Swept Away By a Kiss (41 page)

Now he was here, telling her he did not need her the way she needed him.

But she simply would not believe that. Neither he nor her wretched dreams could convince her otherwise after everything that had passed between them.

“Give yourself whatever name you will,” she said, the words thick in her mouth. “I will not—” Her dry tongue faltered, exhaustion scoring her limbs. She blinked, and shivers gripped her. It seemed like a tremendous effort to part her lips. “You cannot—”

“Valerie, we must get you back to the house,” he said close with concern. His palm curved around her brow, his other grasping her arm. “You are fevered.”

She nodded, fumbling with the garment in her hands. Steven took the shift and dressed her. Valerie tried to assist, but her fingers would not function properly and her head grew heavier each moment. She might have spoken to him, but she didn’t know what she said, perhaps that he was a rogue for breaking her heart, but that would have been too close to the truth, and there could not be any truths between them, could there?

He placed her atop his horse, climbed up behind her, and wrapped her in his arms. The wind drove the snow against her. Weary and chilled to the core, Valerie slipped in and out of awareness as the horse picked his way to the stables. Steven dismounted and drew her down, moving aside to slide open the stable door.

An arm snaked around her and hauled her to the edge of the lantern light. She struggled, icy metal pricking her neck as Steven swung around.

“Don’t move, Steven,” Alistair Flemming’s voice came at her ear, harsh and halting. “If you do, I—I will cut her.”

Valerie’s heartbeat stalled, her vision swimming.

Steven reached into the saddle pack and drew out a pistol. With calm assurance, he cocked it and pointed it at them.

“Harm her, and I will kill you, Alistair.” He tilted his head, as though considering. “In fact, if you do anything but release her instantly, I will kill you.”

“You would kill her instead. You don’t have a clear shot.” Bluster laced his tight voice.

“Are you quite certain of that?” Steven’s eyes narrowed. His hand around the pistol remained still as stone, the snowflakes settling upon his greatcoat sleeve like fleece upon a nighttime meadow, eerily peaceful.

A desperate whine erupted from her captor’s throat and he threw her forward. She stumbled on the ice, and Steven caught her, pressing her cheek into cold, wet wool.

“You cannot do any worse to me than what I have already done to myself,” Flemming hurled out, backing up. Staring at the knife in his hand, his eyes went wide. He threw it down and ran, slipping across the snow until the whitened darkness swallowed him.

Trembling seized Valerie, setting her teeth against each other frantically. She pulled out of Steven’s hold, pivoting around to him. His eyes were aflame, lit with something she had never seen in them before. Fear. Anguish.

He would have killed his childhood friend to save her. Killed again. For her.

Small wonder he did not want her. Small wonder.

She lurched back, but he caught her. His arm came around her and the pistol thudded to the snow-covered ground. He sank his fingers into her hair and brought his mouth down upon hers. His kiss was hard, like the first time aboard ship, when lies stood as barricades between them, in her heart and upon her lips and in everything he thought he must do. She sank into him, clinging.

He released her abruptly. Valerie opened her eyes and his gaze was impenetrable.

“A Catholic half-breed is at least as scandalous as an impoverished Italian violinist,” he said in a gravelly voice. “A fine addition to your list, I should think, my dear.”

The words hit her like a blow. She gaped as he drew the horse into the stable and, without a word, moved away in the falling snow toward the house. Numbly, she followed.

They entered through the kitchens. Dawn had not yet broken, and the castle remained quiet. Valerie trailed Steven’s quick strides through narrow servants’ passageways and staircases. Without glancing back, he led her to her bedchamber door and opened it. Amelia Brown rose from a chair, ashen-faced in the firelit room. She hurried forward and grasped Valerie’s frigid hands.

Steven closed the door.

“Where are the papers?” he said to the woman, and then sharper, “Quickly.”

Amelia dropped Valerie’s hands and moved swiftly across the chamber. She returned with the packet of documents clutched between her palms and gave it to Steven.

“Call a maid and wake your mistress.” Steven’s deep voice came through Valerie’s fogged senses. “Lady Valerie is ill.”

Amelia moved toward the bellpull.

He grasped Valerie’s wrist, searching her face, no mockery in his golden eyes now.

“Sleep now. Sleep long and dreamless, dear lady,” he said, his gaze holding hers barely a moment. He released her, opened the door, and disappeared into the dark corridor.

Chapter 38

December 27, 1810

M. MAXIMIN PANTHÈRE

Blackhawk

TERCEIRA ISLAND, AZORES

Task completed. Make berth at Portsmouth by month’s end. Will sail for Elmina weather permitting.

Etienne

Chapter 39

N
o one stirred within the castle. The day sparkled without, the winter sun glinting with brilliant abandon off each crystal of new snow, the air mild. Servants rested after the holiday excesses and the nobles were abroad, some in the village, others sledding.

Only Miss Pierce lingered after lunch in the drawing room with the Earl of Alverston and his wife, waiting for the physician’s report. After the doctor pronounced Lady Valerie remarkably sturdy given her fever, they seemed to relax. From his position at the far end of the chamber, Steven watched his godmother shoo them outside, assuring them that if the patient worsened she would alert them instantly.

For a moment Alverston paused upon the threshold, turning to fix his hostess, then Steven with a sober look. Steven bore the man’s stare without expression. Finally, the earl continued out. Without a word or a glance at her godson, the Countess of March followed.

