The Waltzing Widow (23 page)
A few minutes later Abigail returned to the dining room, wiping crystal tears from her cheeks. She did not volunteer anything regarding her conversation with Lord Kenmare. Instead, she asked for permission to excuse herself so that she could go up to her bedroom. “Of course, Abigail,” Lady Mary said. She suspected that Abigail was in need of a good cry, if her own state of emotions was anything to judge from.
Lady Cecily and Lady Mary made an effort to do justice to the well-prepared dishes before them, but they failed miserably. Almost with one accord they rose from the table and repaired to the drawing room. Neither of them mentioned it, but they awaited the earl's return and to hear whatever news he might have gathered.
Lady Cecily and Lady Mary passed the time by rolling bandages, embroidering, and flipping through a ladies’ magazine. There was very little significant conversation between them. Several times when their glances crossed it was because one had just looked away from the clock when the other chanced to look up at it.
There was the strong warning rumble of thunder. The ladies started, looking at each other fearfully. For an appalled instant Lady Mary thought the cannonading had begun again. But then lightning cracked, filling the drawing room with wild flickering light. Torrents of violent rain sheeted the drawing-room windowpanes and the day grew instantly darker. “I shall ask for extra candles to be brought in, shall I?” Lady Cecily said, reaching for the bell rope. Her request was swiftly attended to and the extra candles were soon blazing. But the light only served to provide a greater contrast to the wild darkness outside the windows, which did nothing to soothe the ladies’ restlessness.
It was two hours before the Earl of Kenmare returned, and he was not alone.
The first intimation that the ladies had of his lordship's arrival was the crashing open of the outer door and his furious voice demanding assistance. Lady Mary and Lady Cecily stared at each other, for an instant transfixed with dread.
Lady Cecily recovered first, and as awkward as her pregnancy had made her, she moved swiftly to throw open the drawing-room door. “Robert, whatever are you bellowing...?” The sight that greeted her eyes drove the color from her face.
The porter was struggling to close the street door against the driving rain, while a footman attempted to relieve Lord Kenmare of the wounded man that he had slung over one shoulder. “Get away from me, man! I have him,” his lordship was saying irascibly."Run have a bed made up. We'll need hot water, clean clothes, a nightshirt—just get my valet on it, there's a good man!"
"Dear Lord, is it Reginald?” Lady Cecily clung to the edge of the drawing-room door, her brown eyes appearing too prominent in her white face. Lady Mary had come up beside her, and she clutched convulsively at her friend's arm.
Lord Kenmare cast a harassed glance at his sister. He hoped that she was not going to faint, as she looked to do at any second. “Get Lady Cecily's maid, damn you!” he shouted at a servant. “Think, Cecily! Is the uniform Wilson-Jones's?” he asked unkindly, at the end of his rope.
His harshness served its purpose. Lady Cecily looked closer. “No, no, of course it isn't,” she said, regaining her composure. She brushed a hand across her eyes. “I am sorry, Robert. It came as such a shock. Even when one expects ... Actually, I don't know what to expect anymore!” She burst into tears.
Lady Mary put her arms about her and urged her gently away from the doorway, saying soothingly, “Come, my lady. Come back to the settee. You must lie down after sustaining such a shock.” She supported Lady Cecily's faltering steps back into the drawing room and over to the settee. She was just making Lady Cecily comfortable on the pillows when her ladyship's maid rushed in. Lady Mary reassured the concerned maid and then withdrew to allow the woman to tend to her mistress, closing the drawing-room door quietly behind her.
Inquiring of the porter for the whereabouts of the earl and his burden. Lady Mary glanced up at the balcony above. She lifted her skirts and started up the stairs.
Lord Kenmare laid the wounded man on the bed. The officer was unconscious and he lay quite still. His countenance was unnaturally pale, the eyes in their sockets somewhat hollowed. Lord Kenmare frowned as he studied the man. He didn't like the sound of the man's breathing. It was too rapid, too ragged.
He was still contemplating the officer when Lady Mary walked into the room. She glanced at the earl, taking swift note that his hair was plastered to his skull and his coat and trousers were soaked, before her eyes went to the young man lying sprawled on the bed. “Why, I recognize this officer. He is an admirer of Abigail's—a Captain McInnes."
