Brentwood's Ward (31 page)

Emily stepped forward. The awkward moment had dragged on long enough. “I am—”

“Miss Emily Payne.”

She froze.

Jenny’s voice was parchment, frail and thin, yet bolstered with confidence—the same tenor she often heard in Nicholas’s words. Emily suppressed a gasp. How could Jenny Brentwood possibly know who she was?

“Have we met?” she asked.

Green eyes stared up at her, paler than Nicholas’s, but lit with similar intelligence. “Only through my brother’s vivid descriptions. You’re every bit as lovely as he said. How I’ve longed to meet you face-to-face.” Shifting on her bed, she lifted a hand. “Hope, would you—”

A deep cough rattled up from Jenny’s chest, cutting off her words and her breath.

Emily reached toward her, but what to do? Prop her up and risk breaking her? Offer a handkerchief to cough into or a glass of water to quench the rattle, neither of which she had? Illness was a stranger she’d never dined with nor had the slightest idea of how to serve. Helpless, she turned to Hope.

The girl merely flitted to the table and dragged over a chair, setting it next to the woman who possibly rasped out her last breaths. “Have a seat, Miss Emily, though I think I shall call you Miss Em. Goes nice with Mr. B…Mr. B and Miss Em.” Her face brightened. “I like it.”

“Shouldn’t you…shouldn’t we…” Emily threw out her hands toward Jenny. “She can’t breathe!”

“Not to worry. Give ’er a moment, miss. She always does this.” Ignoring the struggling Jenny, Hope skipped back to a small bench on the other side of the room and picked up two rag figures no bigger than her hands.

The insanity of it made Emily want to scream. Unsure of what else to do, she sat and clenched her hands in her lap, riding out the wretched eternity until Jenny finally relaxed against her pillow.

Emily leaned forward. “Is there nothing to be done for you? Is there anything I can—”

“Don’t fret.” Blue rimmed Jenny’s lips, where a hint of a smile struggled to rise. “I’m dandy and grand, as always. But there is one thing…”

Such a shadow darkened her face, Emily bent closer, unsure if words would pass the lump in her throat. “Be at peace. I am listening. I’m not in the best of situations currently, but I vow I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

Jenny nodded, the movement as slight as the breaths lifting her chest. “You are very kind. I feel as if we’re sisters already. I ask only that you take a care for my brother, would you? My passing, it’s…it’s going to be hard on him, I fear.”

Hard? Emily pressed her lips into a thin line. It would be all that and more, judging by the short moments she’d spent in Jenny’s presence. The woman had no doubt been a gem. Her death would rip through Nicholas in ways that would leave an ugly scar. Her own heart dried to dust at the thought of the anguish he’d suffer.

Skimming the white counterpane, Jenny slid her hand slowly toward hers. Her touch was as cool as the last gasp of an autumn breeze. “You’ve done him much good, you know. You’ve taken his mind off me. It’s God’s plan. I am sure of it.”

Emily snorted. “Some plan. I’ve brought him nothing but trouble.”

“You’ve given him purpose.”

A frown etched her lips. Purpose for what? Risking his own life?

“Nicholas has always taken care of me.” The play of shadow and light filtering in from the window warmed Jenny’s face—or perhaps it wasn’t light at all, but adoration. “Always, from the time our parents died. I was five. He, no older than Hope.”

Emily sat still, afraid that if she moved, Jenny might stop. The rare glimpse into her guardian’s life was a great treasure, one she intended to hoard.

“We managed by God’s grace, he and I, though sometimes it’s hard for him to see that. Don’t get me wrong. His faith is solid, it’s just that sometimes…well…” Jenny smiled in full then, and for one spare moment, her true beauty escaped the shroud of sickness. Kings would fight for a woman such as this.

“Sometimes Nicholas forgets that he’s not the one in control.” Jenny’s fingers patted the top of her hand. “You need to remind him.”

Emily pulled away. “I hardly think he’d listen to me on such matters. Besides which, I don’t expect he’s signed on as my guardian for life.”

Jenny’s green gaze bore into hers, and this time Emily couldn’t stop her gasp. She’d swear before a magistrate it was Nicholas looking out.

