His Scandalous Kiss: Secrets at Thorncliff Manor: 6 (25 page)

And then he was gone, leaving the two of them completely alone in Richard’s bedchamber. For a long moment, they just stood
there staring at each other until Richard finally collected himself and gestured toward the chair that his brother had just
vacated. “Please have a seat.” He waited for her to move, to dislodge the awkwardness between them before saying, “Would you
care for something to drink? The sherry is quite good.”

Lowering herself onto the chair, she nodded. “Thank you. I would like that.”

Stiffly, he crossed to the sideboard and prepared her glass which he offered her shortly thereafter. “You are aware that you
risk ruination by coming here? If someone were to discover your presence in my bedchamber—”

“I know that my brother has challenged you to a duel, which means that lives are at stake now. My reputation seems insignificant
by comparison.” Her eyes met his, staying with him while he took the seat across from her.

“Just so you know, I do not plan on killing him tomorrow.” He spoke slowly, gauging her reaction. “Indeed, I would like to
prevent such an outcome.”

The statement did not seem to ease her concern. Her expression remained stark as she reached for her sherry, sipping it before
setting the glass aside and saying, “I appreciate that, but . . . I am actually more worried about you. If anything were to
happen to you . . .” She looked away, her teeth puckering the soft flesh of her lip as she bit into it.

Richard felt his heart rate increase. “If anything were to happen to me?”

“It would destroy me,” she whispered, her voice so fragile that it sounded as though it might break.

“What about your brother?” He held his breath, fearful of her answer.

She gave a small shrug. “He has wronged you in the most despicable way. I cannot support his actions.”

The statement eased some of his concerns. Still, he needed to know that things were once again right between them—that her
coming here meant that they might at least stand a chance. “So you are not angry with me anymore?”

“Of course I am!” Raising her head, she looked at him directly. “Do you have any idea how deeply your words wounded me today?”

“I was unprepared to discover that you are Carthright’s sister.” A ridiculous excuse. One that he knew she neither wanted
nor needed, so he dropped to his knees before her and said, “I have wronged you in the worst possible way by betraying the
trust that you placed in me when you gave me your heart. You are innocent, Mary, and I am sorry for what I said to you.”

Her eyes seemed to strain against the onset of tears. “You should have told me what happened sooner so I would not have had
to discover it like this.”

He knew she was right and yet he’d had his reasons. “I feared you would not be able to accept what I was doing and that you
would judge me harshly for it. Mary, I could not allow his actions to go unpunished. I hope you can understand that.”

“I do.”

Lowering his head, he kissed her hands before raising his gaze to hers. “Forgive me. Please, I cannot bear the thought of
losing you.”

A weak smile touched her lips. “The gift you sent to my room this afternoon . . . it was remarkably thoughtful—the most perfect
thing in the world!”

Her voice trembled as she spoke and Richard’s heart swelled with renewed hope. “It is the first song in the opera that I have
begun working on, and because of the story, I thought it might be the best way of telling you how I feel.”

“It is
our
story, is it not?”

Seeing the tears that clung to her lashes, he nodded. “I have drafted an outline, but I am no longer certain of how it will
end.”

“Perhaps you should ask yourself how you would
like
for it to end.”

“Happily, I hope.”

Leaning forward, she placed her hand against his cheek in a gentle caress that carried a glimpse of the future with it. “I
think that would be a most excellent outcome.”

Exhaling the breath he’d been holding, he rose up, capturing her lips in an aching kiss born from longing and despair. “You
mean the world to me, Mary. I need you by my side.”

“And I need you by mine.”

He kissed her again, promising her with the loving caress of his lips that he would never again be careless with her heart.
“I cannot believe that Carthright is your brother,” he told her moments later as he placed his forehead against hers, reveling
in the closeness. “What are the chances?”

“I have no idea. Perhaps the more important question is whether or not you are able to accept it.” Sadness filled her eyes
once more and for a moment it looked as though she was finding it painful to breathe.

