Captive Scoundrel (6 page)

But relief died as quickly as it was born, for the depth of his sleep worried her. She wanted him to rest, yet she wanted the security of knowing he could wake. Grimacing inwardly at her fickle self, Faith sought sanity, and decided to accept the event of his awakening for the miracle it was. From the time Justin should have taken his medicine, until the time she finally gave it to him, more than an hour had passed. And not only did he not die, he woke. And he spoke to her.

Glory be. Though she trembled over what might have been —what might yet be—she felt giddy. She had played God, and she didn’t know whether to pray for forgiveness or shout for joy. Smoothing her skirt, Faith denied her urge to stand and dance across the room.

Justin had spoken to her.

Lord, she wished Harris was here. She needed to tell someone. Anyone. Everyone.

She’d like to throw open the casement and shout, “Justin is awake. He is awake and getting well!” But no. She was not certain he would get well. Nor did she know who to trust at Killashandra.

For both reasons, she must keep this incredible knowledge to herself.

Such a wonderful burden to carry.

Faith answered the knock at the hall door and took his breakfast tray from a maid. But for the girl, she would have forgotten his meal entirely. After setting it beside him, she placed his napkin on his chest and proceeded to spoon creamed eggs into his mouth.

He choked on the first mouthful.

Lord, had her interference upset the delicate balance of his progress? She tried getting him to sip milk to clear his throat.

He opened his eyes and pushed the glass away, spilling milk on both of them. “What the devil? What are you about, feeding a man while he sleeps?”

The glass slipped from her fingers and hit the floor. The imperious tone had clearly belonged to the Duke of Ainsley.

“If I did not feed you while you slept, Sir, I would have no need to feed you at all, for you would be quite dead by now.”

His anger turned to smoke, confusion taking its place. “What?” He looked about, brows furrowed. “What is this place?”

“We are at Killashandra.”

His bewilderment called up her compassion. “Killashandra is your home by the sea. Do you not remember? You’ve been ill, your grace. Several months ago, you were in a carriage accident and nearly died.” Your grace, indeed. How foolish to be so formal, yet however close she felt to him, he had no knowledge of their relationship. Yet calling him Justin seemed too intimate. Oh bother, she’d sort it out later.

“I know Killashandra. But I find myself…over-set.”

“With good cause,” Faith granted. “Do you remember what I told you?”

Justin closed his eyes. “Yes,” he whispered. “You are…Your name is Faith, and you’re here to care for me. I’ve been ill. Isn’t Harris here?”

Faith had neither mentioned her name, nor Harris, this morning. Now she worried about what else he might remember. Had he, even in sleep, sensed her infatuation? Lord, if ever there were a time for her to establish herself as his nurse, this would be the time.

“Yes. My name is Faith Wickham. Harris is in London at the moment, but he has been here since the accident.”

Her patient watched her as she spoke, nodding in apparent understanding. He pointed to the vial on the table. “That poison is evil. I feel worse, not better, since you gave it to me.”

Faith shuddered inwardly. How odd that he should name it so. If only he knew her suspicions. But until certainty replaced doubt, she must keep her own counsel. However, he did seem better since taking a bit of it.

She looked at her hands and cleared her throat. “I think you should know, I have been told that if you do not take that medicine twice a day, at eight o’clock in the morning and evening, you could die. That you will die if I delay giving it to you for even a few moments…I have been told,” she repeated. “But I have given it to you late several times, and today I waited nearly an hour. You took no more than a sip of it even then, and you are still doing quite well.”

Justin’s eyes widened; incredulity etched his features. “Do you mean to say you experimented to see if I would die?”

Faith shot from her chair. “Of course not! Well. Not precisely. What a provoking thing to say.”

His ill-chosen, if astute, remark agitated Faith more than she would like to admit. She stepped away, then back, and resettled Justin’s lap rug, wondering how to make him understand. The closer she stood to him and the steadier he watched her, the greater care she gave to each detail as she smoothed his dressing gown’s lapels and cuffed its sleeves.

After an interminable time, unable to bear his scrutiny a moment longer, she took his breakfast tray to a table by the hall door and rearranged the items to be taken away later. If only she could avoid the eyes boring into her back.

Bracing herself, she turned to him once more, to be arrested mid-stride with a look of blatant distrust.

Faith raised her chin and stood before him. “If anything, you ungrateful man, I wanted to see if you would live!”

He regarded her steadily for several uncomfortable beats while her assertion echoed in the silence. “Tell me more,” he said.

His sincerity disarmed her. Taking a relieved breath, she sat facing him and placed her hands primly in her lap. “You only responded, ever, when the medicine wore off. I felt a strong obligation, a moral one, if you will, to do everything in my power, no matter how frightening—and it was frightening, make no mistake —to see you recover.

“I sent Harris away just this morning, because if I had been wrong—and, oh, God, I still worry I have been—I didn’t want him involved. I am determined, you see, to bear the responsibility for this decision as my own.

“As the results,” Justin said, with acerbity. “Will be mine to bear.”

Faith ignored his tone. “Harris would blame himself, if something went wrong. He cares for you like a lion does its cub.”

“Ah.”

The arrogant duke looked humbled. And well he should be. Feeling on level ground again, Faith reached for his hand, then, flushing, she re-adjusted his lap-robe instead.

