Gentleman's Trade (20 page)

Vanessa looked at his still form doubtfully, her lips set in a straight line, then she turned and hurried out of the room with a swish of her skirts.

Hugh opened his eyes after she left, raising his hand to massage his temples. He was almost surprised to find a bandage there, until he remembered the blow he took to the head. He was in severe pain and in truth he needed to sleep; however, he could not show Vanessa how debilitated was his condition lest she refuse him time with Trevor. He remembered the words he heard moments before the attack, identifying Trevor as their target. The question was why?

He heard Vanessa and Trevor arriving moments before the door opened. He took his hand away from his head and willed the lines of pain on his face to ease, compartmentalizing his agony to another corner of his mind. He knew he couldn’t do it for long, and when he released his tremendous willpower, the pain would come rushing back tenfold, but that was a risk he had to take.

Vanessa opened the door and stood aside so Mr. Danielson could enter, bearing with him a breakfast tray for Hugh.

“Now remember,” she remonstrated him, “five minutes, that’s all.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Trevor said smartly.

She glared at both of them a moment longer, then closed the door.

“Phew! I wish you happy, my friend, but I think you have a termagant on your hands,” he said setting the tray on the bedside table and handing Hugh a bowl of thin gruel.

“My little general, more likely, not that she’d wish to be my anything.” Hugh looked at the gruel with undisguised dismay, then he wryly smiled and accepted the food.

Trevor rubbed his chin. “I wouldn’t be too hasty in that assumption. You were out cold and missed her fight to be your nurse.’

“She fought to assist me?” he asked before drinking the gruel. He found it surprisingly tasty.

“Determinedly,” his friend assured him.

Hugh expelled his breath slowly. “Thank you for that. But we must speak, and quickly, before the general returns,” he said, handing Trevor back the bowl. “Tell Mannion of my plan. He may cut up stiff that you know of the problem, but placate him as best you can. Convince him it’s for the best. Tomorrow, or better yet, later today if you’re able, bring me paper, quill, and ink. I must write a letter to the bank authorizing the draft. I want this done as swiftly as possible.”

He paused, running his hand unconsciously across his deeply furrowed brow. “It might be to our advantage to have Vanessa as my nurse, since it may keep her out of circulation. Second, ask Mannion now for Adeline’s hand in marriage, then make as big and as splashy an announcement as you can.”

Trevor laughed. “I’m not averse to that, but may I ask why?”

“Because our attackers were after you, Trevor.”

“What?”

“Just as they rushed us I heard you identified as the target. Also, if the fellow with the cap with the red feather was the leader, he was making a concerted effort to lay you out. That’s why he didn’t pay any attention to me.”

Trevor frowned, but reluctantly nodded. “All right. I’ll accept that, but again I say why?”

“I fear they were hired by our erstwhile friend Wilmot because he sees you as a threat to winning Vanessa’s hand. Remember, Vanessa spent an unconscionable amount of time in your company at the ball.”

“And when he finds out I’m not courting Vanessa . . . .”

“You’ll be safer, and I won’t worry so much about your damned hide.”

“But what about yours?” Trevor protested.

“Remember, I volunteered to be cannon fodder, but I didn’t volunteer to enter the fray unarmed. I won’t be taken by surprise again,” Hugh grimly assured him.

“You’ll be lucky to get out of that bed to do much of anything.”

A soft knock on the door was followed by Vanessa’s presence, interrupting their discussion. “Time, Mr. Danielson,” she said, holding the door open and pointedly staring at him.

“Right,” he said, raising from his chair. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Hugh.”

Vanessa stood silently until he exited the room, then she closed the door with a decided snap. “Now, Mr. Talverton,” she said, walking toward him with a determined air, “you will take your medicine.”

“Yes, Miss Mannion, I will,” he admitted tiredly.

Her cold demeanor melted like spring snow, and her heart went out to him. She handed him the glass and put her arm underneath his head to help him rise enough to drink. When he was finished, she took the glass from him, setting it on a tray by the bed, and reached behind him to fluff his pillow. Hugh’s senses swam at her closeness, but he held himself rigidly in check. When she backed away and looked down at him with tenderness, his heart swelled. He couldn’t take much more of her tenderness; the prim and proper nurse was a safer companion.

