Scandal's Child (8 page)

Jules again flickered that reassuring smile that said: “It’s all right, I’m here, trust me.” She realized in that instant she did trust him, completely.

To Kat’s horror the instant Jules dismounted, one of the ragged looking men lifted his pistol and struck him near his eye.

She screamed as he crumbled to the ground, all fear for her personal safety receding before her desperate need to reach him. Disregarding everything, she flung herself off the horse, but before she had taken two steps strong burly arms caught her.

“Non, Mademoiselle…” was all she understood, but the brute laughed, pulling her arms painfully behind her.

As she watched in mounting horror, Jules was lifted to his feet and held between two of the men while the third kicked him in the stomach before punching him again and again on the face.

Kat had to get to him! She had been kicking and thrashing desperately at her captor; in response he had only tightened his arms around her. He reeked of whiskey and Kat could only hope he was slightly foxed or her plan wouldn’t work. She suddenly went limp, sinking nearly to her knees, and as she hoped, he loosened his grip. At that instant she elbowed him sharply in the groin. With a bellow he doubled over in pain and Kat grabbed his pistol that had fallen in the dust. Twirling, she snatched another from the horse holster.

The three men were so engrossed in attacking Jules they didn’t notice her until she screamed, “
Arrêtez!”

Mouths gaping open, they all turned to her. The burly one who had been striking Jules sneered at her, a vulgar epithet she was sure.

In answer she lifted one pistol, aimed and shot his hat off. “The second shot will kill one of you,” she promised grimly in English. The tone of her voice more than her words must have convinced the ruffian.

He backed up. His two companions were so stunned they dropped Jules, and he fell to his knees. Suddenly he rolled sideways to launch himself up to land a bruising punch to one of his assailant’s jaws.

“Kathryn, bring the gun to me,” he gasped, swaying on his feet.

Before she could think or move they were gone, even her captor, who still doubled over, limped to his horse and scrambled upon it.

Kat let them go, nothing mattered but reaching Jules.

Blood from a cut above his eyes pooled around his patch before dripping down his cheek to his bruised jaw.

Dropping the pistols, she gathered him in her arms, trying to steady him. “Jules, are you all right?” she cried.

Something sharp, piercing, and sweet engulfed her heart as he tried to smile.

“I believe, Kathryn, I must sit down.”

A sudden clap of thunder made them both glance up.

“Not here, Jules,” she said matter-of-factly, although she was beside herself with concern for him. “The storm is breaking. The trees will offer some protection.”

And they did. The heavy branches meeting overhead created a canopy of leaves so they were spared much of the drenching from the sudden downpour.

Jules sank against a tree, his face totally without color save for where the blood marked it.

“The winery,” he gasped, “just ahead. We can shelter there.”

She braced him carefully and muttering words of encouragement, half led, half dragged him to the low-ceilinged building.

“I believe my ribs are broken.” Jules finally managed to say, disbelief plain on his battered face.

She pried the door open, its heavy hinges squeaking from disuse. The interior was dusty, but even so the perfume of grape hung in the air. Not unpleasant, she thought inconsequentially. The room was dominated by the great circular wooden press; barrels filled a far wall. There were only a few benches—no place comfortable for Jules, so she eased him to the floor.

“Did they hurt you, Kathryn?” he asked sharply, scanning her face.

“No. I sincerely hope I hurt
them
more than they did me. But it is you who needs attention,” she said briskly, and began to unbutton her jacket. Removing it, she tugged her lawn shirt free and cavalierly ripped a large strip from the bottom, exposing her chemise underneath.

“Kathryn, what are you doing?” He lifted that haughty brow but the affect was nullified by his grimace of pain. “I believe your being semi-clothed is how this all began,” he chuckled, a little breathlessly. “Do you think this is a good idea?”

“I think it is an excellent idea to see to your wounds. According to Willy all the damage to my reputation has been done already.”

She marched to the doorway and stuck the remnants of her lawn shirt out into the downpour until it was soaked.

Wringing it out somewhat, she carried it back and fell on her knees beside Jules.

He tried to struggle up. “Kathryn, you don’t—”

She placed her hand on his shoulder, urging him to relax. “Do be quiet, my lord.” She fussed with assumed agitation. “Just let me do what must be done.”

He stayed perfectly motionless beneath her hands as she bathed the cut above his eye and the streaks of dried blood down his lean cheek. But when she moved toward the crusty black pool at his patch, iron fingers stilled her hand.

“No!” he whispered harshly.

