Seductive Wager (18 page)

“Let me alone,” Brett grumbled. “Unless Charles has become less efficient than When I hired him, there’s a doctor on his way here this very minute. By the time he’s through cutting the bullet out, I should be unconscious again. Then you can fuss all you want, and I’ll not stop you.”

Kate felt his brow. “How do you feel? Are you in much pain?”

Brett opened his eyes. “I
had
thought you were an intelligent girl, but that question makes me wonder. My Shoulder hurts like hell, I feel like someone’s been driving a coach over me for days, and I still have to look forward to being mauled by some jackass and forced to swallow medicine that tastes like it was drained from a dunghill. And if that’s not enough, hell probably bleed me just to make sure I won’t be strong enough to toss about in my sleep.” He closed his eyes again. “Other than those trifling complaints, I feel rather well.”

Kate straightened up. “You’re the most ill-tempered man I’ve ever met. I’ve a good mind to let the doctor cut you to pieces.”

Brett didn’t open his eyes, but a faint smile played across his lips. “You can retire to your room and wring your hands. I’m sure Valentine will be glad to take your place. She’s always had a soft spot for me.”

Kate swelled with wrath. “How dare you prefer that painted witch to me. She’s probably kept Company with half the rakes and hellions in Paris.”

“Nearly all of them. She ran the best whorehouse in France. Paris hasn’t been the same since she retired.”

Brett’s words left Kate speechless, but before she could tell him how closely he resembled something found under a rock, the door opened a crack and the painted face in question peeped around the corner. The sound of laughter had convinced Valentine that whatever was wrong with Brett, at least he was not dead. Curiosity conquered fear, and when Valentine peeped in and saw Brett calmly talking to Kate, she surged into the room, wreathed in smiles and enjoying a hearty chuckle at her own expense.

“Mauvais gar
on.
You are not nice to shame me so before your friends. You know I have no courage and flee like the rabbit. What will they think of me?” She indicated Kate by a gesture of her hand. “That one, with the face of an angel, she thinks I am nothing but an old
fille de joie.
She is wondering why you come to this house of an
entremetteuse?”
She looked at Kate again. “Because I love the naughty monsieur like an old cheese.
Hélas,
if I were but thirty years younger, even twenty, I would cut you out,
chérie.”
Kate blushed scarlet and directed a look of suppressed rage at Brett. Valentine only laughed.

“I know your story of the cousin going to stay with the aunt. Ha! Am I the complete fool? Am I blind? You can not fool old Valentine, but I will not give you away. You might be forty cousins, but you are crazy about him, too, and you can not wait to take him away from here. How you would love to see me dead,
n’est-ce pas?
Valentine understands the knife’s edge of jealousy.” She pantomimed a knife thrust to the throat in the best melodramatic style.
“La mort!”
she murmured and pretended to collapse. Suddenly her delighted giggles filled the room. Kate wished the earth would open up and swallow her. Her chagrin was almost past enduring.

Abruptly Valentine became serious and took Kate’s face in her hands, scanning every feature with an experienced and critical eye.
“Oui,”
she sighed reluctantly,
“vous étes trés belle,
even more beautiful than I was. That is a great compliment because I was very beautiful. I had half of Paris at my feet and the other half at my throat.” She chuckled again. “Valentine will tease you no more. I hear someone in the front hall. Maybe it is
le docteur.
I shall see.” She paused at the door and turned back to Kate. “Do not worry,” she said in a kind voice. “We will take very good care of monsieur, better than someplace where they do not love him.”

Kate labored under the stress of so many conflicting emotions she was unable to think of any way to express the disarray that reigned in her mind. Brett watched her with a curious questioning glance.

Valentine returned almost immediately with Dr. Burton. He was a thin man of about seventy years, his aristocratic face deeply lined and his hair white and thin, but he moved with surprising vitality and his eyes were alive and intelligent. He went straight to the patient.

“Good work,” he said when he saw the bandage. “It probably kept him from bleeding to death. Shame to have to cut it off.” Brett was delighted to see Kate made uncomfortable by the doctor’s praise.

“You women clear out and bring me a basin of hot water and a sponge,” he said, taking out his scissors. “I have enough lint for one bandage, but you’re going to need a lot more. Better set someone about it right away. You can stay,” he said, pointing to Charles. “I’ll need someone to help move him, and if that young man in the hall is still loitering about, send him in. He can be off to the chemist. Things are going to get worse before they get better.”

Kate blanched. “I’d like to stay if I might,” she said tremulously. “I’ll try to keep out of the way.”

“No.” Dr. Burton was emphatic. “I won’t have you fainting while I’m trying to get this bullet out.”

Kate wanted to protest that she hadn’t fainted when he was shot, that she had kept him alive through the night, but Valentine took her by the hand and led her to the door. “You can come back when I’m finished,” the doctor relented. “Hell be cleaned up and easier on the eyes. I suggest you get settled while you’ve got the chance. He’s going to need careful nursing during the next few days. That’s when you can do the most for him.” He turned back to his work, and Kate left with a sinking heart.

“Come along,
ma petite.
I will take you to your room. You put your things away, and I will make some of that tea you English like so much.” She made a face. “So sweet. Why do you not drink wine? Oh well, heaven can not be everywhere.” On that Philosophic note she preceded Kate to a door at the end of the passage which opened into a large, cheerful room.

“Tell me if you want anything more. Your breakfast will arrive as soon as my lazy girls get it ready,” Valentine added. “And do not tell me you will eat nothing. You must eat while you have the time.” She smiled kindly. “He will be fine,
ma chérie,
just fine.” She went off to see about the tea and breakfast.

