Desire Me Always (15 page)

Nick needed her. Now more than ever.

And if there was anything Amelia hated more than being helpless, it was being useless. Nick didn't move through the whole ordeal; he lay on the bed, as motionless as her brother had been on the slab of cement at the morgue. She banished the thought as quickly as it came. That would not be Nick's fate, not as long as she lived.

She leaned closer to him and took his hand. While there was little she could do to help in pulling out the bullet, she could provide a presence for her husband. Landon nodded his head, and the small act gave her strength.

“
Les forceps
, Adele,” Miss Lily said, extending her open palm toward her daughter.

The healer stuck the long metal instrument into the hole in Nick's shoulder, opening up the tongs as she worked her way deeper. Amelia breathed slowly through her mouth and watched with morbid fascination as the healer rooted around for the object she needed to retrieve.

“Voilà,”
Miss Lily said, her hand working in small movements as she tried to grasp the object. “Get the linens ready, Adele. He's going to bleed like a stuck pig when I pull out the bullet.”

The healer's daughter stood at the ready, a stack of linens in her hand. Amelia squeezed Nick's hands harder, knowing that if he should wake during the procedure—as happenstance knew no other time than the moment you least wanted something to occur—she would have to help hold him down. Amelia looked toward Landon; his expression was stern, his hold firm. She hoped it was enough.

They all seemed to wait with bated breath as Miss Lily closed her eyes and focused on what she was feeling through the forceps.

“You see, you need a good grasp before you pull it out. We wouldn't want to leave anything behind.” The healer stopped, her focus intense, one hand raised, with her forefinger pointing toward her daughter. “Adele, the spirits.”

The girl retrieved a small amber-colored bottle from the bag she'd brought with her. Miss Lily unstopped the cork from the glass container with her teeth and spit it onto the floor.

Everything that happened next transpired so fast, Amelia couldn't say what actually occurred.

The healer's hand tugged hard away from Nick; a small piece of metal glistened red and oozy between the metal forceps. Adele held out a small bowl; the bullet landed in it like a penny dropped in a tin.

The familiar scent of whiskey wafted up from the liquid as it was poured over the wound.

“Now, Adele,” the milliner said.

The young girl rushed forward with the linens and pressed them to the enlarged hole in his arm, leaning all her weight into it. The edges of the material quickly soaked up the blood that pumped out of the wound, but it seemed as though the fabric staunched the flow.

Amelia breathed a sigh of relief, even though Nick's journey out of the dark wood had just started. The girl looked to Amelia, a kind expression in her eyes.

“I can hold it, if you have something else you need to do.” Amelia placed her hand over the material.

“You cannot just hold it,” Adele said. “You must press hard into it, with all your weight.”

“As if my very life depended upon it, I will not let up for even a moment,” Amelia said and moved around to her husband's side, next to Adele.

Landon loosened his grip, Nick didn't need to be held down anymore; he didn't seem to be waking.

“I'm surprised he didn't rouse,” Amelia said.

“He lost too much blood,” said Miss Lily. “If he doesn't come down with a fever tonight, he will wake when his body replenishes all the blood he has lost.”

“Thank you,” Amelia said. “There is no amount of money or gratitude I can give you that will ever be enough for what you have done.”

“Don't thank me yet. Your husband has a long road ahead of him.”

Amelia climbed up onto the bed, her hand never wavering where it held down the linens.

“You have lived through worse,” she whispered to her husband, though she was sure everyone heard her. She didn't care. It needed to be said. So much needed to be said. “We are not yet finished with our argument, and I will not let you off so easily.”

The door opened and closed, the proprietor's wife leaving. Amelia recalled the woman refreshing the water in the washstand. She'd said nothing, just acted, provided her services, and left without so much as a word to everyone around her. She was amazing. They all were incredible. Amelia would visit the innkeeper's wife shortly and give her private thanks. Right now, she couldn't bring herself to leave Nick's side.

And to think they had parted with harsh words.

Never again
, she vowed.

Never again.

Miss Lily poured water into the dish that held the bullet. She swished it around, turning the water red. She picked up the bullet between a smaller set of forceps and held it up close to the flame of a candle.

“Is it whole?” Landon asked.

“It appears to be.”

Amelia didn't miss Landon's sigh of relief. The room collectively seemed more relieved.

Landon took Amelia's hand in his own. “I'll call on my wife to check in on you. I'll need to send letters out about this.”

Amelia nodded, a little numb by the events of the afternoon. It was coming up to dark, so they'd been here for some time, even though it had felt like a short while.

“When will I see you next?” she asked Landon.

“Soon. I won't leave you alone through this. Let me send out word. Huxley will likely be up shortly.”

Amelia was surprised Huxley wasn't already here. What had kept him away? He was always nearby when Nick seemed to need him most.

