The Rake Read online

  Demi nodded jerkily and led the way up the stairs, throwing open the door to the first guest room they came to and rushing ahead of them to turn the coverlet down.

  The man who’d spoken to her, she discovered, was his manservant. When he’d seen to it that Lord Wyndham was settled with utmost care upon the mattress, he turned to her once more. “We’ll need to undress him now, Miss.”

  Demi tore her gaze from Lord Wyndham’s pale face to look at the man blankly.

  “If you would step outside, Miss? You may return once we have him comfortably settled and stay with him until the surgeon arrives.”

  Nodding numbly, Demi left the room, leaning weakly against the door for several moments after she’d closed it.

  Geoffrey, still supported by his friends and now trailed by Lady Moreland and Phoebe, was hobbling up the stairs. The procession passed her without even glancing in her direction.

  She heard cursing in the room behind her and jerked away from the door as if she’d been scalded. A few moments later, the manservant opened the door and ushered the men out who’d brought Lord Wyndham up. “His lordship will see you now, Miss,” he said when the men had departed.

  “How bad is it?” Demi gasped fearfully.

  “I’m no surgeon, Miss Demitria. He seems to have caught the shot in the muscle of his calf, however. Thankfully, his boot prevented a great deal of damage and there does not seem to be an excessive amount of bleeding. I feel most hopeful that the wound will not prove to be mortal.”

  Demi thought for several moments that she would faint at the mention of mortality. Gripping the edge of the door frame, she fought it off and, after a moment, moved inside. Lord Wyndham was propped against a mound of pillows. The coverlet that had been spread over him was tented at the foot, as if his leg had been propped up on pillows, as well. He was pale, his features taut from pain. Hesitantly, she moved around the bed to the side nearest him and stared down at him, fighting the urge to burst into tears. Something touched the back of her knees and she turned to see that the servant had brought a chair. She stared down at it as if she’d never seen one before.

  “You should sit. I’m fairly certain it would not please his lordship if you were to faint and fall.”

  Demi nodded jerkily and sat, turning to look at Lord Wyndham again. His eyes were closed, but she couldn’t tell if he’d lost consciousness again or if he was simply in too much pain to do otherwise. She moistened her fear-dried lips, trying to think of something to say. It seemed like a very poor time to ask what had happened and in any case she could surmise the gist of it. Undoubtedly, he’d fallen victim to Geoffrey’s prowess with a gun.

  She felt a wave of guilt that she hadn’t warned him, that she’d been too caught up in her own concerns to think of his safety.

  Almost as if he’d read her mind, he opened his eyes just then. “He fell and the gun discharged,” he said tightly. “A stupid accident, no more.”

  “I will see to it that it is reported as such,” the manservant responded.

  Demi glanced from one man to the other and slid to the edge of her seat. “You will be able to tell them yourself once you’re better.”

  He studied her a long moment. “I will not feel like answering questions in the meanwhile, however.”

  Demi nodded jerkily in agreement, but she did not like the trend of the conversation. “Is there anything I can do?”

  He forced a wry smile. “You may go so that I won’t feel the need to be so manful about it and can gnash my teeth and curse.”

  Demi jumped to her feet. Before she could rush away, however, he caught her hand.

  “That was an attempt at humor.”

  She swallowed with an effort. “No. I’m not offended. I know it must be near unbearable. I’ll come back when you’re feeling a little better.”

  His hand tightened on hers. “Stay. I’d as soon have something to keep my mind off the surgeon.”

  She glanced at the manservant, wondering if it would be better if she stayed or left. He nodded and left the room, closing the door carefully behind him.

  “Your aunt is liable to have apoplexy if she finds you here. Perhaps you should go after all.”

  He did not release her hand, however, and Demi made no attempt to retrieve it. She shook her head. “Shhh. Don’t try to talk and don’t worry about me. I doubt Aunt Alma has any notion of where I am or cares, at least for the moment. They brought Geoffrey in bleeding, as well. His hand was injured, and he was limping, but I do not believe that he is hurt very badly. Regardless, Aunt Alma is bound to coddle him until he is sorry he did not shoot himself in the head, for she dotes on him and always has.”