“I must,” she pleaded. “There might be a cut underneath, there is so much blood there. It will become infected if not cleansed.”

Staring into his tense face all the piercing sweet sharpness that had engulfed her heart consumed her. Blinking back tears she widened her eyes. “You know this does not matter to me. Please. Please let me help you,” she begged, unable to keep one short sob from her voice.

“It’s not a pretty sight.” He protested once more. Then with a harsh intake of breath, he nodded.

Gently, she lifted the patch and sensed him literally cease breathing.

Carefully, she bathed away the encrusted blood and was relieved to see there was no new cut near his scar.

Kat had spoken the truth; his sightless eye held no horror for her, rather she had a nearly overwhelming desire to press her lips there at the scar to soothe away his pain.

With trembling fingers she slid the patch back into place and their gazes entangled. She could see Jules begin to breathe again, then a flame, sudden and bright, flared in the depth of his eye.

Mesmerized, Kat had never wanted anything more than to cup his cheeks in her palms and touch that firm, expressive mouth with her own. Instead she turned away and began to rip long strips from her petticoat that she could use to wind around his chest.

Jacko’s voice rang out sharply, breaking the spell that found her leaning so sweetly into Jules. How long they had been in the winery neither Jules or Kat could have guessed. At some time while she was wrapping his chest, his hands had risen to grip her shoulders. Both had been powerless against this force drawing them closer, their eyes locked, but now they each gave a breathless laugh, and his hands fell away.

Reluctantly, she rose to her feet. “It is Jacko searching for us. Stay here and I’ll bring help.”

She didn’t realize until Jacko discovered them that he had disobeyed her and was standing, swaying with weakness, behind her. In one quick stride, Jacko was there to throw a supporting arm around Jules. “Saville, what happened? When the horses returned to the stables we knew something had gone awry.

“It was highwaymen, Jacko. But never mind that! Jules has been hurt. We must get him home soonest.”

Jules straightened and she could see on his face the effort he made. “Your sister has been exceptionally brave, Jacko.”

“Kat’s always been a trooper,” he remarked offhandedly, and pulled out a pistol, shooting into the air. “That’s the signal. The others will come now.”

Anton Bernair drove a cart into the clearing; others appeared on foot from the woods and the vineyard. Without help, Jules walked to the cart and hesitated only slightly before climbing up. The jolting was almost unbearable, but he never could have ridden a horse at this point. Kat watched him try to act blasé about the attack, downplaying the concern that all the searchers showed him. The cut above his patch began to bleed again. Jules flicked the drops away carelessly with his fingers. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to reach out and offer help, but some newly born instinct within her warned her away.

A nervously pacing Madame Bernair, flanked by Caroline and Hannah, waited for them at the front of the château.

“Oh, Kathryn, are you all right?” Caroline cried, rushing to Kat as a groom helped her down from the cart.

“I’m unhurt, Caroline.” Kat reassured the young, frightened girl with a quick hug.

“I knew you would be fine, Kathryn,” Hannah complimented as she slowly descended the steps. “I told them you were always remarkably resourceful.”

In the few moments Hannah and Caroline had distracted her, Jules had attempted to get off the cart; instead he slid to the ground. The cut above his eye was now bleeding profusely.

Madame Bernair took her own crisp, white handkerchief and pressed it to his wound. For the first time Kat saw something besides cool dislike on Madame Bernair’s face.

“Get a door to carry the comte to his chambers,” she ordered a groom. “We’ll have to send for a doctor.”

“Thank you all, but I can manage on my own.” Jules made another attempt to stand and, holding himself ramrod straight, his tone so commanding they all stepped back, haltingly walked toward the château. “It won’t be necessary to take to my bedchamber.”

Kat was not deterred by his imperious tone. She quickly took one arm, supporting him. Feeling it grow rigid beneath her fingers, she pleaded, “Jules, please let us go to our chambers for I am utterly exhausted from our adventure.”

He flicked her a rueful glance, but nonetheless obeyed, entering the château and, slowly, they ascended the stairs to the second floor together.

His rooms were in the same hall as her own, only three doors away, so she allowed him to pass his chamber and deposit her at her own.

“Do you always get everyone to do your bidding so easily, Kathryn?” Jules asked quietly, amusement lurking in his voice.

“Is that a polite way of saying I am shockingly bossy, Monsieur le Comte?” she teased, resisting the urge to run soothing fingers over the bruises now beginning to discolor his lean cheeks.

“No.” Gently, he lifted both her hands, and turning them palm up, pressed his lips to each in turn.