“The alternative would be impossible for me to live with, so if you can forgive me, Mary, then I can definitely come to terms
with who your brother is.”

Relief flooded her features. “This must be terribly difficult for you.”

He stared at her in amazement. “Difficult for
me?
” Even now, with disaster threatening to ruin their lives, her kindness and consideration for others shone through. “Andrew
is
your
brother, Mary.”

“By blood only.” A lonely tear trickled down her cheek. “I cannot in good conscience approve of his actions. My support lies
entirely with you, Richard. I have told him as much.”

Overwhelmed by her love for him, he pressed her to his chest. “Oh, sweetheart”—the words tore at his throat—“I honestly thought
I had lost you.”

A choked sob escaped her. “The choice became increasingly clear to me after listening to Andrew’s account of what happened.
He was inconceivably selfish and cowardly. The fact that he did not give an accurate report of what happened but left you
to die, is unforgiveable.”

Leaning back a little, Richard tilted her face so he could meet her troubled gaze. “I love you.” Nothing else remained to
be said as he lowered his mouth over hers once more, kissing away the remainder of her pain.

Slowly, she brought her arms around his neck, pulling him closer until he hovered over her. “You should leave,” he murmured
against the corner of her mouth.

The sweetest sigh escaped her parted lips. “And if I stay?”

His fingers trembled ever so slightly as he brushed them against her cheek. “If you stay . . .” Jesus, what a thought! Closing
his eyes, he tried to control the tension building inside his chest. Lord, how he wanted her to do so. But it would be wrong.
“I fear there will be consequences.”

He heard her breathe; soft inhalations that seemed to trap them in time. “And what if this is our only chance?”

Opening his eyes, he gazed into the dark pools of emotion staring back at him. “You are worried that I will not survive the
duel?”

She turned her head away. “I have to acknowledge the possibility.” Her voice broke, fragmenting the words. “Considering what
I now know of my brother, I fear that he will not act honorably and that you will pay for it with your life. I . . .” She
shook her head, unable to speak.

“It will not come to that, Mary. I have seen your brother shoot before and while he is capable of handling his firearms, he
is not nearly as accomplished a shot as I.”

Shifting, she met his gaze while unshed tears welled against her lashes. “So you believe that he will miss his mark?”

“I cannot say for sure, though I do believe that even if he does manage to shoot me, the shot will not be fatal.”

Gulping, she quietly said, “But nothing is certain, which is why I find it impossible to leave your side right now. Please
don’t make me go.”

Her voice was so imploring, so fragile, that he found his discipline wavering. “You will be ruined if anyone finds out.”

“I would gladly risk ruination for a chance to spend the night with you.”

He shook his head and drew back. “You say so now, but what if the duel tomorrow does not go according to plan? What if you
find yourself with child and without a husband by your side? Think of what that would do not only to you, but to our son or
daughter.”

Her eyelids drooped with hopelessness. “They would be shunned by Society. As would I.”

Rising, he drew her to her feet so he could pull her into his arms, her head nestled firmly against his chest. “We cannot
allow this situation to divest us of our common sense,” he whispered against the top of her head. “No matter how tempting
it is to do so.”

“I just want . . .”

“So do I, my love.” Sweeping his hand up and down her back in long soothing strokes, he whispered again, “So do I.”

Dewdrops lay like shimmering glass upon the ground the following morning as Mary made her way across the lawn. She hadn’t
slept since returning to her bedchamber the night before, afraid that she would miss the duel that would soon take place between
her brother and the man she meant to marry.

Drawing her cloak tightly around her shoulders, she fought the chill that threatened to sink into her bones. Gray tones surrounded
her in a haze as light began to soften the darkness. The field was beyond the trees, and with no one else in sight, Mary quickened
her pace, afraid that they might begin before she managed to arrive.

