The Rake (11 page)

She’d always believed she was a lady. Now
she wondered if she never had been, or if it was only that being
around Lord Wyndham was enough to completely undermine the fragile
foundation of her upbringing.

Undoubtedly it was, for she
found that, instead of being shocked or outraged as she should have
been, she
wanted
to prove it. She wanted to experience everything the words
implied.

If only she dared!

She managed a smile. “I’m glad you’re
feeling well enough to … have such things on your mind, at
least.”

“
I would have to be on my
deathbed not to have such things on my mind with you in my bed …
wearing nothing but your nightgown.”

Demi blushed and would’ve sprang up from the
bed except that he’d undoubtedly expected it. He dropped one arm
across her lap, curling his hand along her hip. His grip was
surprisingly strong for someone supposedly weakened by fever and
injury. She relaxed, unwilling to risk jarring his leg and causing
him any more pain. “My lord….”

“
Garrett.”

“
It wouldn’t be prop--” She
cut herself off, realizing how absurd it was to prose on about the
impropriety of calling him by his Christian name under the
circumstances. She shook her head at him. “You should try to rest,
Garrett. If Sarah finds you awake when she comes back, she’ll
accuse me of not taking proper care of you and she won’t let me
come back.”

“
Lie with me
then.”

Demi’s eyes widened. “Are you mad! What if
someone were to come in?”

He shrugged. “Lock the door.”

Blood surged into her cheeks. “I couldn’t do
that! It’d be worse if the door was locked.”

“
It’ll be worse if your
aunt decides to drop in to check on me and finds you
here.”

Demi’s eyes widened. She honestly hadn’t
thought of that. She frowned, wondering if there was any real
danger of it and realized that it wasn’t beyond the realms of
possibility. If her aunt woke and decided to check on her son, she
might also decide to check on Lord Wyndham. “You are a very bad
influence on me,” she chided him. “I’ll lock the door, but only
because I don’t want to take a chance on Aunt Alma finding me in
here. I’m not getting into bed with you!”

He said nothing and after a moment, she got
up and moved across the room, locking the door. When she returned,
she took the cloth from his head and dipped it into the basin once
more. She’d just twisted it to wring the water from it, when he
wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back, rolling to his
side and depositing her on the bed beside him. She gasped in
surprise, but froze when he let out a sharp gasp of pain. She sat
up. “You’ve hurt your leg!”

Scrambling over the mattress, she pulled the
coverlet back to check his bandages. To her relief, she saw no sign
of fresh bleeding. Covering his leg carefully once more, she turned
to look at him. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

He dropped an arm across his eyes. “Probably
not. It hurts like hell now.”

Demi sighed. “Sarah was right. I shouldn’t
have come.”

“
Sarah was … but I’m glad
you ignored her.”

Scooting up the bed, she pulled his arm away
from his face and checked his forehead. It was still very warm, but
it had cooled a good bit from before. Instead of laying the cloth
across his forehead, she gently wiped his face. “I’ll get you some
laudanum.”

He took the cloth from her hand and tossed
it in the general direction of the basin. It hit the edge and slid
in. Turning back to her, he pulled her down and tucked her against
his side. “You rest. You need it more than I do.”

She didn’t resist, but not altogether
because she was afraid of hurting him again, or making him hurt
himself. “You said you’d rest if I would lie beside you.”

“
I had something else in
mind, actually.”

Demi smiled faintly. “I know.”

Slipping an arm behind her back, he caught
her arm and draped it across his chest, then leaned down and kissed
the tip of her nose. “Keep in mind that this is a temporary
setback.”

Chapter Eight

Despite the comment, Lord Wyndham was far
worse the following day. Demi didn’t dare even approach the door
after the fuss Sarah put up when she returned and discovered the
door to the room locked. She had seemed slightly mollified when
Demi had pointed out that she’d thought it best, in case her aunt
woke, but she was still deeply suspicious and made no attempt to
hide it.

