If He's Wild (19 page)

Hartley hissed in pain as Aldus tried to wash some of the blood from his face. “Modred, do not soil your heart and mind by looking into hers. She confessed enough to me to hang her.” He looked at his broken fingers and then at Claudette. “I would like my ring back. She took it.”

“Yes. A souvenir,” Modred said. “She has others. Many of them. She sees each one of them as a sign of her victory over a man or woman or someone she thought belittled or insulted her in some way.” He frowned for a moment. “They are all in a chest, one she packed to flee the country once she had finished with you. Stowed in a cabin on the
Raven.
It is due to set sail on tomorrow night’s tide. From here in the city.”

“What are you saying?” demanded Claudette, staring wide-eyed at Modred. “’Tis lies! All lies!”

“No. The jewels she took that day on the beach are there as well. If you can match her souvenirs to the dead, you will have enough proof to hang her ten times over. Ah, and papers. She already has something to sell to our enemies, Hartley. She just hoped for more. And I see that she badly wished to make you suffer for marrying our Alethea. She had a lot of plans for hurting Alethea as well.”

Hartley could tell from the terrified look on Claudette’s face that everything Modred was saying was true. It was unsettling to watch him so easily pluck all of Claudette’s secrets out of her mind, but Hartley was glad of that eerie skill. Now they had more than enough, more than just their word on her guilt and what she had been caught doing to him.

“Get him away from me!” she screamed, trying to back into Argus for protection even as he did his best to elude her touch.

Modred looked at her three men. “She meant to kill you, too, you know. No witnesses. Best not drink that wine she gave you unless you wish to escape the hangman by poisoning yourselves.”

The three men looked at Modred in open-mouthed wonder, touched with a strong hint of fear. Then they turned as one to glare at Claudette. Chaos ensued as they fought with their captors in an attempt to get to her. Four of Hartley’s men rushed in to help put an end to the struggle. And behind them came Alethea.

Hartley drank in the sight of her as she rushed to his side. The way she stumbled to a halt only a foot away and all the color left her face told him that he looked as bad as he felt. The arms she had held out to embrace him fell limply to her side, and he saw the glint of tears in her eyes.

“I will heal, Alethea,” he said as Aldus knelt to undo the bonds at his ankles.

Alethea forced herself to nod. “Of course you will, and I know a number of people who can help you do so, and quickly.”

“Already sent for, sweetheart,” said Argus, stepping up to put an arm around her as one of Hartley’s men took over holding Claudette. “They will undoubtedly begin to arrive at your home very soon.” He winced as Claudette was dragged away, her screams on odd mix of denials, curses, and bloodcurdling threats. “Modred,” he called to the young duke, who looked as if he was about to empty his belly. “You did us a great service today. I believe we had enough to hang her, alongside her sister, if only for what she did to a marquis, but what you pried out of her and Margarite will answer a lot of questions. Thank you. Now, do not get anywhere near that bitch again.”

“I will be very glad to obey that command, Cousin,” Modred said.

“Thank you, Modred,” Alethea said.

“For you, Alethea.” Modred bowed and then slowly walked away.

“He will be fine,” Argus assured Alethea as she watched Modred carefully exit the building.

A cry from Hartley drew her attention back to him. She started to move toward him, but Argus held her back. All her fear and worry for him, and she had not yet been able to touch him.

Despite the care the men moving him to the litter took, she could see the agony it caused him and was not surprised at the damp rush of tears on her cheeks. His hands and face were swollen and deeply bruised. His chest and arms were covered with so many shallow cuts she doubted she could count them without being physically ill. As soon as he was settled on the litter the men had brought in for him, Argus released her, and she ran to Hartley’s side. He was pale, panting, and covered in sweat. She doubted he would remain conscious for much longer and considered that a mercy. Careful not to bump the stretcher or touch his battered body, she knelt by his side, leaned forward, and kissed his forehead, the only part of him that remained unscathed.

“Love you,” he said, his voice a hoarse, whispery remnant of what it should be. “Feared I would never get to say it.”

Alethea was still frozen in shock by his words as she stumbled to her feet so that the men were able to lift the stretcher. With a groan that held all the pain he had to be suffering, Hartley gave up on consciousness. She was grateful when Argus returned to her side and wrapped his strong arm around her, for she was very close to collapsing.

