Ravishing in Red (23 page)

 

 

 

 

S
ebastian entered the sick room. He did not flinch at the image that the young gunner presented. He had some experience in this, after all.

The explosion that had almost killed Harry Anderson had taken a heavy toll. One leg and half an arm were missing, and the scarred scalp would never grow hair right again. He had not yet been twenty before the war had done this to him.

He could not help thinking of Morgan when he saw Anderson. This young man’s future would be as limited and isolated, here in his sister’s house. He could care for himself, that was true, but he and the Marquess of Wittonbury had much in common now.

Anderson greeted him with a passivity that Sebastian recognized. So it was for the maimed. Acceptance eventually came, because there was no other choice.

“I am honored that you would see me,” Sebastian said. “I was told that you do not want to speak of it.”

“I only agreed to this because Mr. Proctor said you speak for your brother. Lord Wittonbury knows how it is, doesn’t he? I cannot refuse him.”

“You have his thanks, I promise you.”

Anderson moved his half arm. The end of his coat sleeve flapped. “It saved me, it did. And the leg. I was turned just so and they took it instead of my gut. I was thrown, and that probably saved me too. They were aiming for the guns, of course. They did not know they were useless.”

“You are the only gunner to survive, so I think you are right. The blast that threw you saved you.”

“Lucky me.”

Sebastian let Anderson have his bitterness. He had a right to it.

“What do you remember, about the guns being useless?”

“Not very much. We loaded them normal and lit them right. Nothing happened. It could have been sand in there for all the powder did. There were no misfires as such, just some smoke.” He shrugged. “So we cleaned them out and did it all again, with new kegs of powder, making extra sure it was dry, all the while under their fire. The same thing happened. We knew then that we were all quail with no brush. Their guns had torn us to shreds before the officers sounded a retreat, I hear. I was half-dead by then.

The remnants of those shreds had made their way home eventually. And told the tale of that rout.

“Will you put your memory of the events in writing? Attest to it officially?”

“As it happens, I don’t write anymore, sir.”

“I will bring in a scribner who will write your words, and witnesses for your mark.”

Anderson hesitated to agree to it. “An officer visited me while I was in that French convent. I told him what happened. He told me the war was over and nothing good would come from telling the world about this. He said to let the dead rest.”

“Do you believe that he was right? If so, I will leave you in peace.”

Anderson debated it silently for a good while.

“It just seems to me that the others were killed by someone’s mistake as well as by enemy fire,” he said. “Doesn’t seem right that no one pays for that, although I have heard one man hanged himself over it. And I keep thinking, what if the same mistake is made again?”

“Yours is much like my brother’s view, and mine.”

“Then I’ll put my mark on my story, sir, if you think it will help. You get that scribner here and I’ll do it.”

Sebastian thanked him. “I have one more question, if you can tolerate it. I would like you to describe those kegs for me. Tell me everything you can remember. Try to recall every marking they had.”

 

 

 

 

S
ebastian went up to his brother’s chambers once he returned to Park Lane. He finally had information that might break the dam that had held back progress in settling this ordnance matter. He was eager to share it with Morgan, and discuss the next steps.

Dr. Fenwood was not in the anteroom. Sebastian heard some sounds in the library. The door stood open, and as he neared, he heard quiet sobs.

He looked in. Morgan sat in his chair, bending low. Audrianna sat on the floor beside him, her hands to her face, trying to hide her weeping. Morgan spoke quietly to her, so softly that Sebastian could not hear, and patted her crown gently.

The image stunned him. Emptied him. He spied in silence for what seemed a timeless spell. Then a fury erupted from deep in his gut, obliterating the unnatural calm that had claimed him.

He strode away with dark chaos filling his head. The house could not contain it. Maybe the entire world could not. He went to the garden, and the wilderness at its back. Amid the budding trees and emerald grasses, he let the ugly anger have its way.

It crashed and roared and howled incoherently. Eventually it lessened to a steady rain. And in that less obscuring downpour, he knew that this was not simple jealousy turning him mad. This particular insanity had been building since the day Morgan bought that damned commission.

The dark rain demanded truth. It cleansed reality without compromise. His anger would not allow him to put a pretty face on anything right now.

Morgan had been a fool to buy that commission. An idiot. He was no soldier, he had no experience. The army gave no training to him either, but put him in charge of men’s lives as if a title conveyed war skills along with property. It was a mercy that more lords and gentlemen had not chosen to make such noble, dramatic sacrifices.

How many had died because of him? Was that the real reason for his interest in the ordnance scandal? Had his own mistakes caused deaths that would never be avenged, so he wanted these other mistakes avenged instead?

And now, Audrianna loved him. Their bond had been palpable in that library. She huddled at his feet, weeping, accepting his comfort. Depending on his affection. She had brought her unhappiness to her dear friend because she had known she would find sympathy and warmth there. She laughed and joked and cried with Morgan, while she still curtsied to her husband.

He could not believe what seeing them did to him. Raw anger kept carving him into pieces. Guilt followed, sickening him. Guilt that he had not thrashed Morgan senseless the first time he spoke of a commission. Guilt that he lived his brother’s life. Guilt for begrudging Morgan Audrianna’s affection within that diminished existence to which he was condemned.

He normally accommodated the guilt. Right now he hated it, and hated everything attached to it. The obligations. The expectations. The forced discretions. The lost friendships and the tedious compromises.

But he hated even more realizing that he and his brother were sharing Audrianna as they did too much else. While she dutifully gave her husband her body, she had freely given Morgan a part of her heart.

Mostly, however, he hated admitting how much that mattered.

