remember who was in town for the season. "There must be someone who can stay here with you while Miss Fairfax is in residence?"

  "I don't want anyone staying with me. Especially an older female relation. That's the point, Nigel. I don't want Miss Fairfax here."