“She hurt him so badly,” she whispered. “I do not think there is a part of him that is not either broken or bleeding or bruised. How can he recover from that?”

“He is a strong and stubborn man,” Argus said. “And, do not forget, nearly every healer in our family who can come, will come, and will be taking a turn at ensuring that he recovers fully. The cuts are shallow, and, from what little I could see, the bones were cleanly broken. He is alive, Alethea. Be grateful for that. Find your strength in that.”

She did her best to heed his words. When Hartley was carried into the house, the immediate need to try and calm Germaine and Bayard helped her regain her strength. Alethea left them with Argus and the others as soon as she felt she could and rushed to Hartley’s side. Although she had no healing gift, she was able to help with the bathing of his wounds and bandaging the worst of his injuries while the healers in her family each took a turn doing what they could for him. The strongest of the lot were Penelope’s half brother Stefan, who paired up with the boy Delmar, her cousin Felix’s natural son.

By the time they had all left, Olympia hurrying after them to make certain they got all the food and drink they needed to restore the strength lost in healing, Alethea’s hope for Hartley’s recovery was growing. Hartley had not awakened, but he slept peacefully even though they had been able to get only a small amount of Kate’s potion down his throat. She pulled a chair up beside the bed and decided that, even if all the healers had done was to ease his pain, it was enough.

It was very late when Germaine and Bayard slipped into the room. Alfred followed them and set a tray of food and drink down on the small table in front of the fireplace. After a stern look at her that said she had better eat, he left. Alethea stood up, stretched, and then moved to sit at the table. She realized that she was hungry, her appetite returning as her fear for Hartley began to fade.

“Does Alfred understand that you are now a marchioness?” asked Germaine as she took the seat opposite Alethea, leaving Bayard to sit watch by Hartley’s bed.

Alethea smiled. “Of course, but I am also the girl he has known since she could barely walk. And the Pughs have served the Vaughns for hundreds of years. They are, in so many ways, as much family as servants.”

Germaine nodded and looked toward Hartley. “Uncle looks much better than he did when he was carried into the house, even with all the splints, bruises, bandages, and cuts. He sleeps as if he feels no pain. How can that be after what was done to him?”

“The healers did it, and I fear I cannot explain it. Since his fingers, left arm, and left leg are splinted, I cannot even be sure just how much of him they have actually healed. Yet he sleeps free of pain. That can only be good.”

“Your family has so many different gifts. Is there anyone in your very large family who does not have one?”

“Some have one that is so very weak it is nearly useless, but only a few. We do not marry amongst ourselves, or very rarely do, and not because the church frowns on it. We all have the never-ending hope that we can breed it out of us, but that has yet to happen.”

“I would cease trying. For most of you, the gift you have been given seems to be doing more good than harm. Even for poor Modred, whose bad luck appears to have started with whoever gave him that name.” Germaine grinned when Alethea laughed, but quickly turned serious again. “He looked pale and shaken but also very pleased with himself. He helped, and I think that matters a great deal to him. It gave him some pride in himself.”

“Yes. Yes, it did. Chloe said he needed to do it. I am just sorry that he had to prove himself on two such evil women. Is he resting now?” When Germaine nodded, Alethea sighed in relief. “I just pray that he suffers no nightmares due to what he saw in Claudette.”

“I waver between wanting that woman dead and being appalled that I could wish for such a thing. All the time we were in France, the thought of making that woman suffer kept me strong. Now? Now I feel a little ashamed of that. Yet she should suffer for what she did to my uncle, to my family, and to so many others.”

“Agreed,” said Alethea, “and we must believe that she will.”

“In hell?”

Alethea shrugged. “We can only hang her once.” She studied Germaine. “Do you wish to go to her hanging?”

“Not so much wish it, but need to. She stole my family from me, save for Bayard and Uncle. I need to be there for my father, for Theresa, and for the babes. I also need to know that she is truly dead.”

It was difficult not to argue that plan with the girl, but Alethea simply patted Germaine’s hand and then turned to the chore of finishing her meal. They could sort it all out when the time came. At Bayard and Germaine’s insistence, Alethea sought out her own bed. She wanted to stay by Hartley’s side, her fear of losing him still running deep and strong, but she also knew she needed to sleep. As Hartley recovered, caring for him would require a great deal of strength and courage. All her instincts told her that he would not be an easy patient.