The trembling inside her threatened to overwhelm her, but she stilled it, staring up into his face.

“I am saying, my dear Kathryn, that you are the bravest woman I have ever known.”

Again, a flame lit his gaze. But he stepped back, slowly releasing her hands. She put them behind her so he couldn’t see their trembling. Knowing he would not go to his chamber, which he so obviously needed to do, until she did, Kat nodded and quickly entered her room, shutting the door quietly.

She leaned against it, listening, until she heard his footsteps fade down the hall. Only then could she drop upon her bed and bury her hot, tearwashed face in the pillows. She was instantly asleep, missing Hannah’s peek into her room.

When Hannah returned hours later, bearing a tray with a bowl of strengthening broth, Kat consumed every bite. Hannah stood watching over her, arms folded with serene determination. “What an uproar this house has been in. The doctor, a very superior little man in a dark frock coat, has been to strap up the count and says he’ll be fine—no bones broken, just deep bruises.”

Hannah bustled about, insisting Kat change into her night shift and let her hair down. Kat knew Hannah was right; she should rest even though she longed to see for herself that Jules was all right. But after Hannah left, she lay wide awake and stared up at the underside of the floral canopy. She tossed and turned, making a jumble of the bedclothes.

There was only one way to make absolutely sure all was well. Slipping on her robe, Kat lifted a single candle and made her way out into the hall. She knocked softly on Jules’s door, and when there was no reply, took a deep breath for courage, and entered his chamber.

He lay on his side, the cut above his left eye neatly bandaged. He was deeply asleep; his bare chest, wrapped tightly with linen strips, rose and fell slowly with strong, even breaths.

Weak with relief, she sat suddenly onto the side of the bed, staring down at this man who had so completely complicated her life. Awake, he seemed so competent, so compelling. His air of authority had certainly scared off Edmund Trigge.

Kat knew Hannah trusted him utterly because she had so quickly settled into her old pattern here in France. Jacko thought him a great gun!

Even his staff, who hadn’t known what kind of a master he would be, held him in affection. But now, asleep, he seemed vulnerable. His dark hair tumbled over his forehead, screening both the cut and the bruise that formed there. She reached out to brush it back as she had seen him do so many times.

“Lady Kathryn!” Madame Bernair gasped, and Kat stood to face the door.

Carrying a branched candelabrum, Madame Bernair quietly shut the door and came to stand beside her. “I slipped some laudanum into the tea I gave him for a light supper.” At Kat’s shocked look, Madame Bernair shrugged. “Men when they are unwell are like infants. It is our duty to see they do what is best for them.”

“You have done an excellent job of caring for him. Thank you,” Kat whispered, amazed that here in the dark and silence of Jules’s room Madame was finally approachable. Without her sour expression her face was even softly pretty.

“I have had much practice. After the dreadful French defeat at Waterloo…” She crossed herself. “I nursed my son until, finally, his terrible wounds took his life.”

“I am sorry, Madame.” Kat saw such pain in the older woman’s face, she felt tears welling up behind her own eyes. “The war took many fine young men.”

“
Oui
, but it is hard at times.” Madame Bernair lifted her chin, assuming her natural pose, but with no dislike marring her countenance. “I will leave you alone with him. I know how important it is at these times to be with the one you love.”

Kat was so stunned by Madame’s words that she didn’t even notice her departure. Love? She had always, from the time she was a child, sworn she would have a love as strong as her parents. A love, if need be, that could defy convention and flourish amid censure. But what would such a love feel like? She was certain it would not be like the love she felt for Jacko and Mariah. Love consumed you with its power. Like the piercing sharp sweetness that had consumed her earlier.

She now knew how foolish she had always been; you cannot seek love, you cannot consciously decide to love. Instead love finds you and pierces your heart before you even realize what’s happening.

Running her fingertips ever so gently over Jules’s bandaged cut and down the bruises discoloring his sleep-flushed cheeks, she acknowledged the truth. Through her foolhardy actions at the Blue Boar Inn she had stumbled into what she had always wanted. But how could Jules, forced into this coil by her foolishness, ever feel for her what now burned brightly in her heart?

Two days later, Jules insisted he was back to normal and came downstairs. The bruises were fading and the cut above his left eyebrow was healing. However, he noted that the women of the house still had a tendency to hover anxiously around him.

Most particularly he had sensed something new in Kathryn’s attitude toward him. He wasn’t sure what it meant.

It was not disgust after seeing his blind eye. He dared to hope it was the feelings that had been born between them in those moments in the winery. More and more he was growing certain that this arrangement they had fallen into would suit him very well indeed.