“You may be wrong about that,” Jenny said at last. “He loves you, though after Adelina, he swore never to love again. You’ve changed him, Emily, in ways you’ll never know.”

In her mind, she quickly searched every conversation she’d ever held with Nicholas. Not only had he never mentioned a sister, he’d never mentioned any woman. She leaned closer to Jenny, keen on learning about the man she’d trusted. “Adelina?”

“You ask as though he’s not spoken of her. Though in truth, I’d be surprised if he had. Years ago, ahh…he was so young. As was the Portuguese girl, Adelina. He met her while on assignment training gunners in Guarda. He’s quite the shot, you know. He’d intended to marry her, until he was wounded, and…” A shudder rippled across Jenny’s shoulders. “Adelina was killed by a Spanish invasion. My brother, he…well, he never forgave himself.”

Emily sank back in the chair. All the times Nicholas overreacted about her safety suddenly made sense. What a horrific burden he carried. “But surely it wasn’t his fault!”

“No.” A faint smile lifted Jenny’s lips. “Of course not, but such is the commitment of my brother once his heart is given. And make no mistake about it…he’s given his heart to you.”

Emily’s pulse faltered as Jenny’s words sank deep into her soul. How could the woman speak with such certainty when everything else about her was frail?

“And so I repeat, please…take a care for him, would you?” A cough broke out, gargling her words. “Take…a…care.”

Jenny’s eyes widened, and a slow trickle of blood leaked out her right nostril. Her hands flew to her chest, her fingers squeezing the fabric of her shift as if the movement might force air into her lungs.

Emily shot to her feet. “Hope! Does she always do this as well? Is she going to be all right?”

The girl dropped her dolls, one rolling on the floor as she ran to Jenny’s side. She pulled the woman up to a sitting position, but still Jenny’s breaths fluttered out like a bird with broken wings. One by one, stark red drips mottled the blanket.

Hope’s eyes pooled with a well of tears. “No, miss. She ain’t never been like this. I don’t know what to do!”

Nicholas’s gaze ricocheted around his room. Chair, empty. Table, littered with a half-eaten crust of bread, a bottle, and a basket. Obviously Hope had been here. The bed was rumpled, a blanket thrown back atop it. At its foot, his campaign chest was untouched with padlock in place. His gaze skipped from there to the window, and he narrowed his eyes. The thread seal he’d attached from sill to glass was still in place—no one had slipped in uninvited. He rubbed at the knot embedded in his shoulder.

So…where was Emily?

Relocking the door behind him, he trotted down the steps and examined the bolt on the street-level door. No sign of forced entry marred the wood or the metal. Had she been lured out?

Ignoring the panic welling in his gut, he scanned the street. Afternoon light painted different angles and shadows, but nothing looked out of the ordinary. The barking tune of the fellow hawking rags directly across the road from him added kindling to a newly sparked headache.

“Rags a binny, rags a bone, buy yer rags an’ take ’em ’ome.”

Nicholas pressed two fingers against his temple. More like the rag seller ought go home and stuff one of his rags in his own mouth, so tatty was his voice. The man had been there since morning. Hadn’t he sold enough by now?

Wait a minute…he’d been there all day? Nicholas crossed the road at a brisk pace, dodging a passing bandy wagon.

“Rags a binny, rags a—” The one-legged fellow cocked his head like a robin spying a fat worm. “Need a rag, sir? I got the finest ’ere.”

Nicholas stopped an arm’s length from the fellow. Any closer and he’d gag from the rag seller’s sour body odor. If the man smelled that bad, how putrid were his rags?

Nicholas shook his head. “What I need is information.”

“All I gots is rags.” With perfect balance, Ragpicker kept his seat as he kicked his single boot against the tall basket on the ground. “Ye want one or not?”

Must everything cost him? Reaching into a concealed pocket in his greatcoat, he pulled out a ha’penny and held it up. “Did you happen to see a young lady, very pretty, exit that door over there?” He pointed toward his own lodging.

Dirty fingers snatched the coin from his. “Mebbe. Memory’s not so good, y’see.”