He looked up at her, a mischievous little twinkle in his eye. “So, do I get a sweet for being a good boy and taking my medicine? I suppose I’m past the age of a sugar plum, how about a sweet little kiss instead?”

Instantly she pokered up. “That blow certainly addled your wits. Go to sleep, Mr. Talverton,” she said repressively, setting the Windsor chair a respectable distance from the bed and sitting down, her hands folded primly in her lap.

“Yes, ma’am,” he returned promptly and closed his eyes. Surprisingly, he was sound asleep in a trice.

When next he awoke, Hugh was pleased to discover the incipient pounding in his head had settled into a dull ache. Experimentally he levered himself up in bed, testing for the returning waves of giddiness and nausea. Happily they did not return. Wrapping the sheet around his nether half, he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“Mr. Talverton!” exclaimed Vanessa from where she stood by the doorway, a luncheon tray clasped in her hands. She stood there transfixed, uncertain whether to leave or enter.

Hugh hurriedly tucked the sheet in closer about his body. “I feel as weak as a kitten,” he admitted, covering her embarrassment.

“Whatever are you doing, trying to get out of bed?” she demanded as she set the tray on a bureau.

He looked at her askance, his lips twisting. “I must at some time, you know—answer the call of nature.”

“Oh. Oh!” gasped Vanessa, now understanding the matter. Her cheeks flared brilliant red. “Of course, how silly— you must— I mean— Let me get Jonas,” she said disjointedly, turning to flee the room.

She did not attempt to return for an hour, and this time she knocked discreetly at the door. Mr. Talverton was progressing so swiftly, it was probably no longer necessary to maintain a constant vigil on him. She regretted that. She wished he would be an invalid a while longer. But with his returning strength, her parents were sure to deny her nursing privileges, for such close, private proximity with a man was unseemly.

Her knock was met with a request to enter. She was astonished to see him out of bed and fully dressed.

“Mr. Talverton, I must protest! While you may be feeling better, that was a nasty blow to your head. Please, sir!” she admonished, waving him toward the bed.

He smiled and caught her hands in his own. “In truth I am still weak, but strong enough, I venture, to soon be denied your presence in this room without a chaperone.”

Her cheeks reddening when she realized his thoughts followed the same paths as her own, she looked down at their joined hands.

“I have spoken with your mother, and she is in agreement that if I descend the stairs to the parlor and settle on one of the sofas without moving about further, I should come to no harm. Besides, I believe Adeline and Trevor may be planning an announcement, and I’d much prefer to be in attendance, than to hear it secondhand,” he confided, a glinting smile lighting his eyes.

She looked up at him, momentarily speechless. Her heart ached to see the stark white bandage around his tanned brow, his blond waves in disarray, falling across the bandage or standing almost straight out away from his head. She heard his sharp intake of breath, and suddenly realized she was staring at him with all the love she felt for him showing nakedly in her face. She pulled her hands out of his, turning toward the door, her slight laugh high and strained. She was not going to give him another opportunity to throw her love back into her face. He didn’t want her love, he wanted an amusing dalliance. He was uncomfortable around her due to her emotions, and that was the last thing she wanted him to be.

“Well, come then. I’ll lend you my arm on the stairs, but you must promise to tell me immediately if you feel the least giddy or dizzy,” she said earnestly, trying to cover her own trembling limbs with false bravado.

Hugh scowled at her briefly, concerned about her skittish behavior. He wondered what he’d said or done to set her off on such a high-strung course. He clearly saw the love she felt for him reflected in her eyes, lit from a source deep within her, a source he longed to discover. He was nearly at the point of sweeping her into his arms in answer and mutual discovery, when she’d abruptly turned out the lights, leaving her eyes blank clouds of blue-gray fog. The change was so abrupt that he wondered if he had again been hallucinating. But there, she stood by the door, patiently waiting. He decided he would allow her her head, so long as she did not grab the bit between her teeth. He smiled at her, extending his arm.

“Your aid and abetment would be appreciated,” he allowed, offering her a small bow.

“Have a care, Mr. Talverton, lest you tumble down again,” grinned Vanessa.

“Ah! But if I could be promised you as my nurse, it might be worthwhile.”

Vanessa feigned a broad yawn as they left the room.

“You cut me to the quick, Miss Mannion.”

