Smuggler's Lady (22 page)

Meredith swallowed uncomfortably. It was one thing to be lying here in her present disreputable condition under Damian's gaze, quite another to be seen by his batman. She waited for Damian to dismiss him, but she waited in vain.

Walter set his burden on a small table beside the bed and brought over the candles, positioning them to provide the greatest light. Meredith closed her eyes under a wash of embarrassment as she realized what was going to happen. Walter was the one skilled at doctoring, and it was Walter who would tend to her injury. Rutherford untied the makeshift bandage, easing it away from the wound, which still bled, but sluggishly now. Taking the sword rent in her britches with both hands, he ripped the cloth apart, exposing the length of her thigh from hip to knee. Slipping a hand beneath her hip, he turned her slightly on her side so that the cut, running to the back of her leg, was easily accessible.

Meredith thought she would drown in mortification and squeezed her eyelids tightly on the welling tears. Her only comfort lay in the fact that both men ignored her, whether out of delicacy, she knew not. There was certainly no delicacy in the matter-of-fact way that Walter cleansed the wound. Although she knew that he was being as gentle as he could, the hurt scorched her torn flesh.

“She'll do, Colonel,” Walter pronounced when the sword cut was finally revealed, cleansed of river mud and dried blood. “ 'Tis long, but not deep. A flesh wound only.”

Meredith opened her eyes at this, embarrassment forgotten under the rush of relief. There had been moments when she had had to fight panic, feeling the hot blood pumping between her fingers.

“Lost a deal of blood, though,” Walter continued calmly as if reading her mind. He smeared something cool over the jagged cut before laying a strip of gauze along its length. “Best keep off it for a few days. Don't want it opening up again.” The advice was delivered in the general direction of the wall as if Walter were unsure whether his patient or his master were the appropriate recipient. “Laudanum for the pain,” he added casually, deft hands twisting a linen bandage in overlapping strips over the gauze. “Will that be all, Colonel?” He straightened, picking up the basin of red-dyed, scummy water.

“Thank you, Walter.” Rutherford nodded his satisfaction. “I'll leave you to deal with that other matter then. Good-night.”

“ 'Night, sir—ma'am.” For the first time, the batman met Meredith's eye.

“Good-night, Walter, and thank you.” The smile was feeble, but it was a smile.

The door closed behind Walter. “Let us see what we can do to clean you up.” Rutherford pulled off her stockings, unfastened the ripped britches, and carefully eased them down over the neat but thick bandage. “It is to be hoped that you do not fall victim to the ague,” he remarked, unbuttoning her shirt. “On some other occasion you shall explain to me exactly why it was necessary to immerse your entire body in the brook.” Shirt and camisole joined the britches and socks on the floor. Damian plucked a strand of green weed from between her breasts, his eyebrows raised in a question mark. “I wonder where else you have attracted samples of plant life?”

“You seem to find my predicament monstrous amusing, sir,” Meredith stated with an assumption of dignity.

“Well, at least for the moment you are not on your way to Bodmin and the hangman's noose,” he retorted with unwonted callousness, Merrie thought. “As it happens, I cannot remember when I have been less amused.” A cloth soaked in warm water was drawn over her body, rinsed, and reapplied.

“That is the best I can do for the moment,” Rutherford said. “You should really be put in the bath, but it is too late for that tonight.”

Merrie thought she should do or say something about going home, but her head was suddenly lost in the fragrant folds of a voluminous linen nightshirt. Her arms were thrust into long sleeves that were expertly rolled back to her wrists, a flat palm beneath her bottom lifted her as the gown was pulled down to her ankles and beyond.

The pile of blankets that had protected the mattress and bedding from her soaked clothing was pulled out from beneath her and Merrie found herself ensconced between the sheets of Matthew Mallory's deathbed, enveloped in one of Rutherford's nightshirts, her throbbing leg stretched out stiffly and her aching head resting mercifully on a plump pillow. She swallowed the laudanum without protest, all too aware of her need for it. When he kissed her good-night, preparing to leave her alone and gently stroking the still damp tendrils of hair from her brow, Merrie whispered her request. Damian smiled, stripped off his clothes, and slipped in beside her. She cuddled against him as the opiate began to take effect. He held the suddenly fragile, little body, her head cradled in the crook of his arm until the first gray streaks of dawn appeared in the sky. They had reached a turning point in their affair, and it was one Damian, Lord Rutherford, was determined to put to good use.