Once Alethea was tucked up in bed, she found sleep hard to come by even though she was more tired than she had ever been in her life. Hartley’s words kept pounding in her mind, demanding she think about them.
Love you.
He had definitely said those words, but she was not sure how much faith she should put in them. He had been in pain, dazed with it, yet exuberant over his rescue. Emotions had been running high, and that could have prompted the words. He might also not have meant them as she so dearly wanted him to.

Alethea closed her eyes and worked even harder to clear her mind of all thoughts fighting to deprive her of sleep. She would wait to see what he did and said in the days to come. If he did not repeat the declaration, so be it. Alethea would accept that it had been spoken in the heat of the moment or a delirium born of the pain he had been in. Then she would do her best to make him say those words again while he was awake and clear of mind. Only then would she choose to believe him and gently place her heart in his hands.

With a few final flourishes, Hartley signed his name to the last of the documents his secretary had brought to him from his solicitor. He had been a fool not to make out a new will the moment he had married Alethea. The troubles they had been wrapped up in were really no excuse for such a lapse. Now it was done, and, if anything ever happened to him, she would be financially secure, all her rights as his widow and the mother of whatever children they might have thoroughly protected. Before it had been uncomfortable to contemplate his mortality, but after having faced death, he was all too aware of how quickly and unexpectedly it could touch a man on the shoulder.

He held up his right hand and wriggled his fingers, and then he did the same with the left. Only three weeks had passed since he had been rescued from Claudette and her men, and he was nearly as good as new. In the last week it had only been weakness and a need to regain the strength lost that had held him back from a full recovery. Hartley might not understand what the healers had done, but he was grateful beyond words for it. His arm and leg had also healed rapidly and were growing stronger by the day. He could all too easily have ended up crippled in some way. It was a miracle he would thank God for every day. And, despite their refusals of any payment, he had seen to it that each Wherlocke and Vaughn who had helped him heal so well and so rapidly had been duly rewarded for their efforts on his behalf.

Now he could begin to turn his attention to his wife, he thought, and grinned. She had said nothing about his declaration of love just before he had become unconscious that day. Hartley decided she had convinced herself that it had been made due to the high emotion of the moment and was not heartfelt. He was determined to show her just how wrong she was. The wooing had already begun with small gifts and long talks alone in the garden as he had recuperated. Now that he was completely healed, he could begin to woo her in the bedchamber as well as outside it.

Germaine slipped into his office, and, quickly yanking his mind out of the bedchamber where his willing wife waited for him with nothing more than a smile on her face, he smiled at Germaine. The time he had spent healing had also served to bring him, his nephew, and his niece closer together. They had wept together when the jewels Claudette had stolen from the compte that day on the beach were returned. Bayard and Germaine had wept for their father, a woman they had grown to love, and their two young half siblings. Hartley had wept for the sister he had lost so long ago, the senseless death of the man his sister had loved, and the pain she would have felt if she had known how her children had suffered. In that shared moment of grief, they had finally become a true family.

“They are hanging Claudette and Margarite today,” Germaine said as she stood before his desk and nervously played with a colorful stone he had collected as a child during a walk on the beach with his father.

Hartley inwardly cursed, for he had hoped that she would not discover that. He should have known better. In the three years she had hidden and worked in France, Germaine had picked up a few skills most young ladies did not have. One thing she was very good at was ferreting out any information.

“I am going so you do not have to,” he said.

“I know, but I feel guilty about that. It is my place to stand there in lieu of Papa, Theresa, and the babies.”

“That is what I will do, just as I mean to stand for the others those women killed.”

“Is Alethea going with you?”

“No. She was prepared to go, but it was easy for even a cloddish man such as myself to see that she did not truly want to go to a hanging, and I understand that. It is an ugly way to die. I do not particularly wish to see it myself, but I will be with Iago, Argus, Gifford, and Aldus, as well as a large group of men who worked with or were friends with Rogers, Peterson, and the others she killed. And, I promise you, I will make very sure that she is dead.”

