The Earl Next Door (25 page)

Kit frowned. ‘I’m sorry for it. I really didn’t think it would hit him that hard.’

‘I think, for Papa, it would have been better if he had known the truth. He would have worried, and he would have forbidden you to go, but he would not have lost hope when you left. It broke his spirit to know, or think, that his son and heir was a gambler.’

Kit nodded. ‘What I did, I did for the best, but even so . . . However, there’s no point dwelling on the past. What’s done is done. And besides, when Papa learns the truth I hope to find it will restore his health.’

‘I think it will,’ said Marianne. ‘Especially,’ she said with an innocent look, ‘when you tell him that you are to marry Adèle.’

Kit’s eyebrows rose. ‘And what makes you think that?’

She twinkled at him. ‘Are you trying to deny it?’

He laughed, warmly and happily. ‘Not I. But there remains a formality. In all the confusion I have not had an opportunity to ask her yet. Once my leg is better I mean to take her out to our tree house and ask her to be my wife.’

‘The tree house. Where we all used to play as children. That’s a good idea.’

‘I want to make our betrothal unique,’ agreed Kit. ‘So, no more talk of this until we are safely engaged.’

Marianne put her finger to her mouth in a gesture from their childhood. ‘My lips are sealed.’

‘But I am not the only one to be teased on such a subject,’ he said with mock innocence. ‘It seems to me you have a secret of your own.’

She suddenly sobered. ‘I . . . I don’t know what you mean,’ she said hesitantly.

‘You and Luke. No, don’t deny it. I saw your face when he was shot. You’re in love with him, aren’t you, Mari? Or if you’re not, you should be. Luke’s a bit rough around the edges, perhaps, but all the more exciting for that. Or so most young ladies think,’ he teased.

‘Don’t,’ she said, a shadow crossing her face.

He looked at her curiously. ‘I’m not wrong, am I, Mari?’ he asked, worried.

‘Yes . . . no . . . that is . . . You go too fast. I have not said that I am in love with Luke, and even if I was, I would not know whether he loves me . . . ’

‘Men don’t jump in front of bullets for women they don’t love,’ said Kit reasonably. ‘But if you wish me to say nothing more, then I won’t mention it again. At least, not until you give me leave.’

Marianne gave a lopsided smile. ‘I can’t keep anything from you, can I?’

‘No, little sister.’

The door opened, and Adèle tripped in.

‘Adèle. My love.’ Kit’s face lit up as he saw his pretty
amour
.

The petite Frenchwoman blushed charmingly and went over to Kit’s side, taking his proffered hand. ‘Kit. Trudie told me you were out of bed,’ she said in her excellent English. ‘But should you be down here? What did the doctor say?’

‘He said that I may take my ease downstairs provided I don’t tire myself,’ said Kit, repeating the words he had said to Marianne, but this time with an unmistakeably lover-like warmth.

It did Marianne’s heart good to see it. Kit’s love for Adèle, and Adèle’s for him, was lovely to see.

‘Ah. Good. Then I will sit with you and make sure you follow his instructions,’ said Adèle.

‘For as long as Trudie allows it,’ said Kit, plainly having forgotten Marianne’s existence in his happiness at being with Adèle. ‘She read me a lecture this morning about compromising you, and told me we must be chaperoned whenever we want to sit together.’

‘Ah! But me, I told her we have crossed half of
France
with only a skin-and-bones horse as our chaperon,’ said Adèle, similarly oblivious of Marianne’s presence.

‘And what did she say to that?’

‘She told me that nothing that happened in such a barbarous country would surprise her, but that we are in
England
now!’

Marianne smiled happily to hear Kit and Adèle’s banter. After all they had been through, it did her good to know that they could finally be together. Then, knowing that they were engaged – or would be, just as soon as Kit had found the right moment to propose - she ignored Trudie’s feelings on chaperonage and discreetly slipped out of the room.

Kit and Adèle’s happy laughter receded as she made her way along the corridor and upstairs, and her own happy thoughts receded with it, for she was still anxious about Luke. Although Dr Moffat had said he should make a full recovery, and although her own knowledge and experience told her that this should be the case, until he was actually up and about again she would not rest easy.

The doctor was still in Luke’s bedroom, however, and so she waited patiently until he came out.

‘Ah! Miss Travis! Just the person I wanted to see.’

‘How is he?’ she asked.

‘He is resting now. His fever has gone and I have given him strict instructions to get some sleep. He should get as much rest as possible over the next few days. Then, as long as there is no return of the fever, he should be able to get up.’

Marianne thanked the doctor, and when he had gone, slipped into Luke’s room.

It was bathed in darkness. The heavy drapes were drawn across the window, and no candles were lit. But by and by, as Marianne’s eyes grew used to the darkness, she began to be able to see. To her right was the Adam fireplace. The fire, banked down, glowed in the hearth. On the wall ahead of her were the windows, covered with heavy damask curtains, and the bed was set against the wall to her left. It was a four poster, and the curtains which surrounded it were tied back. Under the coverlet was a figure lying quietly: Luke.