Bright sunshine filled the room when Merrie next opened her eyes. Everything was unfamiliar from the contours of the mattress beneath her to the throb of her thigh. She lay for a moment, blinking as if to dispel the disorientation. Memory returned in a rush, and with it the forlorn sense that something was lacking. It took but a minute to realize that her body was missing the warmth of the arms that had held her throughout sleep. She was alone in the big bed but not in the room as she realized when she struggled to sit up.

“Nan!” Meredith stared at the familiar figure who had no business in
this
bedchamber.

Nan turned from the armoire where she appeared to be hanging what looked like one of Merrie's gowns, only, of course, it couldn't be. “So, you're awake, are you?” She bustled over to the bed, her lips set in a disapproving line. “You've really gone and done it this time, girl. If his lordship has saved you from the consequences of that piece of folly, then you are luckier than you deserve.”

“What do you do here, Nan?” Meredith made no attempt to defend herself, needing what energy she had for enterprises that might hold out hope for success.

“I am here to look after you, of course. Although, to be sure, I don't know why I should take the trouble. I'll fetch you some tea. That nice Sergeant Walter just brought up a tray.”

Meredith began to wonder if she were going quite mad. How could she and Nan take up residence in Rutherford's bedchamber, needing tea and food and hot water, without the Perrys knowing about it? And if they knew ... The opening door interrupted this confusing chain of thought.

“How is she, Nan?” It was Rutherford's voice, light and charming, addressing the elderly woman as if he had known her all his life.

“Take a look for yourself, my lord. She's awake at least,” Nan replied with easy familiarity.

Damian came over to the bed, smiling. “Good morning, my little adventuress.” He laid a hand on her brow, then looked anxiously at Nan. The skin beneath his fingers was hot.

“Don't you put yourself in a pucker, my lord,” Nan reassured. “It's only to be expected. A quiet day in bed and it'll be down by this evening, you mark my words.”

“But I cannot stay here in bed all day!” Merrie wailed, pushing the covers away impatiently. “I must go home at once—”

Damian caught her hards in a hard grip, silencing with a stern look the voice that was beginning to rise alarmingly. “I told you last night that I hold the reins,” he said evenly. “If you attempt to take the bit between your teeth, Merrie Trelawney, you will answer to me.”

Meredith, to her own disgust and Damian's consternation, burst into tears.

“Let her cry it out,” Nan advised placidly. “Overwrought she is, and more than a little weak, I'll be bound. But that doesn't mean you're to give in to her, my lord. She's a deal too hot to hand, and who'd know better than me, nursing her from her cradle?”

Damian seriously doubted the wisdom of talking in this fashion in front of the subject, whose head at the moment was clasped to his chest.

“But I do not understand what is happening.” Merrie snuffled plaintively. “Why is Nan here and how did she come? Everyone at Pendennis will be wondering where I am, and the Perrys—”

“The Perrys, my love, have not the slightest idea that you are here.” Rutherford broke into the catalogue of dismay. “They have no interest in anything that is not directly related to their own well-being. Now, sit up and drink your tea. See, Nan has it here.” He coaxed her back against the pillows and held the cup to her lips.

“I am not a baby,” Meredith sniffed, taking the cup for herself, “although I could not blame you for thinking it. Neither am I in the way of enacting Cheltenham tragedies.”

Damian laughed. “I do not doubt it. You are weak and overwrought as Nan said.” Had he been tempted to repeat the third item in Nan's description, a certain glint in Merrie's eye would have warned him to be silent. “Now, Nan is going to help you with your bath, then you may put on your own nightgown, which I am sure you will find more comfortable than the one you wear now.” His eyes twinkled. “When you have had some breakfast and are back in bed, there are some things we must talk about, I will then answer all your questions.”