  “Fool fell off his horse,” Lord Wyndham ground out.

  Demi bit her lip. “I feel awful that I didn’t warn you it wasn’t at all safe to go off with him. Only two years ago, he shot his groundskeeper in the … uh … seat of his breeches.”

  Lord Wyndham’s lips curled in a smile. “I am far more fortunate than I thought.”

  To her relief, the surgeon arrived. She got to her feet, relinquishing Lord Wyndham’s hand with reluctance and moved away from the bed. “I think I’ll go and sit in the garden for a little while. If you need anything….”

  The manservant gave her an approving look and escorted her to the door. Demi stared at the door panel for a moment after it closed behind her and finally turned and fled from the Abbey to pace the garden. As badly as she’d wanted to stay with him, she knew very well that it would not have been allowed, and, in any case, she didn’t want to increase his discomfort by witnessing his suffering when he preferred that she didn’t.

  It was some comfort that the wound was in his calf--not much, but a little bit. It also made her feel a little better that the manservant seemed to think his boot had protected him somewhat and that no major vein had been damaged. She didn’t think he would have told her that if it hadn’t been true.

  Infection was always a danger, however, and until the surgeon checked, they couldn’t know for certain just how much damage there was.

  Finally, worn out from pacing and worry, Demi sat on the bench she’d occupied earlier and stared into the distance, replaying the few memories she had between them over and over and wondering morosely if that was all she’d ever have … a handful of memories. The sun had almost dropped behind the trees by the time Lord Wyndham’s manservant came out to find her.

  She looked up at him, trying to keep the fear out of her expression.

  “The surgeon seems to consider that there will be no lasting damage and that his lordship should be on the road to a speedy recovery now that he’s removed the lead and cleaned the wounds.”

  Demi was so relieved she covered her face with her hands and burst into tears. Embarrassed by her lack of restraint, she did her best to choke them back. “I’m … so relieved. Thank you for taking the time to come and tell me….”

  “Fitzhugh, Miss. The surgeon gave him something to help him rest.”

  Demi nodded, then sniffed, mopping the tears from her face with her hand. “You will let me know if he needs … anything?”

  “Certainly, Miss. I’ll keep you informed.”

  When he’d gone, she composed herself and went upstairs to bathe and dress for dinner. Phoebe and her Aunt were in the parlor when she came down again, both of them looking uncharacteristically subdued.

  “How is Geoffrey?” she asked when she’d taken a seat.

  Alma Moreland blinked, as if coming out of a trance and stared at her for several moments. “Well enough. He has a very badly sprained ankle. The surgeon seemed to think he might lose a part of his finger, but he sewed it up and said we could wait and see if it healed properly before there was any talk of removing it.”

  Demi nodded, but as awful as the thought was that Geoffrey might lose his finger, it paled beside the possibility that Lord Wyndham stood an equal chance of losing all or part of his leg if the wound became infected, and possibly his life. “Did he tell you what happene
d?”

  She sighed. “They were all near hysterical over the incident. Not one of them had a very clear idea. Apparently, Geoffrey lost his seat and somehow managed to discharge his gun as he fell. We will be ruined if Lord Wyndham dies on us.”

  What little sympathy Demi had felt toward her aunt vanished at that remark. It was just like her only to see her own side of the situation.

  She supposed it was understandable to an extent. It was only natural to feel more concern over her own family. But what of Lord Wyndham’s family? And what of Lord Wyndham himself, if he survived but lost his leg? She’d not even so much as mentioned any sort of anxiety over his injury.

  She discovered when dinner was announced that Geoffrey’s friends, fearful no doubt that their friend had killed a peer of the realm, had decamped almost as soon as they’d dropped Geoffrey and Lord Wyndham at the Abbey. Lady Moreland had shuttled Phoebe’s visitors off when she’d come down from overseeing the physician that had been sent for to attend to Geoffrey. Reverend Flemming called just as they settled in the dining room, but to Demi’s surprise, Lady Moreland sent word that they were not receiving visitors due to the invalids upstairs. And so it was only Demi, her cousin Phoebe, and her aunt who dined together that evening, none of whom were disposed toward conversation.

