Just Wicked Enough (25 page)

“Why did you believe Wesley was a fortune hunter, but not believe the same of Michael?”

“Michael?”

“Falconridge?”

“Oh, he’s a fortune hunter, no question there, but he’s an honest one. And an honest heart is capable of great love.”

“What is love? Wesley wrote me poems, he brought me gifts, he told me he loved me every time he saw me. Michael has never said he loves me. He’s never even said he has affection for me. I didn’t
know
until he stepped in front of Wesley. Why didn’t he tell me? How can a person know if the words are never given?”

“Love isn’t found in words, Kate. It’s found in quiet moments, a look, a sigh, a smile, a gladness.” She sighed. “And very often, it’s shown with sacrifice.”

“L
ady Falconridge, I’m here to take you home.”

Kate was surprised her voice sounded so calm, so authoritative as she spoke to Michael’s mother. Kate’s stomach was knotted so tightly it was a wonder she could stand upright. She’d brought one of her tall footmen with her and he now stood just outside the open door in case Kate should need him to pull the dowager marchioness off her.

But the silver-haired woman seemed as docile as a newborn kitten.

“Home,” she murmured as though the word had no meaning to her.

Kate dared to step closer. “Yes, my lady. Your son is hurt—”

“Did he fall from the tree again?” Her gaze was wandering over the wall. “I should have it”—she made a chopping motion with her hand. “I told her…restrain his activities…can’t risk…only heir.”

Kate could only assume that the
she
was his governess, who’d locked him in dark closets rather than risk any harm coming to the only heir. Only she had harmed him, in ways perhaps worse than any physical harm that might have come to him.

“You should come with me now,” Kate said. “I’m taking you home.”

Holding her breath, she approached the woman as she might a skittish horse. Placing her hand beneath the woman’s elbow she urged her to her feet. “That’s it. Very carefully now.”

She wore a soiled nightgown. Once Kate got her home, she’d have Chloe clean her up proper before taking her to see Michael.

The marchioness shuffled with tiny steps as though she hadn’t the strength to lift her feet. Her gaze wandered as did her attention. She looked so lost that it tore at Kate’s heart. She wondered if bringing Michael’s mother home now was the right thing to do, but she wanted his mother to see him, wanted him to know his mother was there.

She needed to give him the will to fight—if not for her, then for the first woman he’d ever loved, the first woman who’d hurt him. Little wonder he guarded his heart so. The women who meant so much to him took such little care of his feelings. She included herself in that assessment.

The footman, John, stepped forward quietly, carefully, with as much tenderness as Kate had ever seen a man exhibit. Also with more patience. Kate dearly wanted to hurry the woman along, but she’d witnessed how little it took to set her off and the last thing she wanted was any sort of altercation.

The staff of Glennwood stood around, staring, as though they’d never seen someone being escorted from the facility.

“Don’t you all have something better to do than gawk?” Kate snapped.

A few hurried off and Dr. Kent approached. “Are you certain this is a wise course?”

“No,” Kate said with conviction. “But it is necessary.”

It seemed to take an eternity to get Michael’s mother settled in the coach. Kate gave her the honor of sitting forward while she sat across from her, not wanting to crowd her. As the coach lunged forward, his mother did little more than gaze out the window at the passing scenery.

As the miles passed, Kate began to relax. It would be all right. She would handle Michael’s mother. With Jenny’s help, she’d managed to hire nurses and additional servants. A staff whose only purpose was to see to the needs of the dowager marchioness. And once Michael recovered—he would recover; Kate refused to accept any other outcome—they would return to the country estate and build the house he wanted for his mother. She’d be happy there. They’d all be happy there.

“I yelled at him,” Michael’s mother said loudly, and Kate nearly leapt out of skin.

“I know,” Kate said softly. “But he understands, he forgives you.”

Michael’s mother still stared out the window, and Kate wondered if she truly saw the buildings that were coming into view or if, instead, she saw another part of her life, a part now lost to her. “I was dressed for the opera. He ran into my bedchamber…so excited to share some new discovery. So small. His arms closed around my knees. Hugged so tight. I yelled at him. He wrinkled my clothes.” A small smile flitted across her wrinkled face and disappeared. “Such a good boy, eager to please. Never hugged me again.” She shifted her attention to Kate, and Kate fought not to be frightened or nervous.