The invalid offered no further protests, having the strong conviction that they would be of little use. With as good a grace as she could muster, she submitted to Nan's ministrations. The bath was an awkward process since she must keep the bandaged leg dry, and nothing was helped by Nan's dire mutterings.

It was as plain to Nan as the nose on her face that her nursling was engaged in a degree of intimacy with Lord Rutherford that transgressed all the rules. She did not scruple to say as much, all the while scrubbing, soaping, and rinsing. Meredith, however, was aware that this scandalous aspect of her behavior concerned Nan much less than did last night's narrow escape. Nan was a country woman with feet firmly planted on the ground. Young girls, widowed when they stood on the threshold of life, should not be doomed to chastity for their remaining years. Those same young girls, however, had no right to risk life and limb to satisfy an unnatural urge for adventure. It was one thing to join discreetly with the Gentlemen in the interests of repairing the damage done by her late husband, quite another to court danger as if there were no one in the world to be affected by it. She hadn't given a thought to those boys, of course. What would have happened to them, the brothers of a hanged smuggler?

It was a most downcast and subdued Meredith, neat and clean in a demure white nightgown, hair freshly washed, that Damian found half an hour later. She gave him a speaking look and put out her tongue at Nan's averted back. Rutherford grinned. “Would you mind leaving us for a while, Nan?” he asked politely. “You will find the next-door chamber quite comfortable, I believe. Walter has made some preparations.”

“I can do my mending there as easily as here.” Placidly, Nan gathered up a sewing box.

Meredith heaved a sigh of relief as the door closed behind her nurse. “It was most unkind in you to leave me alone with Nan, my lord. I have been so scolded and scrubbed that I swear my spirit is scraped as raw as my skin.”

“I confess that I had rather hoped to find you sufficiently chastened to hear me out without interruption.” Frowning, he touched the tip of her nose with a long forefinger. “It has to stop now, Merrie. You know that, do you not?”

“If the run was successful last night, then there will be a delivery to be made,” she objected.

“You are deliberately trying to anger me! You
know
this smuggling must stop—at least until Lieutenant Oliver loses his enthusiasm for a lost cause. You cannot expose your partners to further danger even if you will not take common-sense precautions for yourself.” He stood up abruptly. “Do not force me to lose all patience with you, Meredith. I am well aware that you are not stupid, for all that you are reckless and obstinate. Will you now admit the truth?”

Merrie sighed, plucking restlessly at the coverlet. “It is so hard to give it up. I am so close, Damian. You cannot understand what torment it will be to have the means within my grasp and be unable to use them. Another six months—a year at the outside—and I shall have redeemed all the mortgages, paid off the last debt.” When he said nothing and simply looked at her in weary patience, Merrie finally gave in. The nod of her head was barely perceptible, but it was enough to flood Rutherford with relief.

“I do not know how I shall pass the time, though,” she said somewhat pettishly. “I shall die of ennui.”

“I have a solution for that,” he responded quietly. “Marry me, and I will promise you all the excitement you could wish for.”

“Yes, I can imagine,” she countered swiftly. “Learning to force myself into the mold of a duchess would be monstrous exciting, I am sure—much enlivened by running the gauntlet of your family. And only think how exciting it will be when you discover that a wayward Cornishwoman is an impossible wife for a Keighley.”

“A wayward Cornishwoman is the only wife I want,” he said in level tones that belied the hurt frustration in the gray eyes.

Meredith looked at him with a sudden speculative gleam. “I have always wished to visit London,” she mused, pushing back the cuticles of her left hand with a frown of concentration. “The boys will return to school at the beginning of September. Time will hang heavy on my hands for three months without Rob and Theo to plague me and with no other diversions.”

“What is it that you are suggesting?” Something about the sudden tension in her body, the mischief lurking behind the innocent-seeming voice, the way she kept her eyes fixed on her fingernails sent ripples of unease down his back.

“Why, sir, only that if you were to offer me a carte blanche until—Christmas, shall we say?—I might well be induced to accept your protection.”