Germaine slipped around the side of his desk and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Uncle, and Bayard thanks you, too. He never wanted to go. We saw enough death in France.” She started to leave, only to pause in the doorway. “Oh, and Bayard and I are going to spend tomorrow with the Radmoors at their country home. We are going to be leaving soon and will not return until late the day after tomorrow. Alfred and Kate are coming with us as our maid and valet. Is that still acceptable to you?”

“Of course. Radmoor has a very fine home and grounds. And, of course, all those young people. It will do you well to get some fresh country air. Have a good time.”

“Oh, I am certain we will, Uncle. You have a good time, too,” she sang as she hurried away.

Hartley intended to have a very good time indeed. Until recently he would have needed Alethea to take the upper hand in the lovemaking if they were to have any. That would have been agreeable to him, but she had been treating him like an invalid and lovemaking had clearly been the last thing on her mind. All her relatives had left, and now Germaine and Bayard were going away for a little while. Even Kate and Alfred would be gone. He would have Mrs. Huxley leave some food for him and Alethea and then give the servants a full day off, starting right after dinner and continuing until the morning of the day Germaine and Bayard were to return. He only had one last grim chore to see to, and then he would turn all of his attention to the seduction of his wife. Tonight he intended to show her that he was no longer an invalid.

“And that appalling show puts a firm end to it all,” said Argus as he, Hartley, and the others walked away from the gallows grounds. “You can assure Germaine, Bayard, and your wife that the woman is most certainly dead. She and her sister. I think I would even tell them just how badly they died, too.”

Hartley grimaced. The women had died badly. They had wailed and protested, even fought and dragged their feet every step of the way. The crowd had booed, jeered, and pelted them with rotten food and offal. He was very glad that Alethea and Germaine had not been there to see it all. The whole spectacle had been as appalling and as gruesome as he had remembered. The fact that Margarite had been nearly decapitated by the rope had only added to that. He had thought that knowing the condemned, knowing of all the crimes they had committed, including the ones against him and his family, would make it easier to watch the execution. It had not, except that now he could tell his family that Claudette and Margarite would never be able to trouble them again.

He left the other men to make his way home alone. Alethea met him in the foyer, an expectant look upon her face. He handed Cobb his coat and hat, and then gently drew Alethea into his office. As delicately as he could, he told her all about the hanging, not mentioning the near decapitation, for it was not necessary to the tale and he simply could not speak of that gruesome part to his wide-eyed wife. And then, pouring himself a brandy, he waited to hear what she had to say about it all.

“’Tis odd, is it not, that two people who killed so many other people would be so terrified of their own deaths.” Alethea went to Hartley and wrapped her arms around him, resting her cheek against his broad chest. “I am sorry you had to witness that but very glad to know for certain that they are both gone.”

“I went because their victims could not. Iago said that the spirits around Claudette are at rest now.”

“Good. Then it is over and done, and we can get on with our lives now.” She stepped away from him, even though she ached to linger in his arms. “A bath has been readied for you, and then there is dinner to be enjoyed. It will be strange to have just the two of us at the table again. That has not happened since only three days after we were married.”

Hartley thought it would be a sweet pleasure to have her all to himself for a little while as he went to his bedchamber to wash away the stench of the gallows. Once dinner was over, even the servants would be gone. He could chase his wife through the house and make love to her in any room he wanted. He could also do his best to discover exactly how she felt about him.

He loved her, and he needed her to return that love in full measure. It was not going to be easy to bare his soul when he was still uncertain of the depth of her feeling for him, but he could do it. Catering to his pride now seemed foolish after what he had been through, after that moment when he had thought he would never see her again. His instincts told him that she loved him, but he needed to hear the words. Hartley knew he also needed her to believe him when he spoke the words to her.

Alethea looked around her bedchamber and sighed. It was a beautiful room, but she wanted to be sharing Hartley’s bed. They had thus far spent very little of their marriage in the same bed. She was beginning to fear that Hartley liked that arrangement. He would just have to change his mind, she decided. They were husband and wife, not some sinful couple sneaking a few trysts when time and the absence of other partners allowed.