“
I
t sounds as if Lady Ferris was correct about your friend,” Wittonbury said gently. “I believe you think that she was.”

Audrianna wiped her eyes. “I believe no such thing. I will write to Celia and ask. When she denies it, I will make Lady Ferris eat the letter.”

“What if she does not deny it?”

She knew where he was leading her. She needed no map.

“You will have other friends, Audrianna. Before the season is a month old, there will be sympathetic young matrons who will seek you out.”

She leaned against the side of his chair, not moving from the spot where she had hidden when her composure broke on entering this library. She had not wanted him to see her tears, and now she did not want him to see her rebellious reaction to what he insinuated.

The blanket draped beside her face moved and subtly brushed her cheek. That drew her out of her reverie. She rose to her knees, then stood.

“Thank you, for letting me hide, and for the sympathetic ear. I am sorry that I wept. I hope that I did not—”

The significance of that suddenly penetrated her self-absorption. She stared at that blanket and the invisible legs that it covered. His arms remained on the chair’s own. He had not tugged or touched that blanket, she was sure.

“Is there a ghost beneath my chair?” the marquess asked. “You are as shocked as if you saw one.”

She composed herself. “A thought came to me that took me unawares. I will leave you now. I have imposed on your kindness too long.”

“I fear that I did not give you as much sympathy as you hoped for.”

“Your advice was honest and fair, and your compassion sincere. I am more grateful than you can know.”

She closed the library door when she left. Then she went looking for Dr. Fenwood. She found him in the dressing room, storing linens.

“Madam. Is something amiss with my lord?”

“I just left him and he is well. I want to ask you about something. Can the marquess move his legs at all?”

Dr. Fenwood’s expression turned sad. He shook his head.

“Not the slightest amount?”

“The injury was to his spine. He has no feeling below the waist. None at all.”

“Is there any chance of recovery?”

“Not without a miracle. There was one physician, a German, who said that with time . . . He claimed to have seen cases where the body healed itself after some years. The doctor’s reputation turned out to be questionable at best upon investigation. No, Madam, I fear that my lord will remain as you see him.”

Audrianna left Dr. Fenwood. She would not raise false hopes on such little evidence as a sensation against her cheek. Perhaps she had imagined that blanket moving. Maybe she had done something to cause it to move.

And yet, what if the leg beneath it had actually stirred?

 

 

 

 

S
ebastian did not arrive back to Park Lane until long past midnight. The ride to Greenwich had gone far to relieve his agitation, and for a few hours, while gazing into the heavens through the observatory’s telescopes, he had forgotten the fury gripping him. The tempest had not entirely calmed by the time he entered his chambers, but he no longer wanted to put his fist through a wall.

He prepared for the night. He threw on his robe and dismissed his valet. He looked at Audrianna’s door.

She was undoubtedly asleep, but being so damned dutiful, she would not complain if he woke her. And if she minded, she could always go cry to his brother tomorrow. He wanted to go in there and take her five different ways, to claim what was definitely his so he would not mind what most certainly was not.

The dark urge alone told him he should not go in at all. Hawkeswell was not here to stop him from being an ass, so he would have to thwart the inclination all by himself.

He threw himself on his bed and turned his mind to his interview with Anderson. He debated what to do with the information he had received. He needed to pursue a new direction, but carefully. He did not want to impugn good men who might be in the way, or raise the hackles of the Board of Ordnance.

He was just seeing a strategy when the door to his dressing room opened. Audrianna looked in, much as she had when she wore that red dress.

This was definitely not the night to think about that dress.

“Do you mind if I come in? I know it is very late.”

So much for noble intentions. She had no idea that she played with fire. He should send her away at once.

“Of course you can come in. You are always welcome here.”

She padded across the chamber, her little slippers poking out beneath her white nightdress with each step. Nellie had brushed her hair into a dark fall of silk. Erotic images assaulted him the closer she came.

She appeared joyful when she climbed onto the bed. Excited to see him. That charmed him. If she offered him a kiss on her own again, perhaps he would only take her two different ways. Hell, he’d probably recite a maudlin poem while he did it.

“I have been waiting for you to return. I heard you in the dressing room, and when you did not come in, I realized that with the late hour you would not.” She smiled. “That was very considerate of you.”

“You must remember to tell me that tomorrow. How considerate I am.”

Her brow puckered.

“Never mind. It is late and I am not in my senses. I am glad that you came to me since I did not come to you.”

“I had to. I need to talk to you about something very important.”

She had not come for pleasure, or even company. She wanted something. Three ways, then. Half his mind began sorting through every sexual position he had ever tried, like a connoisseur choosing among rare wines.

“It has to do with your brother.”

Back to five. At least.

“Do tell.” He would definitely taste her. He had been dying to since that night at the Two Swords. If he had made a bargain to possess a woman’s body and nothing more, he might as well possess her fully and stop worrying overmuch about her delicate sensibilities.

“The most extraordinary thing happened this afternoon.”

Her eyes sparkled with excitement. He would arrange it so those eyes watched him take her one of the times.

“One of his legs moved. I am almost positive.”

A curtain instantly came down on images of her ecstasy.

She had just said something so preposterous that he had no response other than laughter, and that would not do.

“I was with him, sitting next to him, and that blanket moved. A small move, very small, but I have turned it over in my head a thousand times since and I am sure it moved.”

“You said that you were almost positive before. Now you are sure. Which is it?”

“Are you angry?”

“I am not angry. But if you are wrong and I pursue it, he will be horribly disappointed. It will send him into a melancholy from which he might never emerge.”

She nodded, and turned thoughtful. “I am not almost positive. I am sure.”