“Such was my endeavor, Mr. Talverton,” assured Vanessa archly.

They slowly descended the stairs. In truth, the walking did aggravate Hugh’s headache, and a slight feeling of giddiness gripped the edges of his consciousness. They were halfway down the stairs when Jonas answered a knock on the door and was shown to be admitting Mr. Wilmot.

“Oh, bother,” murmured Vanessa, a slight moue of dissatisfaction turning down her features. She quickly recovered and smiled as he looked their way.

“Mr. Talverton,” his raspy voice called out as he crossed toward them. “I heard of your mischance and came to find out how you did.”

“Yes,” Hugh drawled, his eyelids drooping until he was nearly studying Mr. Wilmot through slits. He leaned more heavily on Vanessa, desiring to keep her close.

She looked at him in surprise, wondering at his sudden weakness and antagonistic manner toward Mr. Wilmot. Did he know of her father’s predicament?

“I understand I fared better than most do who come up against a group of keelboat stalwarts, no matter their numbers. Excuse me, but might we not continue to the parlor, Miss Mannion? I feel the sooner I am again in a recumbent position, I shall recover my strength.”

“Of course, Mr. Talverton. You may follow us, if you would, Mr. Wilmot.”

“Yes, I believe I shall,” grated Mr. Wilmot, his saturnine features closed, yet watchful.

Vanessa was exceedingly aware of Mr. Wilmot’s presence behind her every step of the way. She felt his eyes boring into the back of her head and felt his heavy tread echoing her own lighter steps across the floor.

She paused at the parlor door. Though the room was shuttered against the hot afternoon sun, enough light filtered into the room to create a soft glow around Adeline and Amanda as they sat before the quilting frame, their brown-haired heads bent over the poppy-red and cypress-green design sewn on a cream ground. They presented an image of serenity that she was loath to shatter.

Her heart swelled with love for her family, and suddenly all the implications of Mr. Wilmot’s actions hit her. He would destroy the basic fabric of her family with barely the twitch of an eyebrow, and still expect her to accede to marriage graciously. She did not believe he had come to her home to inquire after Mr. Talverton. More likely he’d come to importune her further. She wondered when he’d begin his threats to her family, or if he considered her too naive to appreciate the implications of his actions. A white-hot anger overcame her, and her body stiffened.

Hugh Talverton, leaning on Vanessa’s arm, felt her stiffen. He looked at her face and noted the set rigidity of her features and the pallor of her complexion. He stood up straighter, wondering at the change in her demeanor. The marked change worried him She was on edge and likely to land them all in the basket if she took some distempered freak. He silently cursed Wilmot’s presence, accurately guessing that in some way the man was responsible for her manner.

The moment was fleeting, for then Amanda Mannion looked up and saw them in the doorway.

“Mr. Talverton,” she said, rising gracefully, “I trust you are not feeling too ill from moving about?”

“No, madam,” he responded, smiling, as they entered the room, “though I must admit to a dashed weakness.”

“Yes, but he refuses to remain abed,” Vanessa said, leading Hugh toward a sofa.

Mrs. Mannion chuckled. “Gentlemen seldom care for their health, my dear, and generally maintain a stoic front. Just prop him up with pillows and hope he has sense enough to return to his bed before he must be carried.”

Hugh’s answering grin was lopsided. “Have no fear of that, Mrs. Mannion. After embarrassing myself by fainting last evening, I’m not likely to repeat the incident. It can hardly be conducive to winning favors,” he said, glancing at Vanessa’s face as he eased himself down on the sofa.

“Very prettily said, Talverton,” growled Wilmot from the doorway.

“Mr. Wilmot!” Mrs. Mannion exclaimed, swinging around. “I’m terribly sorry. I did not see you enter behind Vanessa and Mr. Talverton. Please, come in and sit down. Adeline, ring for refreshments,” she said, hurriedly crossing to his side.

“Thank you, madam,” he said, sitting in a winged armchair, his back to the door. He leisurely crossed his legs and, from under heavily lidded eyes, looked across the room at Hugh Talverton. “My visit will be brief. I merely came to inquire after Mr. Talverton’s welfare and,” he said, turning his head back toward Amanda Mannion, the hint of a smile on his lips, “to see if I might have a word or two with Richard.”