But this fear was soon brought to rest as, after following a short path, she arrived to find several people gathered together
in discussion. They included Richard, Andrew, Spencer, Lady Foxworth, Lady Duncaster and a few footmen.

“What are you doing here?” Andrew asked, spotting her first.

“I came to watch the duel,” she said, approaching the group.

Richard gave her an uneasy smile as he stepped away from the others and came toward her. “You should not have come. Dueling
grounds are not appropriate places for young ladies to visit.”

“He is right,” Lady Foxworth said. “You ought to return upstairs to your bedchamber. The event that is about to take place
is scandalous enough without your involvement.”

“I do not plan to get involved,” Mary replied, annoyed that they were trying to send her away. “I merely wish to watch.”

“And whose side will you be on, exactly?” The question was bitterly spoken by Andrew.

“I believe you know the answer to that already,” she replied, “but to be perfectly clear, I am in favor or Mr. Heartly winning.”

“Traitor,” her brother spat. “You denounce your own flesh and blood.”

His sharp tone caught her off guard. She blinked. “Can you not see that you are in the wrong? That your actions are reprehensible?”

Shaking his head, Andrew turned his back on her.

“I am sorry,” Richard said. He caught her by the elbow and drew her away with him at a stroll. “The terms have already been
laid out, so we will begin shortly.”

“Please don’t ask me to leave.” Leaning into him, she savored the strength in his arm and the warmth of his touch. The possibility
that she might never feel it again brought a painful knot to her throat.

“Very well,” he agreed. Halting, he turned her toward him so he could look her in the eye. “No matter what happens next, please
know that I love you with all that I am.” Taking her hands in his, he raised both of them to his lips for a kiss.

“As I love you,” she whispered, fighting the tears that threatened.

“Which makes me the most fortunate man in the world.” Tenderness seeped from the depths of his eyes. “To have known you and
to have won your heart—”

“You must not talk like that.” She could barely get the words out. “You will survive this, Richard. You have to!”

Nodding, his expression turned serious. “I will aim for your brother’s arm in an effort to disarm him.”

“So he will survive?”

“I see no reason why he should not.”

“Considering what you told me last night about his skill, or lack thereof, I daresay that you will as well.” Andrew had said
that he did not plan on killing Richard, and with his inferior aim taken into account, there was a good chance that he wouldn’t
manage to hit him at all. As they walked back toward the others, Mary prayed that this would be the case.

“Well?” Andrew asked, glaring at her.

“I will watch the duel from a reasonable distance,” Mary said.

“Mary . . .” Lady Foxworth began.

Mary crossed her arms. “You cannot force me to leave.”

“She is correct in that regard,” Lady Duncaster said. And then, “Shall we proceed? I believe the sun will rise within the
next quarter of an hour.”

As if summoned by her words, one of the footmen stepped forward with a case bearing two ornately designed dueling pistols.
“Mr. Heartly, please select your weapon.”

Dropping his gaze to the box, Richard picked up the pistol closest to him, leaving the other for Andrew. When both men had
one in hand, Spencer outlined the rules once more. “Gentlemen, you will stand back to back with each other. As soon as Lady
Duncaster begins the count, you will step forward until you have each traveled a distance of twenty paces. Once this has been
achieved, you will await the signal before turning and firing your shots. Are you both in accord?”

Andrew and Richard nodded. “We are,” they spoke in unison.

Looking at each of them in turn, Spencer then said, “Before we proceed, it is my duty to inquire if either one of you would
like to prevent the events that will take place shortly by offering an apology instead.”

“No,” Andrew clipped, to which Richard said, “I fear I cannot do so.”

Mary’s heart crumpled. She’d known they wouldn’t agree to such a thing—that their pride would not allow it—but she had still
hoped.

“Very well then,” Spencer stated. “Let us begin.”

Removing herself to the side with her aunt and Lady Duncaster, Mary watched as Andrew and Richard took up their positions.

“Have courage,” Lady Duncaster whispered at Mary’s side before she started counting.