Michael’s mother looked as though she was on the verge of weeping. “A mother should always have wrinkled skirts.”

“You love Michael very much don’t you?” Kate asked.

The woman sitting across from her creased her brow. “Who is Michael?” Her eyes took on a more vacant look and Kate realized she’d returned to the hell of her life.

“The man I love,” Kate answered, tears burning her eyes. The man she didn’t know how she would live without.

Michael was tired, so tired. He felt as though someone had set kindling in his side and set it afire and the flames were licking unmercifully, spreading throughout his body, consuming him. He felt the cool touch against his brow, heard the whispered, “Come back to me.”

It was such an urgent plea that even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t have ignored it. He forced his eyes open. The room was dimly lit. The cool fingers continued to stroke his fevered brow. A soft cheek lay against his bristly one. While he couldn’t see her, he recognized the fragrance of raspberries.

“Please don’t leave me,” she whispered.

Imagines flashed through his mind. Kate leaving the opera to meet with another man, the sight of them standing so near in the darkness. The thieves. A flash. The fiery agony. But the physical pain had paled in comparison to what he’d felt in his heart at the sight of what he’d witnessed. Another man offering to take her away…

And yet here she was. Was it guilt that kept her tethered to his side?

“I’m not the one…” The words came out as little more than a croak.

Kate jerked up as though she were a puppet whose strings had been yanked. “You’re awake. Here, have some water.”

Only instead of giving him a glass, she flung droplets at his lips. Not enough, not nearly enough as he gathered them up on his parched tongue. As though growing as frustrated as he, she mumbled something about the doctor and moved away, before returning to slip an arm beneath his head and lift him slightly, bringing a glass of water nearer. It was heaven. Or as close to heaven as he’d ever get.

After he’d taken a few sips, she took the glass away and returned with a damp cloth, wiping what he assumed was sweat from his neck and chest. It was so unbearably hot in here.

“Wiggins?” he rasped.

“He’s fine. I can’t believe you did what you did.” Her hand stilled just above his pounding heart. “I wasn’t going to leave with him, Michael. I wasn’t. You must believe that.”

“You love him.”

He didn’t know if he’d meant his words to be a statement or a question.

“Once, but no longer.”

His head hurt, his eyes burned. There were so many things he wanted to ask her, questions he wanted answered, confusions he needed explained but they were shooting through his mind like a thousand falling stars. He couldn’t seem to manage to latch on to one and hold it long enough to string the words together so they made any sense.

“Don’t want to die—”

“You’re not going to die.”

“—without knowing your favorite color.”

She gave him a tearful smile. “Green.”

His fever, the ache in his side were affecting his hearing. He couldn’t have heard her correctly.

“So common.”

Tenderly she moved his hair back from his brow. “Not when I look into your eyes.”

“Imagine that.” The answer had been staring at him all along whenever he gazed in the mirror.

He heard her voice coming at him from a great distance, but he was too tired to respond. Too tired. He hadn’t the strength to fight when the darkness swallowed him.

The past three nights had been the most difficult of Kate’s life. If only his fever would break…

She’d snatched bits of sleep here and there, but her body ached to such a degree that she’d begun to fear that she might have a fever as well. Her father had sat with her for a while earlier tonight. It was as though each family member had agreed to take a turn. And while he’d wanted her to rest when he was there, she’d been unable to. Her greatest fear was that Michael would awaken, not see her there, and think she’d abandoned him for Wesley.

Near dawn, she heard a rap on the door just before it opened and Jeremy slipped his head inside. “Mind if I come in?”

“Is it your turn?” she asked wearily.

With a cocky grin, he walked in looking as awful as she felt, his clothing rumpled and askew.

“You smell like a brewery and tobacco,” she said when he was near enough to lean down and kiss her cheek.

“I’ve been out all night.”

“Madam Tussaud’s Chamber of Horrors?”

He grinned. “Chamber of pleasures, more like.” Turning somber, he sat in the nearby chair and nodded toward the bed. “How is he?”

“He woke up a few hours ago. There’s so much I want to tell him, but I want him strong enough to remember it all.”

He yawned. “He’ll get strong enough, Kate. Not to worry there.”

“You like him,” she stated.

He nodded.

“Why?”

“Can’t say really. Just do.”