Her snub did not bother Steven. He felt no guilt. He only needed to know that Valerie was safe, and he must see her once more before leaving.

He climbed the stairs. Outside Valerie’s bedchamber door he stood motionless. He pressed his palm against the panel, then his brow.

He didn’t care if anyone saw him. Soon he would be gone to chase down Clifford Hannsley and to set the man’s destruction in motion. None of these scions of the
ton
would ever see him again. His presence at Castlemarch would be forgotten quickly, as well as any interest he took in a particular lady.

Steven nearly laughed aloud in self-mockery. For days he had kept Valerie at a distance to protect her. Now, with his minutes in England numbered, he longed to spend every one of them at her side.

A faint sound came from inside the bedchamber. The knob turned as he stepped back, and his godmother appeared. She studied his face, then pulled the door wider for him to enter.

Nestled amid white linens, Valerie slept the unwaking sleep of unconsciousness, her breathing shallow and quick and her cheeks flushed in the thin rays of sun slanting through partially drawn draperies. Amelia Brown sat in a chair on the far side of the bed. The countess gestured, and Amelia stood and went into the dressing room, closing the door.

“Have you gotten everything you wished?” the countess said.

Steven suspected she meant more than the stolen documents. He moved to the bed and gazed down at the single reason for every one of his heartbeats now.

“Alistair betrayed you, didn’t he?” his godmother asked.

He nodded.

“He is gone today, without even a note,” she said. “His valet told me. I love him in his own way. He is my flesh and blood. But I knew he would turn on you one day. He hasn’t the integrity for it.”

“There seems to be a short supply of that virtue around here lately,” Steven murmured.

“Not upon that bed.”

“No.” He glanced at his godmother. “I was not speaking of her, of course.”

“I certainly hope you were not speaking of yourself,” she clipped, her brow drawn. “You were never one to whine, even as a child. I would be surprised if you began now.”

He lifted a single brow. “Naturally I was speaking of your neighbor, Clifford Hannsley.” He paused. “Thank you for your help, Godmother.”

She fixed him with an intense look. “You are leaving again, aren’t you?”

Steven turned toward Valerie. Behind opaque lids, her eyes flickered in frantic dreams.

“Shortly,” he said.

“Will you return?”

He shook his head. But the response apparently was not sufficient for his godmother.

“Does she know this?” she asked.

“I suspect she has guessed it.”

“Steven, I adore you. You know I do, and the Captain and I would do anything for you. But you are a fool.”

He pivoted to meet her censuring gaze. “Thank you, Godmother. Your expression of affection warms me, especially since you offer it despite my flaws.”

Her lips pursed tightly. “You are head-over-ears in love with that girl, and she is with you.”

“She will no doubt survive the misfortune.”

“And you?”

“That, Godmother, is not particularly your concern.”

The countess drew in a voluble breath. She moved to the door.

“Lock this behind me. It would not do for a servant to enter unannounced and see you here.” She shook her head as though to clear it and moved to the door. “Alert Amelia before you leave.”

Steven lowered himself to the edge of the bed and took Valerie’s hand. Her limp flesh burned. Even so, touching her felt like heaven, and he cradled her fingers in his palm. Her lips moved and her eyelids fluttered, but Steven knew she would not wake. He had seen too many victims of fever. She would remain unconscious for many hours to come.

He smoothed back the damp hair clinging to her skin. Unable to resist, he bent and pressed his lips to her brow. Valerie’s fingers tightened around his.

Heart lurching, Steven drew back. Her eyes opened, heavy with fever, the black centers huge.

“Don’t leave me.” Her words came like sand slipping across a windy beach. “Please don’t.”

Breathless and mute, Steven watched as her eyes closed again and her features slackened. Her fingers loosened within his. Once more he touched her face, caressing her cheek as his heartbeat gradually slowed. Then he tucked her hand beneath the linens, stood, and went to the dressing chamber door. Amelia came out quickly. Without another glance at the bed, Steven left.

In the drawing room two days later, Miss Pierce cheerfully announced that Lady Valerie’s fever had broken. Awake and alert, she had taken some food and drink, and the doctor pronounced her to be convalescing successfully. The other guests greeted the news with smiles and compliments to Lady Valerie’s lovely character and gracious manners, as well as her great beauty.

Within fifteen minutes, after making a quick visit to the servants’ quarters, Steven set off upon the road to London.

Everyone walked upon tiptoes.

First, the maid hovering over Valerie’s bed tiptoed. She did this after beaming and declaring that milady’s fever had broke. Then she bit her tongue and hurried off to inform her mistress of the news, leaving Valerie drenched in sweat with a head full of dreams of Steven making love to her, his strong hands, beautiful eyes, his mouth and body giving her pleasure.

When Lady March came to call, she tiptoed too, in a manner of speaking. As usual she spoke directly, apologizing for her nephew’s villainy and assuring Valerie that Mabel was safely tucked in a little chamber on the castle’s top floor, and that by all reports Lord Hannsley still searched for her in London. But Lady March did not mention her godson, although Valerie knew he must have left Castlemarch.

Valentine and Anna visited next, and in their own loving way minced around too. Valentine stood stoically at the end of the bed, looking grim but relieved, while Anna combed Valerie’s hair and encouraged her to eat the broth Cook sent up. They did not say a word about the Viscount of Ashford either.