Landon was gone before she could voice that concern, and she was left with the healer and her daughter.

“Why are you a milliner if you can heal?”

Miss Lily smiled a little as she approached with a long strip of material and fresh wads of linen. “I trained as a midwife.”

“Yet you became a seamstress.”

“There was little work for midwives where I was from. I needed to support my family, and that wasn't the way to do it.” Miss Lily looked toward her daughter, who was putting away the tools of her mother's trade and pulling out parchments with leaves tucked into the sheaves.

“I am forever indebted to you,” Amelia said.

“As I said earlier, don't thank me yet. You have a long night ahead of you.” Lily came up on the bed with Amelia, leaning close to the wound on Nick's shoulder, where Amelia still held the linens. Though the cloth felt damp and sodden, she was scared to remove it, afraid the bleeding would start again.

“Come, Adele,” Lily said to her daughter. “We'll place the leaves against the wound to help stop the flow of blood.

Adele brought over a small silk satchel of an herb that had long been dried up and crushed inside the bag.

“What is it?” Amelia asked.

“Yarrow. It stops the flow of blood and, once it starts doing its job, we will have enough time to clean around the wound and bandage it.”

“Tell me what I need to do.”

Lily instructed Amelia on what she needed to do. She helped to clean up Nick and get him bandaged with fresh linens with their assistance. Together, they managed to tie his arm in such a way that when he woke, he wouldn't jostle it and damage it further.

When they were done, Amelia reluctantly left her husband's side. She threw her arms around Lily's shoulders and hugged her tight. “There are no words to express how I truly feel right now.”

“You love your husband a great deal. I loved mine that much,” the healer said, her hands rubbing up and down Amelia's back in a soothing motion that Amelia appreciated beyond measure.

“I will call on you,” Amelia promised. Because of all the women she'd ever met, none were as pure and real as the two women before her.

“You needn't. I will be back as soon as the doctor arrives. He will want to know what we've done for your husband.”

Amelia agreed with a nod of her head.

When the door shut behind them, Amelia was at a loss for what to do, how to occupy herself. She turned over the lock, not wanting to be bothered, as she hadn't seen Huxley yet, which seemed odd.

So now what?

Did she wait at the bedside, hoping that Nick woke soon so he could tell her who had done this to him? Though she was sure she knew who was responsible. She knew only one person who would have reason enough to cause her husband harm. Huxley would know how to handle this. Huxley would fix this.

She focused on her husband's lifeless form.

What if Nick didn't wake? She pressed her back to the closed door and just breathed. This first moment of stillness in hours might just be her undoing. Tears trickled out of the corners of her eyes. She didn't sob, though. She didn't scream, even though she felt rage at not being able to turn back the clocks and change the outcome of the afternoon. What if she'd told Nick about her run-in with Shauley? None of this would have happened, had she told the truth. Had she been honest.

She was numb.

Quietly walking over to the bed, she climbed atop the mattress and lay next to her husband, her hand resting over his chest but no other part of her touching him, for she was afraid of hurting him.

N
ick hadn't woken once throughout the night or during the morning as Amelia sat at the bedside, holding his hand, only letting go when someone knocked on their bedchamber door to check on them, to see if there was any improvement with Nick.

She was beside herself with worry.

Sleep never came for her, but she watched Nick, hoping for signs of life, movement, twitches—anything to let her know he would pull through this.

When the healer had stopped in midmorning, she was in the company of a man Amelia did not recognize. He was introduced as a doctor from the neighboring township. And advised Amelia that Nick's doctor in London, who was awaiting his patient's return, had sent him.

“Why didn't Nick's doctor come himself?” Amelia asked.

“He advised that he needed to ready the house for Mr. Riley's arrival. I will ride with you to London, take care of any medical needs that might arise, though I don't believe we have much to worry about.”

“Is it safe to move him?”

“Quite. And the doctor there will have greater access to medicine, should a need arise.”

Amelia nodded and packed only a bag of necessities for their trip home. Nothing else mattered.

Neither the doctor nor the healer seemed surprised by Nick's state, which helped put Amelia at ease, though only slightly. What she wanted was for her husband to wake and tell her what he needed.

Amelia held herself together by a thread. The only task she had, rolling over and over again in her head, was that Nick needed her.

“Are you sure we shouldn't stay here a while longer?” Amelia asked the doctor. She was actually afraid to move him and cause him more harm.

“Mr. Riley's physician in London is aware of his injuries and will be better equipped to provide for your husband's needs.”

The doctor left Amelia with the healer, as he prepared a few items he would need for their trip.

The healer placed her hand atop Amelia's, a gesture of comfort that Amelia needed but didn't feel she deserved. All this was her fault. One white lie, and here her husband lay.