Wishing to consign the rogue before her to the devil, Faith reminded herself that he needed to know everything, no matter his hostility. If he had been poisoned, he had a right to his animosity, after all.

She took another breath. “From the day I arrived, you were more dead than alive, yet I saw a spark of life when your medicine was delayed. Suppose, I thought, the medicine was having the opposite effect? It seemed to, and I needed to know why, because you had been asleep for weeks, robbed of life in all but fact, which you must agree is in no way normal. You were not living, though you were alive. Do you understand?”

A look akin to respect transformed him. And with regard in his eyes, he looked more striking. And she must keep track of her thoughts. “It’s important that you understand why I did what I did. The first time you responded, surprised me. But the second time, when I told you how well Beth was doing—”

An invisible blow slammed him and he cried out as his head hit the back of his chair.

Shaken, Faith stood. “Are you all right?”

With a sudden palsy, her weak patient could not seem to answer.

“Don’t die on me now! Here, you need your medicine—”

“Damn it! No more medicine!”

His firm, albeit rusty, shout sat her down again.

“’Twas the mention of my daughter,” he whispered. “Beth died in that carriage…accident.”

Faith once thought she understood the word, haunted, but she had not imagined its despair. “Justin, Beth—”

“Stop!” He covered his eyes with an arm, as if to protect himself from a blow. “I cannot think of her…gone.”

For the first time since he woke, Faith took Justin into her arms. “I’m so sorry,” she said, seared by his agony. “I would take your pain as my own, if I could.” Why did Justin remember simple things like her name and Harris having been here, Faith wondered, but he did not remember holding Beth just this morning? How could he be so certain that his daughter had died?

Would telling him be too great a shock?

As much as she feared harming him further, Faith knew she must tell Justin that his daughter lived.

And she would. As soon as she stopped shaking.

Faith rubbed Justin’s back to calm him and to put off that moment when she might risk his progress by revealing what he most needed to hear. That Beth lived. His stubbled chin abraded her cheek. And she realized she was as late shaving him as dosing him this morning…or had it gone past noon by now?

His confusion might be caused by his illness or his need for medicine. Perhaps she should make him take it…as if she could. “I wish to God I knew what to do,” she whispered.

“Don’t be distressed,” he said. “You’ll come about.”

Faith smiled despite herself. “It’s you I’m worried about.”

“It’s been an age since anyone worried about me. I’m not sure I like it.” He opened his fist against her ribs just below her breast, and the impropriety in their positions struck her. She released him.

Regret etched his features—a regret to match her own. She straightened her shoulders. “Justin, about Beth. She’s—”

“No!” he shouted, then he sighed, seeming to realize he’d been harsh. “You can’t know,” he said. “Her mother kidnapped her.”

How could a man reveal such hate for his wife as Justin had just done in speaking the word mother? And how could a mother be a kidnapper?

Justin touched his brow with a shaking hand. “I followed their trail. I…I think,” he said. “I’m not sure.”

“Justin. Beth didn’t die. She’s alive. Beth is alive.” But not by so much as a blink did he react. “Did you hear me?” Faith asked, as he closed his eyes, shutting her out. When he opened them, he gave her a patronizing look. “She’s well,” Faith added in frustration. “Did I tell you that? And thriving?”

His smile turned wistful, as if, lacking her wits, she should be tolerated, even applauded for her feeble efforts.

“I once slapped Squire Kennedy’s son for just such a look. I’m not addled. I speak the truth.”

“You go to great lengths to ease a dying man’s final hours.” He closed his eyes to clear their moisture. “But you go too far.”

“You’re not dying.” God, let me be right. “Soon you’ll hold Beth—if you can keep her still that long—and you’ll know.”

As a tear slipped down his ashen cheek, Justin closed his eyes. The sun’s slant cast shadows on the hollow, angular planes of his face. “Is Catherine here?” Then with more dispatch than Faith thought him capable, he raised his hand. “No. Of anyone, I need Cat least.” His words were mocking and self-directed. Bitter.

“Forgive me,” he said, reading her shock. “I’m not up to Catherine. I may never be.” His voice faded as his dark lashes drifted against pale cheeks. He slept once more.

Faith paced the room and back, stopping frequently to check the rise and fall of Justin’s chest. Lord, he thought Beth died and Catherine lived. Had his mind been damaged in the accident?

She left her sleeping patient to check on Beth, who accepted her cookie with a sober nod and tolerated being cuddled for a moment.

Justin slept that whole day, and Faith alternated between pacing and watching, imagining every dire consequence possible as a result of her decision to withhold his medicine.

Memories stirred her—the way he touched her hair, the look in his eyes when he thought she was ill, his rusty voice.

Justin awoke, regret filling him. He dreamed that when the pretty nurse said Beth lived, he believed her. But as dusk bruised the horizon, he knew she’d lied to ease him peacefully into eternity. He was dying. He breathed, deeply, to lessen the pain the acknowledgement brought. If he didn’t collect himself, he might cry like a babe then what would his nurse think of him? Enough, he was at her mercy without allowing her pity. Upon his death, he would see Beth again, a thought sufficient to rally him.

He surmised it to be evening of the day he’d awakened. His nurse, Faith, sat beside him, bent over her stitching, concentration rapt.