He kept his hands off her with the exercise of supreme self-control. She dared to suggest that he set her up in London as his mistress so that she could while away the idle autumn months! She would not be his wife, but she would agree to be his mistress! Then, through his anger a thought glimmered. Maybe he could play it her way and beat her at her own game. She was such a duplicitous little wretch, she should not complain if her own weapons were used against her.

“What say you, my lord?” He thought he could detect just the hint of laughter behind the demure accents. “Or perhaps you already have a mistress in London?”

“No, as it happens, I do not,” he said drily. “Your suggestion has some merit, I think.” He was amply rewarded when her head shot up and the sloe eyes stared, wide with amazement. “I have but one stipulation.”

Meredith moistened her lips, recognizing how adroitly he had turned the tables. Wicked impulse had prompted her suggestion, that and the desire to end all further talk of marriage. Not for one minute had she expected agreement. “What is that, sir?” she bravely asked.

“Simply that you agree to accept without question the arrangements I shall make and the conditions I lay down for conducting this matter. I shall make every effort to ensure your comfort as is customary in these affairs.” His accompanying smile carried the worldly wisdom of one well up to snuff in such a business.

Meredith bit her lip. “I would not wish to be a charge upon you, Rutherford.”

“Oh, come now,” he said dismissively. “It was a carte blanche you suggested, my dear girl. And it is a carte blanche that I will agree to, subject to that single stipulation.”

Merrie was out of her depth and had only herself to blame. There had been no need to jump into such deep waters, but then she was always doing so. Accepting a carte blanche meant, by definition, that she accept Rutherford's protection and that included his paying all her expenditures. She would not, though, need to be expensive. Some little house in an unfashionable part of town would be quite appropriate and surely very cheap. She could take Nan, and they could manage perfectly well with one servant girl and a man for the heavy work. Entertainment would not be costly; she would be quite happy with simple things like exploring the town that she had always had an ambition to see. Besides, if she were to fulfill her obligations of the carte blanche, most of her entertainment would be at home. That thought brought a saucy gleam to her eye. Three months with Damian and no distractions. No need to hide from prying eyes, to creep around by secret passages, making love in caves. There had been much pleasure and excitement in their clandestine assignations and the hoodwinking of her neighbors, but it would be wonderful to love openly. No one would know who she was in London, and she could use an assumed name to be doubly certain. Taking her as his mistress would do Damian no social harm, unlike marriage.

She had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Merrie was under no illusions as to what her long-term future held—marriage to some local squire once the smuggling had achieved its purpose and she could again become a law-abiding citizen; or a reclusive widowhood where she must live on her memories. What was there to prevent her taking three months and living them illicitly but to the full? She loved Damian, Lord Rutherford, as she knew she would never love again. Since she could not, for his sake, be his wife, then she would be his mistress for as long as the opportunity was there.

Damian watched her closely during the long moments of cogitation. He could make a fairly accurate guess at the trend of her thoughts and could not help an internal smile at the thought of how she would react to
his
plans. But by then she would be committed to a promise to which he would hold her as ruthlessly as necessary.

“Well, Lady Blake,” he prompted. “How do you answer me?”

She raised her eyes and he saw then the roguish gleam. “Why, sir, most gratefully. I will accept both your protection and your stipulation. I can only hope that I prove worthy of such an honor.”

“I wonder if we shall manage three months without my committing murder,” Damian said in a considered serious tone. “My hand in marriage you reject, yet you doubt your worthiness to accept my protection.”

“Ah, but one is a business contract with clear obligations on both sides,” she informed him. “The other confers upon you the honor of giving while allowing me only to accept.”

“I do not think I shall manage one month, let alone three,” Damian observed equably. “But it would perhaps be a fitting irony if it were I who swung from the hangman's rope for the untimely demise of a smuggler.”

Meredith's peal of laughter was hastily suppressed at the thought of the Perrys, but she rocked with bitten-back giggles as he wrapped her in his arms, sealing their bargain with a kiss that made her regret her wounded leg more than anything had done so far.