Lily pressed the back of her hand against Nick's forehead. “He is feverish, a sure sign that infection is setting in. I'll help you change the bandages, show you how to clean the wound, but you need to get him back to London before it's too late.” The healer stressed the last words with a stern tone that only a mother practiced at scolding a child could achieve. It made Amelia want to do exactly as the healer told her, even though her mind warred with her actions.

Amelia left a note for Huxley, explaining why she'd left, and begged him to send her word, because she was starting to worry that he'd found trouble with Shauley too. She left another note for Lord Burley, letting him know of her concern for Huxley and that she was headed back to London, and then she was off. Hopefully, the post she'd sent on fast delivery would reach the Riley household before she did. All hands would have to be ready to assist with getting Nick up to his room, for that was one thing she could not do alone or even with the help of the doctor.

The carriage ride was horrendous. While the day's weather had started out decently, with the sun rising bright and chasing away the night's frost, rain had rolled in midday to wreak all sorts of havoc on the countryside.

The second time the carriage rolled back in mud and threatened to halt their trip, Amelia got out to assist in pushing the monstrous thing with the driver and doctor. It took them a dozen tries, but with the well-timed aid of the horses hitched to the front, they managed to get it moving forward.

Once they were on the road again, she squished herself in the corner of the leather seat between Nick and the window. Her dress was soaked and her mood dark. She spent the rest of the time supporting Nick's body and keeping him from falling whenever they hit a rut in the rood. The doctor, seated across from her, read a medical journal, but he peered up through spectacles every now and again to assess her husband's state.

Nick's fever hadn't abated, so she pressed her cold hands against him, hoping that his heat would transfer to her and her cold to him. Their situation at present wasn't ideal but was necessary. She wanted to curse the healer for suggesting they leave for London but bit her tongue. None of this was anyone's fault. And she had to trust the doctor across from her.

She rested her head against the wood interior. The hardness and discomfort of her position should have kept her awake, but she must have dozed because before she knew it, the driver was opening the door in front of Nick's townhouse—she supposed it was also hers, but that gave her no joy. She would contemplate the fact that she was mistress of this house when Nick was awake and in better form.

Right now, nothing in their situation felt right.

“We have arrived, Mrs. Riley,” the doctor said.

Amelia rubbed her eyes, trying to clear the tiredness. “Try the knocker on the door,” she instructed. “Let whoever answers know assistance is needed.”

The driver did as asked, and Amelia pushed herself up to a sitting position, the doctor checking Nick's head and shaking his own head. Nick leaned heavily against her like a dead weight.

Amelia spied half the household coming down the stairs and around the side of the townhouse. The doctor stepped out of the carriage and met with the man that had once treated Amelia for her twisted ankle.

“Be careful when you move him; he's not been stitched up just yet. We need to make sure the bullet fragments are out.”

“Oh, miss,” Mrs. Coleman, the housekeeper, said as she climbed into the carriage to help lift Nick from where he rested against Amelia. The housekeeper placed her hand against Amelia's cheek. “You're soaked right through. Let's get both of you inside and get you dry and warm.”

Mrs. Coleman gave Amelia's hand a squeeze of reassurance. Amelia wasn't sure what set her off, but she sucked in a breath as her lips started to tremble and her eyes filled with tears. She could not break down now. She needed to remain strong.

“Did you get my post?” Amelia asked, blinking away her tears of gratitude.

“More than an hour ago. We've been fretting over Mr. Riley's welfare. Huxley came home last night; wanted to ensure we had the doctor here waiting for him.”

“Is Huxley here?”

“Left this morning; haven't heard from him since.”

Liam, the footman, ducked his head into the carriage. “Where's his injuries? I want to avoid them if I can.”

“His right shoulder,” Amelia answered, knowing neither would see the bandage under Nick's shirt. They hadn't taken the risk of putting on his jacket. The fewer clothes he wore right now, the better they could get to his bullet wound, should it start bleeding again.

Liam climbed in, making the interior of the carriage smaller by the second. “Slide on out, Miss Gr—Mrs. Riley. I'll turn him around and take his weight. Mrs. Coleman can take his legs with Cook's help.”

She did as she was asked and watched Joshua, who was the cook, climb in to where she'd been sitting.

Amelia started to shiver when a gust of wind whipped up against her. It was no warmer in the middle of the city than it had been in Highgate. She pinched her lips closed to keep her teeth from chattering and backed up toward the stairs, wrapping her arms around herself, trying to warm up with the friction of her hands rubbing over her chilled body.

She didn't go into the house until Nick was carried up the stairs.

“Doctor, I wish we were seeing each other again under different circumstances,” she said to the man who walked up the stairs with her.

“I hear his fever has not yet abated,” the doctor said.

“It hasn't. I'm afraid for him.”

“Let me take a look at the wound before you worry yourself further.”

“How can you remain so calm?” she asked.

“It's what I do, Mrs. Riley. I promise to do everything within my power to aid your husband. He's in good hands here. I have colleagues standing by, should their expertise or assistance be required.”