  When they’d finished, Alma Moreland retired to her son’s room to ‘cheer’ the invalid, Phoebe vanished upstairs behind her and Demi was left to entertain herself as best she would. She sent for Sarah to find out if a tray had been sent up for Lord Wyndham. Sarah assured her that the cook had prepared a tray for him exactly to the doctor’s specifications and sent it up some time ago and that Lord Wyndham had dutifully, though not very happily, consumed the beef broth he needed to help rebuild his blood. Demi was a little doubtful. It sounded like very little for so large a man, but Sarah seemed to think it was just the thing he needed.

  “His manservant, Fitzhugh, is attending him?”

  Sarah nodded. “He seems a very efficient sort. It was a fortunate circumstance that Lord Wyndham had arranged for Fitzhugh to deliver their luncheon to them on the shoot. If he had not been there with the carriage they would have had to send to the Abbey for one to carry Lord Wyndham. His lordship’s horse caught more of the blast than him and had to be put down, not that his lordship was in any shape to be ridin’ a horse after that anyway.”

  “I don’t suppose Mr. Fitzhugh needs anyone to help--perhaps to stay with Lord Wyndham and give him time to rest?”

  Sarah smiled. “I already offered, Miss. He was none too happy about it, but the doctor said his lordship was not to be left alone for more than a few minutes for the next several days…until he’s certain his lordship is out of the woods, so he accepted my offer. His lordship’s got a touch of fever, but the doctor seemed to think that was to be expected. He left medicine for the fever. Yer not to worry about it. We’ll watch over Lord Wyndham and make sure he’s right as rain before you know it.”

  “I could stay with him part of the time, too.”

  “Now, Miss Demitria, you know your aunt would have apoplexy! A young lady has no place in a gentleman’s bedchamber.”

  Demi sighed irritably. “You must know I’ve no reputation to worry about any longer. Horatia Wynthrope was here, for heaven’s sake! If it had been anyone but her! But Aunt Alma has sent her home and you may be certain there will not be anyone in the ton who does not know of my disgrace by tomorrow.”

  Sarah’s jaw set. “As unhappy as it is that ye’ll have to marry the man that ruined ye, yer not the first and ye’ll not be the last to find herself in that position. There’s naught in that little incident that the marriage won’t fix. Being in a man’s room that’s neither yer fiancé nor yer husband is another matter altogether.”

  Demi wasn’t satisfied, but decided to let it go, for the moment, at least. So long as Lord Wyndham didn’t worsen, she was willing to contain herself and stay out of the sick room. If his conditioned worsened, however, she fully intended to help, regardless of what anyone had to say about it.

  She certainly didn’t care about protecting her reputation for Jonathan Flemming, not when she knew very well that he had premeditatedly ruined her to begin with to make certain she could not back out of the engagement. She wouldn’t have been surprised in the least to discover his intention had been to get her with child if possible to insure his hold on her. He had not needed to go so far as that. Her disheveled appearance had been enough to imply it, but despite the fact that she’d been very agitated at the time, she was certain he had not needed to throw her down on the seat of the carriage only to steal a few kisses. He’d had his knee between her thighs and her skirts halfway up her legs when she’d managed to kick the hand brake free the last time and he might well have made a third attempt if she hadn’t had the good sense to wound his little pet by grinding her knee into it.

  She supposed it was possible that he had only intended to steal a few kisses and had lost control, but he did not strike her as a man who had difficulty controlling himself in general. He seemed far more cold and calculating than impulsive.

  It occurred to her to wonder if he would even care if her reputation was further sullied. She doubted it, whatever anyone else might think about it. She didn’t doubt, however, that he would make her rue the day she’d cuckolded him. She was as certain of that as she was that she would not let it weigh with her if it transpired that Lord Wyndham had need of her.