He retreated to his library to get away from Hannah’s incessant flutterings. Concentrating on the
ménagère
’s books, he experienced no warning before the double doors burst open and Dominic casually strolled into the room.

“Dominic,
mon frère
! What are you doing here?” Joy at seeing his half brother warred with concern as to why he had dragged himself away from Juliana and the baby.

Dominic clapped him on the back, and although he smiled, his cornflower blue eyes were clouded. “I have come with two trunks of new frocks for Lady Kathryn, an English curate, and a special license. I have come to wish you happy,” he drawled.

Shocked, Jules stepped away. “You know? But how? Lady Tutwilliger has already announced our engagement in the
Gazette
?”

“She and Grandmother have sent an announcement of your wedding, which
will
take place tomorrow. That’s why I’m here.” Dominic’s startled eyes scanned his face. “Good God, I’ve just taken a good look at you! What has happened?”

“While out riding Kathryn and I were attacked by hired thugs. Fortunately, she was unharmed, they were set on getting me.” Jules leaned lazily against the desk, his arms folded across his chest. He knew his brother well; he didn’t want him to get involved.

“Hired! Hired by whom?” Dominic demanded, his face flushed with color.

“Easy, Dom. It is an old nemesis of mine, Sir Edmund Trigge. He was staying nearby, but has now suddenly disappeared.”

“I know Trigge! Regular bounder! Still seen here and there at huge crushes, but definitely on the fringe. Do you wish me to deal with him when I return home?” Dominic asked grimly.

Dominic was older and less hot-headed than Kat’s twin, but still there was a streak of daring easily recognized in his younger brother. In no way would he involve Dominic in this fight.

“Trigge I shall handle in time. Never fear. But more importantly, how are we to prepare Kathryn for her wedding day?” Jules smiled ruefully, but in all truth he felt his pulses quicken. He had made up his mind that day at the Blue Boar Inn to marry Kathryn Thistlewait. But then he had not really known her. Now that he did—”

“Jules … Jules, are you listening to me? Is there no other way? I … I wished you the kind of marriage I have with Juliana.”

There was such concern and compassion in Dominic’s eyes, Jules clasped his brother’s arm. “
Mon
frère,
I want this marriage. I am beginning to think Kathryn is as much my destiny as Juliana is yours.”

Dominic’s face softened as he lowered himself into a deep wing chair. Jules rang for a servant to ask Kathryn to attend him in the library, anxious for his brother to meet his future wife. As soon as Dom saw Kat he would be reassured of his happiness.

Moments later, Kat rushed in, her golden curls tumbling from lilac ribbons that barely held the richness of her hair, and her cheeks were flushed with fresh color. “Jules, are you all right? I’m sorry it took me so long, but I was on the third floor helping Madame Bernair air out bed hangings.”

Dominic had risen upon her entrance, now she turned to acknowledge him. “I am sorry, I did not realize you had a guest.”

“Kathryn, I would like you to meet my half brother, Dominic Crawford, Marquis of Aubrey. He has brought news from home.”

Dominic performed a neat bow and gave her the smile that before his marriage, had littered the English countryside with broken hearts. “Lady Kathryn, I have brought letters and gifts from Lady Tutwilliger and your sister.” He handed her two fat white envelopes. “I believe you should read the letters at once,” he ordered, in a sharper than usual tone.

Frowning, Kat looked to Jules and he nodded. “It would be best if you read them now, Kathryn.”

Although a puzzled crease marred her smooth brow, she sat on a needlepoint chair and slit open the envelope from Lady Tutwilliger.

Jules watched the varied emotions chase one another across her face as she read. She flushed, then she paled, then flushed again. Finally, she raised strickened aquamarine eyes to his face. It was the same imploring look she had given him before.

“Tomorrow?” she whispered.

“Yes,” Dominic answered, his whole stance sterner than was his nature. “I have brought two trunks of bride clothes. I believe they are waiting in your chambers.”

Jules silently signaled Dominic to leave the library. Waiting until the door closed tightly he knelt before her, taking both her cool hands between his palms. They were so close he could see tears welling beneath her long silky lashes and her full lower lip trembled ever so slightly. “I know you never intended to marry me. I am sorry your plan could not suffice, but I promise to do all in my power to make you not regret this marriage.”

“I would ask but one question.” She smiled faintly and, bemused, he leaned closer for she spoke in such soft tones he could barely hear her. “Does our marriage stop you from going where your heart goes?”