The surgeon was summoned again the following
afternoon. He lanced the wound, which was showing some signs of
trying to become infected, advised Fitzhugh to clean the wound and
change the dressings every eight hours or so, and left again,
shaking his head. Demi was beside herself with worry. She spent
most of the day in the library with a book open in her lap,
listening to the footsteps in the room overhead and trying to
interpret the meaning. She managed to waylay Sarah at one point,
but the news did nothing to comfort her. “He’s a bit out of his
head. Could be the laudanum--the doctor gave him a right smart dose
of that when he bled him--but it don’t seem to me that the medicine
for his fever’s doin’ a lot of good. He’s been askin’ for a
solicitor for hours. Mr. Fitzhugh told me to send a boy round to
fetch one for him … thought it might quiet him down.”

Demi thought for several moments that she
might faint. Sarah, looking more than a little alarmed, caught her
arms, dragged her back into the library and made her sit down.
“Here now! We can’t be havin’ none of this, Miss. Ye know what’ll
be goin’ through everybody’s mind if ye faint and I have to run for
smellin’ salts!”

Demi nodded numbly, but she didn’t really
care what they thought anymore. “I’m fine. Go. See to … your
errand.”

“
Yer sure?”

She nodded again. She spent the rest of the
day wallowing in regrets, wishing she’d done any number of things
differently. Her deepest regrets though, were that she’d not
somehow prevented Garrett from going with her cousin on the shoot;
that she’d allowed herself to be bullied into going off with Mr.
Flemming when she might otherwise have known about Geoffrey’s
plans; and that she’d allowed propriety, and her fear of what other
people would think of her, to prevent her from grabbing what she
could of happiness while she could.

She tried
not
to think about the
possibility that Garrett wouldn’t recover, but she spent most of
the remainder of the day praying for another chance. If she just
had one more opportunity, she would seize it, take what happiness
she could and worry about the consequences later. There would be
plenty of time for regrets afterward, she knew, but at least she
wouldn’t have to regret what she’d missed out on.

As interminable as the day was, the night
was worse. Exhausted emotionally, she fell asleep almost as soon as
she climbed into her bed, but she’d been lying awake for an hour or
more when the tap came on her door. Throwing the covers off, Demi
rushed hopefully across the room and snatched the door open. To her
surprise, instead of Sarah, Mr. Fitzhugh was standing just outside.
“His lordship’s been asking for you all day, Miss Standish,” he
said in a hushed whisper.

“
A moment,” she whispered
back and rushed to grab her robe from the foot of her
bed.

Sarah, she discovered, was in Garrett’s
room, methodically rinsing the cloth, wringing it out and placing
it across his forehead. Leaving it for only a few moments, she
started the process all over again. She looked across the room
finally at Demi, who’d stopped just inside the door.

Nodding, she dropped the cloth on the table
and went to pour the water out and replace it with cooler water.
When she’d carried the basin back to the bed, she placed the cooled
cloth on his head once more, then turned and headed for the
door.

The click of the door closing jolted Demi
out of her frozen fear and she moved to the side of the bed to take
Sarah’s place. He’d dragged the cloth from his forehead, she saw.
When she reached to take it from his hand, he grasped her wrist
painfully. Startled, she glanced at his face quickly. His eyes were
open, but she could see no recognition in them. Lifting her free
hand, she stroked his cheek, resisting the urge to burst into
tears. “Garrett?”

Something flickered in his eyes. Slowly, his
grip on her wrist loosened. “Demi?”

Her chin wobbled so badly it took her
several moments to speak. “Yes.”

He frowned, obviously trying to gather his
thoughts. “Made arrangements,” he managed finally.

Demi lost control then. Bursting into sobs,
she threw herself on his chest. “Don’t talk like that! Don’t even
think it! It’s bad luck.”

“
Shhh. Can’t afford not to.
My position. People depend on me. Give you my word I don’t expect
the worst.”

Demi choked back her sobs and sat back,
sniffing. “You don’t?”

He dragged in a ragged breath and shook his
head slightly. “I have responsibilities. Can’t afford to ignore the
possibility of disaster. Made arrangements for you. If anything
happens, Fitzhugh will explain.”