Mary felt her heartbeat quicken as the men strode stiffly in opposite directions, the faint glow from the rising sun illuminating
the sky as birds began to chirp from the treetops—an abundance of life so foreign from the bleak atmosphere on the field.

At the count of twenty, the men halted. “Face your opponent,” Lady Duncaster called out.

Each began to turn, but before they’d made a full rotation, a shot cracked like thunder, rustling the treetops and scattering
the birds. Mary blinked, not entirely certain of what had just happened, the confusion distracting her from the slight ache
in her side.

“That foolish boy,” Lady Foxworth muttered. “He cannot even conduct a duel according to protocol.”

That was when Mary noticed the confused look on Andrew’s face and the odd angle of his pistol. In his nervousness, he must
have fired too early. Elation shot up inside her. She looked to Richard who seemed just as surprised as everyone else. As
if in a daze, he lowered his pistol to his side.

Unable to resist, Mary started in his direction. He’d won thanks to Andrew’s blunder, with neither man getting hurt. It was
the best possible outcome! But as she hurried toward him, a fierce fire ignited inside her, slowing her pace. Blinking, she
tried to understand, her hand pressing against the pain and feeling the wetness there as Richard turned toward her. The smile
he gave her immediately dropped from his face, confirming that something wasn’t quite as it should be.

“Mary.” Discarding his pistol he ran toward her.

Stumbling, she started to fall, her legs refusing to carry her weight.

“Mary!”

The ground tilted, plunging her into darkness.

Richard’s heart erupted with fear. “No!” Reaching Mary, he gathered her up in his arms, barely breaking his stride as he did
so.

“What happened?” Lady Foxworth asked as he hurried past her.

“She has been shot.” The words fell heavily around them. Hell, just getting them past the thick knot in his throat was an
ordeal. “We have to get her back to the house.” He heard Lady Foxworth sob as she conveyed the news to Lady Duncaster. Carthright
on the other hand . . . Richard tightened his hold on Mary. He would deal with her brother later, as soon as he was certain
that her life was not in danger. But if she died . . . He dared not think of such an outcome even as dark rage clawed at his
chest.

Vaguely, he was aware of footsteps following him at a brisk pace. If someone spoke to him however, he was oblivious of the
fact. All he knew was that he needed to get Mary back to her bedchamber so he could issue instructions for a physician to
be summoned. A hand caught him by the arm and he instinctively spun on his heel. “What?”

The angry question was met by a very calm looking Lady Duncaster. “Doctor Florian is a guest here, Mr. Heartly. I will ask
him to meet us in Lady Mary’s bedchamber.”

With a curt nod, he strode away, arriving in the aforementioned room only moments later where he was greeted by Mary’s maid,
whose face twisted at the sight of her mistress.

“We need to undress her,” he said, focusing on whatever they could do to help improve the situation.

“You cannot possibly—”

“Get out of my way,” he bit out.

Amy didn’t argue any further. Instead, she stepped aside, closed the door and followed him to the bed where he carefully set
Mary down.

“Oh no,” Amy murmured as the wound came into view, visible as a large patch of blood against the left side of Mary’s gown.

Richard ignored her. Aware of how efficient Lady Duncaster could be, he did not doubt that the doctor would arrive shortly.
They should prepare Mary for when he did, which meant that they would have to get her out of her clothes so the doctor could
access the wound properly. To this end, Richard reached down and began undoing the fastenings on Mary’s gown.

“What are you doing?” Amy asked with a hint of horror to her voice.

“What is necessary,” he explained as he pushed the sleeves over Mary’s shoulders and began pulling her gown down over her
waist. She groaned slightly, which gave him hope.

“This is highly irregular, sir. Her modesty—”

“Damn her modesty,” he fairly exploded. Amy fell silent and Richard clenched his jaw. He hadn’t meant to be quite that harsh,
but by God, he was at his wits-end. This should have been him, not her . . . anyone but her.