At the doctor's assertion, Amelia took the first breath of relief she'd taken since finding her husband in his current state.

“Your reassurance goes a long way in settling my nerves,” she admitted.

He took her arm, leading her inside, and the staff looked at her and the doctor for direction.

Amelia didn't take time to think; she acted, running up the stairs ahead of everyone, leading the way. “He needs to be set up in his room,” she shouted down at them. “Mrs. Coleman, will you get some cold water and linens? We need to bring down his fever; he's been burning up since early morning and it's doing him no favors.”

“Right away, Mrs. Riley.”

“Jenny,” Amelia said to one of the maids who had followed her up the stairs, “bring up some strong spirits. Whiskey, bourbon—it doesn't matter as long as it's strong enough to burn away any infection we note when we change his bandages.” The doctor was at her shoulder, silently abiding by her direction. “Is there anything I missed?”

“Nothing. We need to look at the wound before we can make any other plans.”

They all made haste, understanding their employer's dire condition. Amelia threw open Nick's bedroom door and rushed toward the bed so she could toss the blankets and sheets to the foot. As Liam and Joshua set Nick on the bed, she saw the first sign of life from him in more than a day and nearly screamed in excitement at the development. He rolled his good shoulder, stretching it as he slept, and turned his head to the side.

Amelia exhaled in a rush. Had she been holding her breath, waiting for that exact thing to happen? She thought she might have been, and the relief that filled her gave her extra hope and determination to see Nick well as soon as they could manage it. But she supposed a lot depended upon him. She would just have to give him reason to come back to her . . . and the waking world.

“Nick?” she said softly, hoping his eyes would open so she could talk to him again, see the smoldering gray that always filled his gaze and looked upon her with nothing short of need.

She looked away, saddened by the fact that he didn't stir. That didn't mean she would give up on him. He'd always been there for her, and she wouldn't hesitate to do the same.

Amelia placed her hand to his forehead and was disappointed that sweat beaded on his brow.

“His fever is worsening.” The starkness of her own words sliced a streak of fear though her bones. “Doctor, will you help me remove his clothes?”

The doctor was already standing there, scissors in hand. “Probably better to cut his shirt off.”

Amelia nodded and let the doctor take over, doing everything he asked her. He washed away the yarrow that filled Nick's wound and pressed the skin to test the coloring.

“The fever is doing its job,” he said.

“And what precisely is that?”

“Fighting any infection. The wound is in good shape and ready to be stitched.”

“Can we not pack it with more of the herb?”

“Can't risk it,” the doctor said, opening his bag of instruments and pulling out thick thread and a needle.

Amelia took a calming breath. It was part relief, part dread she felt. But with the doctor here, she could almost see the light around the corner.

N
ick heard his name through the darkness, like a beacon attempting to draw him nearer. It was faint, but it was there. His focus was on the dream before him, reenacting a scene that was full of sick depravity. Not the worst of his memories but the only one to etch a physical memento on his body.

His hands were bound, unable to move and protect the rest of his body. Cold air licked across his skin, as chilly as frost on a winter's morning. He was already tired, having fought against being tied up in the first place. He was sure his shoulder was dislocated, as it wasn't working properly and seemed to throb with an ache so painful it made him want to throw up.

There were no fewer than two broken noses and three cracked ribs among the vicar's followers. He'd never been happier that he'd been bigger than the rest of the children in the school. How else would he have defended himself? No one else had stood up for him or tried to stop the vicar. They'd held Nick down, forcing him into compliance. Nick would have none of it.

“Nick.”
The voice he'd heard earlier was closer now, repeating his name over and over again. It was familiar, and he wanted to go toward it.

He turned back to the scene so clear in his memories, which seemed impossible, because how could he see himself this way when he'd been the one bound, not the onlooker by any means? There had been so many onlookers. They were all as guilty as the man who had wielded the whip.

The first lash of many fell hard and cutting against his back. The sound repulsed him. He couldn't use a riding whip when they were given the opportunity to ride on horseback. He refused to hurt an animal helpless to his whims. The same rule did not apply to the vicar. He was a cruel man. Bent on a path of destruction. Filled with so much hate, Nick was sure the man's soul was black as pitch.

The demon who delivered the blow hid in shadows, but Nick knew the man from memory. Nick knew upon whom he needed to exact his revenge to stop these dreams. To keep away the memories that haunted him.

“Tell me, boy—who is your master?”

“No one,” his younger self replied.

Snap.

“Repeat after me if you want to walk away from this,” the devil said.

“You will not own me. No one will.”

A lesson his mother had taught him. While her trade was sex, she was not a victim of the whims of men. Nick would not be a victim and give in to the man who wanted to own him.

“Willfulness is the devil's work upon you. I will beat it out of you if I must.”