"Yes, I found him lying outside a hospital tent in the rain,” Lord Kenmare said.
Lady Mary went to the bedside and looked down on the young officer with compassion."It appears to be a very bad wound,'’ she said quietly.
"Yes,” Lord Kenmare said briefly. His valet came into the bedroom carrying a small stack of clothing that Lord Kenmare recognized as having been pillaged from his own drawers. He grunted in approval. The officer's uniform was soaked through and torn and filthy where he had bled. Lord Kenmare told his manservant to help him get the wounded man undressed, as an indirect notice to the lady in the room.
Lord Kenmare glanced in Lady Mary's direction when she did not seem to hear. She was matter-of-factly pouring water from the pitcher into the basin on the table beside the bed. She picked up a cloth and began to dampen it. “You may wish to wait outside until we are done, my lady. It looks to be an ugly sight,” Lord Kenmare suggested.
She glanced across the occupied bed at him. Her brows rose slightly and she smiled. “My dear sir, I have seen already so many distressing sights today that I do not think this one more shall overset me."
Lord Kenmare shrugged, and with the help of his valet set to the task of divesting Captain McInnes of his ruined coat and shirt. The officer muttered unintelligibly, swinging his head restlessly from side to side on the pillow. The valet managed to remove the wounded man's boots by using a sharp knife to slit the leather.
Lady Mary sat down on the edge of the bed and began to remove the filthy, blood-soaked bandage that covered the officer's left shoulder. The bandage didn't come off easily, having stuck to the flesh beneath, but eventually Lady Mary managed to work it loose and pull it completely away.
Lord Kenmare swallowed at his first sight of the wound. The gaping flesh had been hurriedly stitched closed. It was alarmingly puffed and red.
Lady Mary gently touched the wounded flesh. “It is feverish and infected. I fear that gangrene cannot be far behind,” she said quietly.
Lord Kenmare nodded. “I will send for a doctor at once.''
Lady Mary looked up at him. “And will the doctor come?” He could not answer her. With all the wounded needing assistance, it might be a day or more before a physician could be persuaded to come. She shook her head. “I fear the doctor will come too late. We must reopen the wound and clean it ourselves now, before the infection becomes worse.” She took a deep breath. “I shall do it myself, if you will assist me, my lord."
Lord Kenmare stared at her. “Do you know what it is you are proposing, my lady?"
Lady Mary looked up at him with a steady gaze. “Yes, my lord. I do."
The earl stared a moment longer into her clear gray eyes. Abruptly he nodded. “Very well. Send for what you will need. Fitz and I will assist you."
The valet looked rather green at his master's pronouncement, but he did not demur several minutes later when the earl requested him to sit upon Captain McInnes's legs. Lord Kenmare himself held the wounded man's shoulders. Lady Mary had quickly been supplied with a knife, scissors, and a needle and thread that had been boiled in water. She had also a quantity of knitbone boiled up into a poultice ready at her fingertips, kept hot between towels set into a covered pan.
Taking up the scissors, Lady Mary took a long steady breath. At the first touch of steel against flesh. Captain McInnes came up off the bed with a hoarse strangled cry. Lady Mary started back, appalled. Then she saw that the officer's half-open eyes were unfocused, unseeing. “He is still not quite awake. He cannot feel it all. We must go on,” she said, more to herself than for the benefit of the two men watching her.
The earl gritted his teeth and hung on to the man with all his strength while Lady Mary continued with her difficult task. He watched as with all apparent calm she cut the original stitches, cleaned out the infection, splashed the area liberally with antiseptic powder, restitched, applied the poultice, and rebandaged. All the while, the wounded officer thrashed and cried out. Once he twisted an arm free and his flailing fist connected solidly with the earl's chin. Lord Kenmare bit off a curse."I am sorry, my lady,” he panted, fighting to recapture the man's arm. He was sweating with exertion and horror when he at last regained control. He did not know how much more the officer could possibly endure, but mercifully, before the end, Captain McInnes gave himself up to complete unconsciousness.
When it was all done with, Lady Mary straightened slowly. She did not appear to be aware that her gown was soiled here and there with blood. As she surveyed her handiwork, she brushed her disheveled hair back from her brow.
