The King of Threadneedle Street (30 page)

“Then do it, Lisa. I will watch with you.” Andrew made his way to a chair and dropped into it, then swooned. He miserably eyed a bowl on the table and tucked it into his lap. “Proceed. Don’t mind me.”

With his head resting against the wing of the chair, he watched with hooded eyes as she prepared the compress without diluting any of the ingredients. He snorted and gagged in protest at the smell, which was indisputably horrible, then retched. She traded him for a clean bowl.

Alysia stoked the fire and closed the window. She left the pot boiling on the fire to keep steam in the air. The compress worked instantly. Christian coughed and wheezed, tossing his head as he tried to breathe. Alysia turned him on his side and struck his back between the shoulders. At first she wondered if she had made a mistake; Christian’s entire frame shook, the coughing racking his poor body. Just when she thought he might get a clear breath, he gagged and choked. It became a frantic battle of helping Christian clear his lungs then his throat.

She had no idea how long it lasted, but finally the coughing abated and Christian lay shaking and wheezing on his side. She stroked his hair and murmured in a low voice until he calmed. Alysia went to change the linen under his head and was relieved and satisfied to see that he had coughed up what she knew was infected mucus, thankfully not tinged with much blood. His breathing already sounded better. The rattling sound was gone.

Andrew smiled weakly from the chair and she returned a victorious smile. Then she noticed he had grown worse. His skin was damp and deathly pale. His hands trembled, his whole body shivered, and he moved slowly as though the slightest motion pained him. She brewed another concoction, this time for Andrew.

He turned his head when she put the cup to his lips, insisting, “Mmm fine.”

“Darling, you look like death.”

“Stinks.”

“I know. Would you do it for a kiss?”

He closed his eyes and over-puckered. Ridiculous. She sighed, in no mood to laugh, but that silly face was straight out of her memories, and she couldn’t help but smile. She pecked him on the cheek. He grunted in protest.

Straddling his lap, she gripped his jaw, pinching his lips apart. “Don’t be a coward, Drew. It’s only honey, lemon, camphor, and a finger of whiskey for the pain.” She omitted telling him the other herbs in the brew. “Down the hatch, darling.” He finally drank it.

A quarter hour later, his stomach quit heaving, his shaking stopped, and best of all, he quit protesting her nursing.

Christian needed two more of the foul-smelling treatments for his lungs, but when he finally slipped into a quiet slumber just before dawn, Alysia nearly fainted with relief; the fever broke, and he was breathing. It sounded nearly normal. Andrew fell asleep in his chair. She gathered the soiled linen and burned it, washed the room, then collapsed at the bottom of the bed in time to see dawn break.

She blinked awake to the sound of an unfamiliar male voice, and — Christian’s raspy chattering? She startled and sat up. Christian reclined against the pillows. He looked terrible, but he was conscious and he was
alive.

“Chris!” She reached to cradle his face in her hand. He smiled back but seemed sheepish. Andrew, looking marginally better, was also awake and watching them, along with another man who could only be Mr. Greyes the surgeon.

“Lady Alysia, I presume,” he said kindly with a nod as she rose from the bed and smoothed her rumpled skirt. Her eyelids hurt, and she struggled to keep them open.

“Alysia, Mr. Greyes. Mr. Greyes, Lady Alysia Villier,” Andrew introduced in a gravelly voice. She glanced around the room, unsure of what to say, feeling like she had woken in the middle of a Siamese market instead of a quiet bedroom.

“Lord Preston explained it all, including your heroics. You did well, my lady.”

She resisted the urge to sigh in relief.

“Surely Lord and Lady Courtenay will want to thank you themselves, but I am also grateful to arrive and find my patient in tolerable condition.”

She stole a look sideways at Andrew. It wouldn’t be a good idea for her to be here when his parents arrived. “On the contrary, Mr. Greyes, it is best to omit the detail of my presence to Lord and Lady Courtenay, if you don’t mind. I will be going now that you have arrived.”

Mr. Greyes traded glances with Andrew, who turned to scowl at her. “Nonsense, Lisa. We must determine you won’t fall ill yourself. And I wish for you to stay.”

She wished he hadn’t said it that way, so obviously sentimental, because now Mr. Greyes looked between her and Andrew. Good heavens. Was it so obvious? The surgeon’s pursed lips and raised eyebrows said that indeed it was.