  Chapter Seven

  As tired as she was from the anxiety that had plagued her since Lord Wyndham’s accident, Demi found she could only sleep fitfully. She drowsed, but she did not sleep so deeply that she failed to notice the increase in activity at Lord Wyndham’s door late in the night, despite the fact that his room was two doors down from hers and nearer the stairs.

  Climbing from the bed, she grabbed a robe and slipped into it, securing it by the ribbon beneath her breasts, then crept to the door and opened it wide enough that she could look down the hall. Sarah, she saw, was carrying a pail of water into the invalid’s room. Demi’s heart lurched. That could only mean that his fever had risen.

  Glancing up and down the hall to make certain no one else was around, Demi dashed for the door to Lord Wyndham’s room and tested the knob. Finding that it was not locked, she went in, closing the door behind her. Her gaze went toward the bed first where she saw that he was moving restlessly, his complexion as flushed now as it had been pale before. Sarah was in the act of pouring water into the basin. She glanced around when she’d filled it, stopping dead in her tracks when she saw Demitria.

  Frowning, she moved to the table beside the bed and set the basin down, then turned and made a shooing motion in Demi’s direction. Demi ignored her, instead moving to stand near the foot of the bed. “He’s worse, isn’t he?”

  Placing a finger to her lips, Sarah rounded the bed, caught her arm and escorted her to the door. “His fevers up a bit, that’s all. The medicine the doctor left’s helping, but Mr. Fitzhugh said if he got too hot to bathe him with cool water.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Ye will not!” Sarah whispered in outrage. “I’ll not be leavin’ ye in here in his lordship’s room in nothing but yer night rail!”

  Demi’s eyes narrowed. “How long have you been in here?”

  Sarah looked taken aback. “Since around eleven, but that’s got nothing to do with this.”

  “You’re tired. What if you fall asleep? I’ve slept for hours. I can do it … and everyone else is asleep. No one will know the difference.”

  “Have you ever attended a sick room?”

  Demi gave her a look. “You know very well I haven’t.”

  “Well, there you are.”

  “How much experience can it take to bathe someone with cold water? Just tell me what to do.”

  “Ye’ll go back to your room, Miss, before your aunt discovers ye here or I’ll tell her myself!”

  Demi’s lips tightened. “Tell her. I’m staying. You can go ge
t some sleep and come back before anyone wakes up and I’ll leave and no one will be the wiser. Or you can run tell my aunt right now and have the whole household up, in which case everybody will know I’ve been in his room all this time, in my nightgown, and they can speculate about what I’ve been doing all they want.”

  Sarah released an angry breath. “You’ll not give me any trouble about leaving when I get back?”

  Demi shook her head and after giving her a disgusted look, Sarah led her back to the side of the bed and explained the procedure for cooling the fever. She stayed long enough to watch Demi for a few moments to make certain she was doing as she’d been told and finally left. When Demi dipped the cloth the second time, wrung it out and turned back to him, she discovered that he was looking at her. She smiled, not certain of whether he was actually aware of her or not. A faint smile curled his lips and he closed his eyes once more as she carefully placed the cloth over his forehead.

  “You should not have come, Demi,” he murmured a little hoarsely.

  “I won’t stay long. I promise.”

  “At all.”

  “Are you thirsty?” she asked, changing the subject. He nodded and she dropped the cloth in the washbasin and went to get him a glass of water. He struggled up on one elbow when she returned with the glass of water, wincing as pain shot through his leg. “You should have let me help you,” she admonished, slipping an arm around him to help steady him while he drank. When he’d drained the glass, he asked for another and Demi hurried across the room again, bringing the pitcher with her that time. Finally satisfied, he lay back again and closed his eyes.

  Demi touched the back of her fingers to his cheeks and then lay her hand across his forehead to check the warmth. Before she could pull her hand away, he reached up and placed his own over it. “Your hand feels so cool. I’m damnably hot in this nightshirt.”

  “You’re liable to catch your … a chill without it,” she amended.