With quivering fingers he turned her sideways so he could unfasten her stays.

“Allow me,” Amy said, her tone holding a comforting degree of determination.

Stepping back, Richard watched her work as helplessness drove its way to his core.
I cannot lose her
. The unspoken words sent a shudder through him. An ache clutched at his heart, tightening his chest and making it difficult
for him to breathe.

A knock sounded at the door and then it opened, giving way to Lady Duncaster and an older gentleman whom Richard had not yet
met. He nodded in Richard’s direction but did not bother with introducing himself or with making any other attempt at conversation.
Richard found that he appreciated that—the fact that treating Mary was of greater importance to him than protocol.

“Please pull the covers up over her legs and then raise her chemise so I can get a proper look,” he said to Amy.

The maid complied without arguing while Richard stood at Lady Duncaster’s side, unsure of how he could be of assistance. Seeing
the blood smeared across Mary’s abdomen, he went to fetch the washbasin that stood on a small table to one side, grabbed a
clean linen towel lying next to it and presented both items to the doctor.

“Thank you,” Florian remarked as he wet the towel and began to wipe away the blood, revealing a dark wound surrounded by bright
pink flesh.

“Will she be all right?” Richard asked as the doctor began to feel his way around the wound. It looked as if he was searching
for something. Groaning, Mary shifted against the touch. “Only time will tell.” Turning her onto her side, the doctor studied
her back and then muttered a curse.

“What is it?” Amy asked in a small voice that seemed close to breaking.

Richard winced. He knew what the doctor’s concern was now. “There is no exit wound. The lead ball will have to be extracted
if she is to survive this.”

“Fetch some brandy,” Lady Duncaster said, “and I will inform Lady Foxworth of the news.” Suffering from shock, Mary’s aunt
had been escorted to her own bedchamber and offered a small amount of laudanum in order to calm her nerves.

“We will need a bit of strength soon,” Florian said without looking up, “so if you can find another gentleman willing to help,
I suggest you bring him with you when you return.”

Relieved that he’d been given a task, Richard glanced at Mary’s pale face before quitting the room and going in search of
the brandy and Spencer. He felt as though his heart had been torn from his chest. What had happened . . . his steps were heavy
upon the floor, carrying him forward only because he knew that Mary now depended on him to help her through this.

Coming from the opposite end of the hallway, Richard saw the man who was to blame for it all—the man who might very well have
killed the most good-natured person in the world. Balling his hands into two tight fists, Richard gritted his teeth as he
moved toward him. “Carthright!” The name sounded like bone crushing against bone.

“How is she?” Carthright asked, coming to a halt at a reasonable distance. His eyes bore a haunted expression that made him
look old and tired.

“Struggling for her life, thanks to you.”

Dropping his gaze, Carthright muttered, “I am sorry.”

The apology reminded Richard of stale bread. “Sorry?” He was incredulous. “You are
sorry?
”

“Of course!”

Marching forward, Richard raised his fist. “She might die because of you, you bloody idiot!” His knuckles made contact with
Carthright’s jawbone, producing a loud cracking sound and pushing Carthright back. “Why?” His voice wavered. “You were supposed
to shoot
me
!”

Dropping to his knees, Carthright raised his arms to cover his face in anticipation of another hit, but Richard made no effort
to attack. Instead, he hovered over him, waiting for an answer to his question.

“I was nervous,” Carthright stammered. “I know that you are a far better shot and expected you to fire first, so I . . . I
pulled the trigger too early.”

Richard felt his anger rise. “The same reason why you abandoned me in France—because you are a coward.” When Carthright didn’t
respond, Richard stepped past him. He didn’t have time for this right now. Not when Mary needed his help.

Returning to her bedchamber a few minutes later together with Spencer, Richard poured the brandy into a large glass so the
doctor could dip his tools in it. “How is she?” he asked, his gaze falling on Mary’s twisted features.