Once she excused herself from the room, it wasn’t so simple to find any of Andrew’s staff in the myriad stairways, towers, and galleries, let alone anyone who knew where her valise had been placed. Alysia finally found her room and collapsed on the bed, still fully dressed, with the intention of waking sometime in the next month.

****

Alysia blinked awake. Andrew’s hushed voice sounded inches from her ear. Her hand flew to her throat as she choked on a startled shout. She sat up in the dark. Faint light from the waning moon cast the room in dull silver. The crisp air and dead silence in the house meant it was the middle of the night.

Andrew’s hand closed over her shoulder. “Lisa. Come out with me.”

She cleared her groggy head and noticed the rhythm of steady rain on the windows. “Andrew? What are you doing in here?”

“The last storm of the summer is here. Come out in the rain with me.”

“Drew, you shouldn’t be in my room.” She pulled the counterpane to her shoulders and scowled at him in the dark.

His hand slid from her shoulder, trailing down her arm until he took her hand, making her shudder.

“It’s a warm rain, no wind. You have been cooped up for three days.” He pulled on her hand, and she tugged back. “If you are not ill by now the risk has passed. So come.”

“No.”

“Difficult woman.” He leaned forward and scooped her up in his arms. Alysia stifled a gasp as he draped her over his shoulder and strode from the room like a pirate making off with a wench. If she made a fuss it would alert the household. She couldn’t decide if that was worse than being alone with Andrew.

She protested with a hard pinch on his back. He complained with a grunt and swatted her backside. She twisted and bucked, and must have put up a fair fight. Andrew teetered, cursing, then turned her to cradle in his arms, clutching her against his chest.

“I followed you to Paris and Austria. I would follow you to the ends of the earth. Finally you came to me, and I am
not
letting you go.”

“I thought you were dying.”

“Must I do it again?”

“Andrew, I can’t stay. If Phi— Captain Cavendish doesn’t arrive by noon to fetch me, I shall go by post.”

He reached the west door and opened the latch one-handed. Outside it was as he said — no wind, only gentle rain. He set Alysia on her feet but kept her hand, sliding his fingers in between hers.

He looked out over the expanse of his property. Alysia thought it was a lovely and grand estate, or at least showed the promise of becoming so. A wistful twinge reminded her it was partly her fault this was all Andrew had left.

“Cavendish will not come. I confess I intercepted your letter, Lisa. None of my staff will aid your escape, either. I suppose that makes you my prisoner.” He smiled and bounced his brows, his opaque eyes glinting.

Andrew’s manipulations had ceased to surprise her. She kept her reaction inward, closing her eyes and sighing. He pulled her away from the cover of the eave and into the rain. He looked up at the dark sky and shook the hair away from his forehead.

“If I must walk back to Rougemont, I will do it, Andrew. I refuse to be present when your parents arrive.”

“No, I don’t think so. It is too close.” With his face upturned and his arms held out, he looked wild and magical, as though he communed with the forces of nature. He retained his firm grip on her hand.

“Too close?”

He led her out past the bailey and along a wooded path. He had already paved it with river stone.

“Hmm, yes,” he answered belatedly. He examined the bough of a fir tree, which she found odd considering the dark. “It is coming together after all.”

“Must I strangle it out of you? What is going on, Andrew?”

He strolled farther down the path, pulling her along. “You are the reason for the scheme, so I might as well tell you.” He chuckled, a delighted boyish sound.

“Scheme?” Alysia groaned. “Andrew, no more,
please
. It is over. You are ruined, I am ruined. What about that is not plain to you?”

“It was convincing, was it not? And for a while I worried I had gone too far. But you came back to me.”

She sensed a near-maniacal edge to him; he simmered with energy but his manner was so subdued it left her puzzled. The path rounded a corner to reveal the old guest house. Lit lamp posts lined the drive, the warm light blurring in the drizzled rain. Alysia was surprised to see the plaster restored and the windows replaced. The old growth had been cleared out of the courtyard, and neat rows of rose bushes and young ivy framed the house.

Andrew opened the courtyard gate and led her through. Their clothes clung to their skin and water dripped from their faces. He pulled her into a closed dance position and rested his chin at her temple. His thigh brushed the inside of hers in a step backward, beginning a silent waltz. Only Andrew would be impervious to her soaked nightgown and bare feet.