Her hands were shaking, Lord Kenmare noticed. There was strain about her mouth and she was pale; but her expression retained the calm that he was coming to recognize as characteristic of her. He had never admired her more than at that moment.
He went around the bed and slipped his hand under his elbow. She looked up, startled, as he drew her to her feet. “You look in need of some wine, Lady Mary."
"I ... Yes, my lord. That would be most welcome,” she said. The tremor in her voice betrayed that she was not so unaffected as she would have liked him to believe.
The earl told his valet to clean up the signs of the operation. He escorted Lady Mary out of the sickroom to his own sitting room. He steered her to a chair and then went to an occasional table to pour a liberal amount of brandy for both her and himself. He handed one of the glasses to her and toasted her, saying, “To your good health, my lady. I have never in my life witnessed such fortitude."
The color was slowly returning to Lady Mary's face. She took too large a swallow and choked on the strong drink, falling into a coughing spasm. The earl set aside his glass and was instantly beside her, exclaiming in concern as he pounded on her back. She was flushed and tears were streaming down her cheeks before at last she mastered herself. “Forgive me. I did not intend to make such a spectacle of myself,” she said hoarsely, trying to laugh.
Lord Kenmare smiled slightly, but in his blue eyes there was an emotion quite different from amusement. He still stood very near to her, and his hand still touched her back. With his other hand he gently brushed away the wetness from one of her soft cheeks. His fingers lingered along the contours of her face.
The tenderness in his eyes and the warmth of his hand against her skin mesmerized Lady Mary. It was for a second only that they stood thus, and then he bent his head to find her lips. Lady Mary held herself absolutely still.
At first his lips moved warmly, almost lazily, against hers, sending little shivers down her spine. Then his hand slipped past her ear into her soft hair, to cradle her head and to hold her for his deepening pleasure. As he gently drew her close to him, her breasts flattened against his broad chest.
She moaned against his mouth, unconsciously arching into his provocative kiss. His lips instantly hardened and demanded more of her. Lady Mary's lips began to part beneath his hunger. His tongue thrust inside, exploring her soft mouth, tasting, building, with every stroke, sweet fire.
Of their own accord, her arms slipped over his shoulders and wound about his neck. Her fingers caught in his damp curling hair, drawing him even closer. A growl of satisfaction sounded deep in his throat. The hand pressing against her back left its place to run the length of her spine. The heated blood pounded harder in Lady Mary's veins. When his hand curved over her firm rounded flesh, he pulled her against him into such intimacy that there was no mistaking his arousal. She gasped, her whole body shuddering. She had not needed a man for a very long time. It had always been good with Roger.
The thought was like a dash of icy water.
Lady Mary's eyes opened. Her hands let loose of his hair and slipped down to push urgently against his chest. Her mouth broke free of his. “I cannot!"
He had instantly sensed her abrupt withdrawal, felt the stiffening of her body. Lord Kenmare breathed rapidly, staring down into her wide eyes. The woman in his arms was very, very desirable. His body ached for release.
Anger burned in him. He knew that he could take her now. But he would not, he realized, almost with disgust. Exerting every ounce of his control, he forced himself to relax the hold he had on her.
She slipped from his loosened embrace and turned away, one trembling hand going to her throat. She was shaking from head to toe. Her heart pounded. She was confused. She did not know why she had stopped his making love to her. Never in her life had she felt more vulnerable. It frightened her out of her wits.
"I should go change out of this gown,'’ she said inadequately. She felt his lordship step closer. She stiffened, fearing that he would touch her and fearing that he would not. She did not know what she would do if he turned her back into his arms. She did not think that she would have the sense to resist, nor did she really wish to. Lady Mary swallowed, her pulse beating erratically in her throat in dread expectation. But she was not to discover what she would or would not do, after all.
"Of course, my lady.” His voice was low in her sensitive ears.
Lady Mary slowly turned to face him. Lord Kenmare's voice had vibrated with some indefinable emotion; but his words were perfectly polite, to the point of banality. She looked closely at his face, but his expression was unreadable as he gestured for her to precede him out of the sitting room.