She and Jeremy had always had a special bond, different from the one she shared with Jenny. Growing up, she sometimes felt like the brother Jeremy had never had. They both understood numbers. When her parents had threatened to cut her off after she married Wesley, he was the one who’d convinced her that if it was true love it would still be there in five years. Wesley had barely waited three.

“Wesley was going to let him die,” she rasped, mortified, ashamed of her past husband’s actions. Jeremy didn’t seem at all surprised by her words. “How is it that I’m the only one who couldn’t see him as he was?”

“Because you were looking at him with your heart.”

“How could my heart be so wrong?”

“Because it was such a young heart.”

She laughed bitterly. “And you are so old and full of wisdom.”

“Let’s just say I’ve not been as sheltered as you and Jenny and leave it at that.”

Michael was more tired than he thought it possible to be and still be alive.

Giving up would have been so much easier, but since Kate had come into his life, nothing had been easy, but neither had anything ever been so worthwhile. He’d spent his life traveling the path of least resistance, taking the easiest of routes, searching for the quickest of solutions, and with Kate, he’d discovered more satisfaction was found in fighting for something, in striving to meet her expectations. She brought out the best in him.

He opened his eyes to the shadow-filled room. Kate stood over him, bent slightly, using a damp cloth to wipe away the sweat of his fever. It had been a circus here, with people coming to keep her company. At the fever’s highest pitch, he’d even hallucinated that one of the guests was his mother, holding his hand. It had felt so real, her hand frail and wrinkled, but warm, so warm. And gentle. Her eyes ever so gentle. For a moment they had been those of a woman who remembered him.

But such is the way of fevered dreams: to fill the mind with images that can never be.

“Oh, you’re finally awake,” Kate said, and abruptly turned away.

If he’d known she’d leave him so easily, he’d have kept his eyes closed and simply absorbed her tender ministrations into his soul. Then she was back, holding a glass of water, slipping one arm beneath his shoulders, lifting him—

“Here, you must be thirsty. Drink this,” she ordered, pressing the glass to his lips, tilting it too high, nearly drowning him, spilling water over his chest.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, letting go of him, causing him to drop back with a groan. “I’m no good at this.” She was dabbing at his chest, tears filling her eyes and rolling along her cheeks.

It took a great deal of effort, but he managed to capture her wrist and she stilled. “It’s all right, Kate. Feels good.”

“I’m so sorry, Michael. I’ve never taken care of anyone before, and I’ve been so worried that I’d botch it, that you’d die—”

He rolled his head from side to side. “No plans to die.”

She swiped away at the tears that he wished he had the strength to reach. She sniffed. “Do you feel up to eating some soup? It’ll help you gain your strength.”

He nodded once, and the sweetest smile appeared on her face.

“I have so much to tell you.” She squeezed his hand. “When you’re stronger.”

She was back in no time with a bowl of soup. She helped him sit up slightly, then very carefully spooned out a little bit at a time and brought it to his lips, tilting it slightly, watching it disappear as though she were witnessing a miracle.

He’d never seen her so disheveled. Her hair piled on her head but falling around her face in obvious disarray. He thought she might be as pale as he felt he might be. Her eyes were sunken with dark half-moons beneath them.

When the bowl was empty, she set it aside and began to tenderly wipe a damp cloth over his body. “Everyone’s been so worried. They’ll be glad to hear that your fever’s broken and that you’re going to be all right. You will be all right. I won’t settle for anything less.”

“If it…pleases you,” he croaked.

She tilted her head slightly, like a lark that had spied something of interest just beyond reach. “I’m beginning to wonder if when you say that you mean something else entirely.”

He gave it his best effort, but he wasn’t certain his mouth shifted into the cocky grin he was aiming for because tears began welling in her eyes again. “Don’t cry.”

She swiped at her eyes and sniffed. “Sorry, I can’t help it.”

“When did you sleep?”

She shook her head.

“Will you lie with me?” he asked, wondering how long he’d sound like a frog.

“But you’re hurt.”

“I still have one good side. Let me hold you. You need to rest.”

Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to his forehead, then smiled softly. “If it pleases you.”

Standing, she unbuttoned her sacklike dress and removed it, revealing her cotton chemise and bloomers. She slipped beneath the sheet, nestling up against his good side. He didn’t know if anything he’d ever experienced had ever felt so good.