“Do you remember waking together in Paris? I could smell you on my skin all day.” He buried his nose in her hair and sighed.

“I think I like
this
scent even better, mixed with the rain. It reminds me of the first time I kissed you, in our cave. Do you remember it, Lisa?”

“Oh that? I had forgotten until you reminded me.”

He spanked her backside again, hard enough to smart. “Liar.”

Andrew nudged her on the back, sending her into a twirl, then paused. His mood abruptly serious, he reached for her jaw and held her face. His deeply set eyes were onyx reflecting flames from the lamps. He backed her into the courtyard wall, trapping her. His mouth claimed hers, all the tumult in his eyes a moment ago now communicated in his kiss. It was far from gentlemanly and the opposite of tender. Possessive. Soul-felt.

At her shudder, he broke away, seeing tears she couldn’t control mingling with the rain. It was pent-up worry over his and Christian’s illnesses, and a bone-deep weariness from three years of longing and regret. He pressed the palm of his hand to her throat, feeling her pulse.

His fingers stroked her neck from ear to collar, coaxing her to be calm although he held her pinned against the wall with his body. She didn’t understand why he turned his head and looked up toward the second floor windows until she caught sight of a woman with loose honey-colored hair and a frilly robe turning away from the curtains.

Alysia’s heart sank as she realized Andrew’s fiancée had been watching them from her room in the guest house. She would have seen their impromptu waltz and Andrew’s passionate, indecent kiss. That he had glanced up at that moment meant it was all on purpose — he had staged it.

The rain waned to a gentle patter, as though the moisture evaporated in the sudden heat of her temper.

“I must confess to you now, Alysia, and I beg you to consider all of it before passing judgment. You must first know that every part of it was for you.”

Alysia shook her head slowly, resigned.

“Lisa, if I found a way, would you marry me without a penny to my name? Live in an old house as a painter while I work as a farmer? Would you do it?”

“Andrew.” She shut her eyes against his too-intense gaze. “Whatever scheme you are hatching, stop.”

“Lady Langton is quite out of the picture, Lisa. Forget her. I already have.” Andrew smoothed stray stands of hair out of her face and stroked her cheekbones with his thumbs. “Please answer me. Would you have me if I were a poor farmer?”

“Yes. No. Andrew, what is this about?”

“Answer me! I need to know.”

“I don’t care about your stupid money, and I don’t like how it has changed you. But if you were to abase yourself on my behalf, I would never forgive you.” She reached for his face, and he leaned into her hand. “That isn’t love, Andrew. That is selfishness.”

She wasn’t prepared when he pinned her against the wall with another rough kiss, his arms cushioning her against the stone. Then he broke the kiss to toss his head back and laugh into the sprinkling of rain. “Again you please me, Alysia. Very much.”

His eyes flashed, and he blurted, “It was a hoax, the funds collapsing.” He gave a short laugh. “It’s all there, every farthing. Always was. More of it in fact, after the profit with the shipping company materialized. In the forty percents, if you can believe it.”

“
What?
” Alysia nearly shrieked. Her reaction was an impulse to beat him hard in the chest, but he still had her caged.

“Wil and Cavendish and a few of the others agreed to let me liquidate the funds and cover them in the shipping company. We knew it would be reported as a collapse when such large sums went missing, and they agreed to let it play out in the papers.”

Alysia shoved hard against his chest, and he let her escape. “You mean…” She heaved, feeling her blood heat to boiling. “You were
never ruined
? And you didn’t lose the six hundred fifty thousand pounds?”

“No, of course not!” He sounded indignant. “And that was less than a quarter of my cash holdings. In assets alone, I—” He lowered his voice, “I net over thirteen million, Lisa. That was pin money. And your fortune is secure as well. Cheers.”

Her head spun. His voice seemed to come from far away. She was supposed to reverse the past year, just like that? Every miserable, worry-ridden month, day, minute?

“Well, I donated the profits to charity — my share, at least. Lord Devon’s United Soldier’s Fund. For orphans and schooling, and even prosthetic limbs, and such. It seemed the right thing to do, considering those daft investors who lost val—” He paused, taking in her expression, and furrowed his brows. “Honestly, love, how could you believe I would fail at my own game?”