Kate picked up her valise and tossed it on the bed. It seemed she wasn’t going to be allowed to do anything for Brett. They might, she thought petulantly, allow her to bring him his medicine if she were a good girl. She yanked the valise open and frowned as she laid out her clothes. Everything was badly wrinkled and would have to be ironed before she could wear it.

How dare that old crone say she was crazy about Brett. She was
concerned
about him naturally, but she’d rather be crazy about a goat than Brett Westbrook. He had taken her honor, and instead of making a decent show of regret, he’d said he’d like to do it again. Kate could not think of that night without blushing, and her cheeks glowed warm and pink with the memory of those passion-filled moments. Try as she might, she could not erase them from her memory any more than she could sustain her anger at Brett no matter how badly he had used her.

Now, after all his promises to take her to London, she was trapped in some obscure village on the northern coast of France. Well, running away from him should be easy this time because he was in no condition to come after her. It might take a little planning, but she could be halfway to London before they even missed her.

She couldn’t understand why that thought should suddenly make her feel like crying. She had never been one to give way to tears, not even when Martin’s persecution of her was at its worst. She was no match for him physically, but she certainly could use her tongue. Now her defenses were falling apart. Maybe it would be best for everyone if she went away. No one had time for a female who was constantly in tears over the cards Fate had dealt her. She winced at the allusion.

She sniffed out loud, but instead of breaking down completely, the sound of her own misery stiffened her resolve and she determined the Situation would not defeat her. After she had eaten her breakfast and consulted with the doctor, she was going to sit down and not get up until she had come up with a definite plan. She was not going to allow Brett Westbrook, or capricious Fortune, to decide her future.

“Voilà,”
Valentine announced, unceremoniously bursting into the room and banishing Kate’s gloomy mood with abundant good cheer. “Do not say Valentine does not care for her guests,” she said, setting down a pot of steaming hot tea. “Do I give tea to anyone else? Yes, but not happily. Do I bring it myself?
Jamais!”
But then she infuriated Kate by opening her wardrobe and drawers so she could inspect the startled girl’s clothes.

“You English do not know how to dress,” Valentine declared, disgusted with what she found. “You do not cherish your clothes. To you they are just things to cover your nakedness. They should be like something alive, something that brings new life to you each time you wear them, something to make you feel like someone you have never been before. But these …” She made a gesture of contempt. “They deserve to die.”

“If I could dress you for one season, one month even, Paris would talk of you for years. But not in these rags! Bah!” She slammed the wardrobe shut. “They keep you warm, eh? They protect your modesty? So would a sack.” Kate suffered an agony of embarrassment, but Valentine wasn’t through yet.

“And the men, do they hover around you like butterflies at a flower?” She waited imperiously for an answer.

“I have never been to a city or attended any parties,” Kate managed to mumble. “I made all my clothes, and for the last four years I’ve seen no man except my brother.”

Valentine’s mouth dropped open and her eyes threatened to pop out of her head.
“C’est vrai?
This is true? You do not tell Valentine the little fib?” Kate shook her head.
“Incroyable!
Can it be possible that even in a country so stupid as England such a thing can happen?
Ma pauvre petite.
I talk to Brett. He will take you to Paris, and Valentine will come to see he does not hide you away for himself.” An irrepressible chuckle escaped her. “He is very naughty, that one. It would be too bad if he were to gobble you up.”

“Ah,” Valentine sighed in a suddenly altered voice, “to be young and in Paris in the spring is the greatest happiness one can know. The soul is born for the first time, and love lives as delicately as the fragrance of the blossoming cherries.” Bit by bit, Valentine’s animation was replaced by a look of quiet rapture.

“One morning you wake with a shiver of anticipation, a feeling that today something truly wonderful will happen. You float on the lightest of clouds until suddenly he is there. You know each other at once, and in that moment you experience complete happiness. Love fills your heart and lifts you to heights you never dreamed possible until, like Icarus, you fall to earth charred by the heat of your passion. The pain of parting is very bitter, but in the winter of life you will recall the glorious spring of your awakening, and know you have been loved as few others have.”

The gossamer threads of her memories tore silently, and Valentine smiled unhappily. “To grow old is a thing most sad, but it is better if the youth has not been wasted.” Kate felt a sympathetic pang for this magnificent ruin.

“But enough of me,” Valentine said briskly. “We must decide what to do about our Brett.” Just then, one of the maids came to say the doctor wanted to talk to them.

“Tell him to come in here,” Valentine commanded, fixing the maid with a remonstrating glare. “Mademoiselle is having her tea, and waiting most patiently for her breakfast.”

The flustered maid stammered that it wasn’t her fault, that the cook hadn’t finished the breakfast, but Valentine drove her from the room with Orders to deliver breakfast and the doctor without any more excuses.

“They can do nothing by themselves,” she complained. “I work to train them, and then they run off and I am back where I started. It is enough to make me go back to Paris. At least there the girls come equipped for their work.” Her eyes brimmed with merriment as she watched the blood rush to Kate’s face. “All I had to do was stand at the door and collect the money.”

Kate knew Valentine had said that just to make her blush. How could the old crone talk about being a madam as though it were nothing more than being an innkeeper? No matter how badly Valentine thought of them, no Englishman would have dared to mention the subject in the presence of a lady, much less joke about it. Kate choked back her chagrin, but before she could think of a reply, the maid returned with both the doctor and her breakfast.