Page 50 of A Perilous Passion

“Good. Lucinda, the brandy, if you please. Bring two glasses—I think Charlotte has need of some, too.”

Having given her orders, she dived under the bed again, and after a deal of clinking and muttering, another bottle was retrieved, which she claimed to be a painkiller.

“How many bottles have you got under there?” Charlotte’s mother asked with a frown. “Are you planning to start a pharmacy?”

Not too many more, he hoped. It would be ironic if he survived a shooting, only to be poisoned by a plethora of quack remedies.

Flora colored, and replied, “You’ll thank me for them one day. The doctor has written an excellent treatise on domestic and emergency medicine.” She turned back to him. “Sir, I’m going to apply the physick to your leg. As I said, it will hurt. Do you want something to bite on?”

And look like a coward in front of Charlotte? He’d rather die.

The noxious-smelling liquor was applied, and he struggled not to crush Charlotte’s hand with his, but soon mastered himself and fell back against his pillows, closing his eyes.

Gradually, his mind began to drift as the brandy—of which he’d been given a plentiful dose—took effect and the pain eased. He was aware that activity in the room had lessened, although he could still hear movement going on downstairs.

Flora disappeared, then returned to his side. As he wafted in and out of consciousness, he heard her telling Charlotte, “We’re drying out the earl’s clothes, and Jenny will sew up the rent in his breeches. We’ve hidden his weapons, lest anyone demand access to the house to search. If anyone inquires, anyone in authority, that is, we’re going to tell them Beckport—”

“Mr. Seabourne, please, Aunt,” Charlotte reminded her. “Even in private, we must use his alias.”

He squeezed Charlotte’s fingers appreciatively. She was learning, bless the girl.

“I’m sorry. We’ll say Mr. Seabourne is a distant relation, taken ill on a visit. Or perhaps we could say he slipped and tore a ligament.”

Charlotte smiled. “You’re getting too good at dissembling, Aunt. I never knew you had it in you.”

“Needs must,” was Flora’s muffled reply, and Rafe wondered sleepily if Charlotte had touched a nerve.

He murmured, “Charlotte? You must be battered and bruised after your struggles to get me here. Miss Hartington—”

“Call me Flora, please. After all, I’ve seen more of you than a lady should.”

Charlotte chuckled—a delightful sound. “Aunt, I’m shocked at you!” she exclaimed.

“Thank you, Flora,” he said. “I’d be much obliged if you’d tend to Charlotte’s needs now. And please, I’ll be fast asleep soon, so no one need sit up with me. I don’t wish to keep any of you from your beds.”

There was further movement, followed by the extinguishing of most of the lamps. A hush fell over the room, broken only by the occasional crackle of wood in the hearth.

He closed his eyes and felt Charlotte’s hand in his again. He smiled dreamily.

She said softly, “I’m so sorry, Rafe. If I hadn’t tried to interfere, that shot might never have hit you.”

“On the contrary,” he murmured. “It could have hit me in a far more vital place. You did exactly the right thing. I will forever be in debt to you and your family.”

“I’ve been a bit surprised, myself, by them. I’d no idea Aunt Flora had acquired such a raft of medical knowledge. And wasn’t Jenny splendid? Even though Culverdale was quite legitimately about to fire at a highwayman, she saw me desperately trying to prevent it and acted to help without hesitation.”

“No, the honors should go to you,” he insisted. “I’d no idea you had such a strong stomach. Most young ladies would just have fainted and let someone else deal with the crisis.”

He tried not to think about what she might have seen, or done, in her former life as a smuggler’s daughter, which had inured her to blood and gunplay. When he was better, he’d make it his business to find out the truth. His suspicions were threatening to tear him apart.

How he wished he was free to love her! It was doubtless the brandy fogging his mind, but it would be so easy to just offer himself to her right now. He tipped his head back on the pillow and fell silent, struggling to make sense of his unfamiliar feelings.

She must have assumed he’d fallen asleep, for the next time he looked in her direction, she was sitting in the chair opposite, her nightgown pulled up to her thighs so that she could anoint the scratches on her legs.

He feasted for a moment on the splendid sight, though he knew the gentlemanly thing to do would be to look away. After a brief battle with himself, the roguish side of his character won out. He drawled, “If I saw a vision like that every time I opened my eyes, I would be a very happy man.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

The low voice from the bed startled Charlotte so much she almost dropped her pot of salve. Recovering quickly, she set it down and lowered her nightgown.