She moved into the room, gently shutting the door. She was determined not to disturb him, but she wanted to see for herself that he was resting peacefully. A little daylight was coming in through chinks in the curtains, and by this light she could make out his sleeping face. It was peaceful. There was no sign of the fever that had plagued him the day before. His features were relaxed, and she realised that she had never seen him like this before, he was usually such a strong and active man.

Her eyes lingered on his face: his smooth brow, his almond-shaped eyes, and his cheekbones, which were beautifully moulded. It seemed strange to think of a man as beautiful, but as she saw him like this, in repose, she realised that his face was indeed beautifully shaped. The high cheekbones and strong jawline were in perfect proportion and gave a fine structure to his face. With his face relaxed, however, he seemed younger than normal, and strangely vulnerable. The vulnerability touched her, and made her insides ache. Her strong Luke, brave, fearless, looked almost boyish. She shivered, realising that this vulnerable and disarming side of him would be one his wife see every night – if he ever took a wife.

She moved further into the room. Although he was sleeping peacefully she wanted to reassure herself that his fever had indeed gone, and when she reached the side of the bed she put out her hand, resting it on his forehead. His skin felt cool and dry.

She was just about to remove her hand when his own rose, catching her by the wrist, and a smile crossed his lips.

‘You’re awake!’ she exclaimed.

He opened his eyes, and there was a flash, faint but unmistakeable, of wickedness in them. ‘And glad to see you. More glad than I can say.’

‘Oh, Luke, I was so worried about you . . . ’

‘Were you?’ His eyes were searching and his good hand, the hand that led from his undamaged shoulder, as it rubbed hers, was strong and firm.

‘The fever . . . ’ she began hesitantly.

‘The fever’s gone now.’

‘I . . . shouldn’t be here,’ she said falteringly. ‘I should let you rest.’

‘You will do me more good than any amount of rest. I was hoping you would come.’

‘I had to see you. When we brought you home last night you were so ill —’

‘Why
did
you bring me home?’ he asked curiously. ‘To the Hall?’ He patted the bed beside him. ‘Sit down and tell me all about it.’

Marianne hesitated and then did as he said. As she settled herself beside him she could not help noticing that his white lawn night-shirt set off his olive complexion most attractively, revealing as it did an inch or two of masculine chest . . .

She gathered her straying thoughts. ‘In the end, we had no choice. In all the confusion, when the French were chasing you, no one gave any thought to the rowing boat. It was only later, when Figgs went to look for it and could not find it that we realised no one had lashed it to the side. So Captain Gringe had to take us all into the harbour. It was daylight when we arrived, and he thought it better to wait until it was almost dark before smuggling us off the ship.’

Luke nodded in agreement. ‘That makes sense. In the daytime, people would have been curious and would have talked about what they had seen. Two young ladies, two injured men and a couple of ruffians, coming down the gangplank, would have set the harbour buzzing.’

‘Yes, although I don’t think Henri and Figgs would take kindly to being called a couple of ruffians,’ laughed Marianne mischievously. ‘Captain Gringe sent for his carriage as soon as dark began to fall, and gave the coachman instructions to bring us all here. Figgs would have taken you on to the Manor, but by that time you were feverish and I insisted you were brought inside.’

He lifted his hand and brushed her cheek. Even in his weakened state his touch was redolent of virility. ‘It seems I have much to thank you for,’ he said, his eyes looking deeply into her own.

‘You can thank me by getting well again,’ she remarked, suddenly feeling vulnerable at being so close to him and resorting to the manner of a nurse. She pulled up the coverlet around his shoulders as if to emphasise the point.

‘I intend to.’ He was unperturbed by her ministrations. ‘Someone needs to keep an eye on you, and make sure you don’t go stowing away on any more ships!’

‘There’s no fear of that. Once was enough. But now, I intend to go. You are still weak, and you need to rest. Dr Moffat has given strict instructions, and I mean to see that they are carried out.’

‘Very well.’ Then his good hand moved to the back of her head and he pulled her face towards his, kissing her deeply and sensuously, with such a firm movement that she had no time to resist – even if she had wanted to, which she did not. And then he let her go.

He heart pounding and her cheeks still flushed from his kiss she headed towards the door, unable to resist one final look back at him before she went out into the corridor, closing the door gently behind her.

The next week passed quickly. Despite her fears that the days would drag, Marianne found she had plenty to do. She was kept busy with nursing Luke and Kit, and in between she found time to send Tom to the harbour to bring back her mare from Jim Smith’s, and to comfort Adèle, for the pretty Frenchwoman was anxious about the fate of her beloved parents.

The fate of the Comte and Marie-Anne concerned Marianne as well. The Comte was her godfather, and Marie-Anne had been almost like a second mother to her, so that she was almost as anxious as Adèle.

‘We were separated as we tried to leave
France
,’ said Adèle in her prettily-accented English. ‘Ah! Marianne. I have tried to put on a brave face before Kit because he is injured, and I want him to get well, but it is difficult. I worry so much. Where are they, my parents? I hoped I would find them when I reached
England
. I hoped they, too had escaped.’