Nicholas sighed and held out another offering.

The coin vanished as fast as the gummy smile splitting the man’s face. “Aye. She were a looker, that one.”

“Which way did she go, and was anyone with her?”

The man opened his mouth, but all that came out was, “Rags a binny, rags a bone, buy yer rags an’—”

With a flick of his arm, Nicholas grabbed the man’s throat and squeezed. “You’ve been paid a fair amount already.” He let go, giving the fellow just enough time to cough and curse. “Now answer my question.”

“North,” he hacked. “With a girl.”

“That wasn’t so hard, hmm?” Retrieving a last penny, Nicholas handed it over then wheeled about and strode down Sherborne Lane.

First he’d chew out Hope for bringing Emily to his sister’s, then he’d have a word with Emily for—

His steps slowed, and he squinted. Surely he wasn’t seeing this.

Down a block, Emily strolled toward him, alone. Undefended. Unaware. Above her, one story up, a fat woman with a large bucket leaned out a window, about to drop her slops. Behind her, a black-bearded sailor—considering his golden-ringed ear and bowed legs—followed close enough to reach out and reel her in. To her side, a dray passed in the street, heaped so high with barrels, the slightest dip in the road would send one toppling her way. She’d be crushed. And in front of her, two men swaggered out of an alley, each carrying half-empty bottles of gin.

Nicholas shot forward, ignoring her gasp when he grabbed her by the shoulders. In five long strides, he guided her into a sheltered alcove of a nearby glassery, out of the pedestrian flow and away from public scrutiny. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. “You’ll be the death of me! How am I to keep you safe?”

Overly large brown eyes stared into his. Her drab bonnet only served to magnify the golden shimmer of the hair beneath. How could she be so beautiful that it tore into his soul?

Blinking, she drew in a breath. “I didn’t think—”

“Of course you didn’t think!”

She flinched.

He closed his eyes and counted to ten—then reversed from ten to one before opening them again. Sighing, he lowered his voice. “Where were you?”

“I was with your sister, waiting until the doctor settled her with some laudanum.” Emily frowned up into his face. “She almost died! Why did you never tell me of her?”

“There was no reason.”

“There was every reason! Had I known sooner, before I got into this dreadful situation, I could have helped.”

“You?” He stepped up to her, forcing her back against the brick wall. A smirk begged for release, yet he fought it. “Think on it. When I first met you, your world consisted of pampering a pug, hat shopping, and snagging that scoundrel Henley. Would you honestly have wanted to help my sister?”

The longer she remained silent, the more her bottom lip quivered.

“Maybe not at first.” Her voice was small.

But true.

Curious, he leaned in, inches from her face, and studied the depths of her luminous eyes. Gilt flecks floated atop brown, shimmering like candlelight against dark velvet, but no guile, no deception, swam in those pools. Never had he seen her so open, so unguarded.

The effect stole his breath, making it impossible to speak. Clearing his throat, he demanded an answer he feared. “What’s come over you? Tell me what changed.”

Saying nothing, she lifted her hand and reached toward him like a lost lover who’d finally returned home. When her fingertips grazed his brow, he turned to granite. The contact was white hot. One by one, she smoothed away every crease, every line that tightened his forehead. Her gaze tracked the motion.

His heart followed her touch.

When she pulled her hand away, he was lost.

“Everything changed,” she said.

Simple words, but the huskiness of her voice kicked off a complex reaction in his body. Blood pumped. A pang shot into his belly and sank. Low. Heat poured off him in waves. The thin space between them was a chasm too painful to bear. Pulling her close, he wrapped her in his arms, a groan rumbling somewhere in his chest.

She quivered against him—but did not protest.

Her name surfaced on his lips an instant before he pressed them against hers. She tasted of light, cinnamon, promise…all that was right and good. Her mouth moved against his with an intensity that surprised him, burning like the summer sun.

Closing his eyes, he breathed her in, and wondered if he’d ever truly breathed before. Her hands slid up his back, her fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck. He slipped his hands lower, locking them into place at the small of her back. Bending farther, he trailed kisses down her neck and pulled her closer, drawing her hips against his.