Demi mopped the tears from her cheeks and
studied him in confusion. She could tell, however, that his throat
was parched with thirst. His voice was rough with it. Getting up,
she retrieved the pitcher and glass and helped him to drink until
he indicated that he’d had enough.

He seemed to drift off again when he lay
back, but he didn’t seem as restless as before.

She tested his forehead and cheeks, but if
his fever had abated at all, she couldn’t tell it.

She stayed, as she had the night before
until Sarah came and shooed her away.

Despite her anxieties, she’d had several
nights of little or no sleep and when she fell into her bed, she
slept the sleep of the truly exhausted and didn’t waken until
nearly noon the following day. “Reverend Flemming has called
again,” Sarah announced tightly when she arrived in Demi’s room to
help her dress. “Lady Moreland invited him to stay for
luncheon.”

Demi’s belly immediately clenched with
dismay, but she dismissed it. “How is Lord Wyndham?”

Sarah shook her head. “I can’t tell he’s a
whit better, but he seems no worse. The doctor dropped by earlier …
said his lordship’d reach his crisis today. Either the fever’ll
break, or….”

Demi nodded, fighting the urge to burst into
tears. It wouldn’t do to arrive downstairs in a state of utter
turmoil. She knew better than to think she would be allowed to stay
in her room and ignore Mr. Flemming’s visit.

When she arrived downstairs, she discovered
Geoffrey ensconced in the parlor, his leg propped on a stool and a
mound of pillows. His expression was a curious mixture of the
sullen schoolboy and repentant transgressor. Reverend Flemming was
sitting on one side of him and his mother the other, both,
apparently, lecturing him on his recent exploits. Phoebe, seated on
the couch opposite the threesome, was wearing the smug look of the
pious.

Demi was of more than half a mind to simply
turn around and retreat. The look of entreaty Geoffrey sent her way
stopped her. She was angry with him for hurting Garrett, but she
knew it hadn’t been intentional and there seemed little point in
heaping her disapproval on top of that already weighing his
shoulders down.

Sighing, she moved into the parlor, looked
around, and finally took a seat in a chair that sat alone, at some
distance from the others. If she thought Flemming would take it as
the rejection it was, she was wrong. He got up at once, smiling as
if his welcome was assured, and dragged a chair over next to
hers.

Demi gave him an unwelcoming glare.

His brows rose. He possessed himself of one
of her hands after a short wrestle for it. “I only came to
apologize for my unconscionable behavior the other day.”

She sent him a look. She didn’t believe a
word it and she took no pains to hide her doubt.

He frowned. “You are very sheltered, and a
properly brought up young lady. You would know nothing about the
baser instincts of men. I lost my head.”

Demi’s eyes narrowed. “You would have lost
it from your shoulders if I’d had anything to remove it with.”

Both Geoffrey and Phoebe snickered and
Flemming reddened alarmingly. Before he could think up a response,
however, the butler announced luncheon. Demi jumped up at once,
trying to tug her hand free. Flemming’s tightened on hers until she
winced and ceased tugging. He smiled then. “I’d far rather escort
you in to dine, but our invalid needs some assistance,” he said
coolly, releasing her hand finally.

Demi fumed, massaging her hand and staring
daggers at his back, but finally turned and followed Phoebe into
the small dining parlor. They dined in virtual silence. Alma
Moreland made some attempt to carry on a civilized conversation and
was supported by the Reverend Flemming, but neither Geoffrey nor
Phoebe seemed inclined to contribute more than a comment or two and
Demi refused to be drawn into the conversation at all.

She would have risen and left immediately
after they’d finished, but Flemming forestalled, her, tucking her
hand beneath his arm and escorting her back to the parlor. When
everyone was settled in the parlor once more, he stood and looked
them all over as if he was about to begin a sermon and wanted to
make certain he had everyone’s attention. “I have posted the
banns.”

Demi stared at him, too stunned even to
speak for several moments. No one else seemed to have a problem,
however. Phoebe uttered, “But I thought--”

Her mother cut her off. “But this is
delightful news! Very good thinking on your part, Mr. Flemming!
This should still the wagging tongues quickly enough.”