She studied herself carefully in the mirror. Her hair was clean, thick, and shining with good health even though she did wish it was not as black as a raven’s wing. The nightgown and robe she wore were dainty concoctions of blue linen and white lace meant to tease a man; at least, that was what the dressmaker had told her. Her breasts did seem to be more exposed than she liked, the neckline of the gown barely covering her nipples. Alethea had no idea what men liked to look at but, if it were breasts, Hartley would get an eyeful.

“Now or never, woman,” she grumbled as she turned and marched toward the door that connected his bedchamber to hers. “Get a spine. This is for the rest of your life. Time to start as you mean to continue.”

Alethea opened the door only to face a robed Hartley standing there in the act of reaching for the door latch. “Oh. I was just coming to speak with you.”

“Good.” He grabbed her by the hand and pulled her into his bedchamber. “I was intending to speak to you as well. I am no longer in need of gentle care and nights spent alone in my bed.”

“Ah. Yes, I can see that.”

Hartley had not tied his robe very tightly, and it was obvious that he was naked beneath it. She clasped her hands together in front of her to stop herself from slipping her hands inside that robe and running them all over that smooth, taut skin she loved to touch. He wanted to talk, and, since she did as well, it was best if she did not give in to her baser urges. There would be time for that later.

“Is this new?” Hartley could not seem to lift his gaze above her breasts, and all his carefully planned words were fading away. “I do not recall seeing this before.” He trailed his fingers over the plump swell of her breasts above the neckline of the nightgown and watched her tremble slightly.

Perhaps the best place to talk was in bed, he thought, his mouth watering to taste all that soft flesh she was showing. He might get the words he needed from her in the heat of passion. He would certainly find it easier to say them then. Hartley put his arms around her and tugged her close to his body.

“I thought you wanted to talk,” she said as she slipped her hands inside his robe and lightly caressed his sides.

“We can talk in bed,” he said as he slowly removed her robe and kissed the place where her neck met her shoulder.

The heat from that one soft kiss against her skin flowed through Alethea’s body. She decided they could talk during or after. She no longer cared. It had been too long since she had been held by him, kissed by him, and touched by him. Her whole body ached for him to be inside her.

“I think this is going to be fast and furious,” he said.

“Just do not rip the gown. You paid a lot for it.”

He laughed as he tugged the gown over her head and then threw off his robe. When he pulled her back into his arms, he fell down onto the bed. The feel of her soft skin caressing his was a stark reminder of how long it had been since he had tasted her passion. He kissed her, showing her his hunger for her in each thrust and stroke of his tongue as he touched her everywhere.

Alethea tried to return every touch he gave her in equal measure. She was starving for the heat of his skin and the taste of his kiss. Her passion was running so high and hot she could not keep quiet and briefly worried about being overheard. Then he took the hard tip of her breast deep in his mouth even as he thrust his fingers inside her, and she forgot all about a need to be quiet.

They wrestled each other in an effort to each touch the places that brought the most pleasure to their partner. Alethea finally grasped hold of his erection and stroked the hot, hard length of him. When he trembled in her arms, she knew a sense of sensual power that only added to her need for him.

“Now, Hartley,” she demanded, her body shaking with the need to have him inside her.

“Ordering me about now, are you?”

He was not surprised at the hoarseness in his voice. Every inch of his body was taut and ready to possess her, and it had been a strain to hold back as long as he had. He sat back on his knees, grabbed her thighs, and spread her legs wide. A small part of his mind that was still sane grinned at the way her eyes widened, too. Pulling her forward until her legs rested on his hips, he pushed into her. The tight heat of her made him gasp, and he lost the last thread of what little control he had.

Alethea was shocked when he pulled her into such an indecorous position. Then he thrust inside her, and her greedy body revealed that it did not care how he did it, so long as he kept on doing it. Her release stormed over her, and she arched her body into his, straining to take him in as deep as possible. Hartley’s hands tightened almost painfully on her hips, and then he pounded into her four more times, until he stilled and the heat of his seed bathed her insides. The way he cried out her name was pure music to her ears.

“That was certainly fast and furious,” she said after they had washed off and then collapsed in each other’s arms. “Noisy, too. I hope no one heard us. I will not be able to look anyone in the eye on the morrow.”

“No one heard you.” Hartley savored the sight of her naked and in his arms, trailing his fingers up and down her spine. “Everyone is gone.”