His Scandalous Kiss: Secrets at Thorncliff Manor: 6 (26 page)

“She continues to fall in and out of consciousness.” Arranging some linen towels so they would be easily accessible, the doctor
took a seat. “Her pain is severe, as is the wound, but I will do my best to save her. I give you my word on that.” He looked
at Richard and Spencer in turn. “If you are ready, I would like to proceed. The quicker we get that lead ball out of her,
the better.”

A heavy hand touched Richard’s arm and he turned to meet his brother’s gaze, the concern there so raw that it threatened to
shatter Richard’s tightly reined control. Turning away, Richard nodded. “Yes,” he told the doctor as he moved closer to the
bed, aware that Mary’s pain was about to get a whole lot worse.

Holding her firmly by her shoulders while Spencer pushed down on her legs, the brothers struggled to keep her as still as
possible while the doctor worked. Her anguished groans were difficult to listen to, even though Richard knew that it was for
the best. But to watch the tools being driven into her, was almost more than he could bear.

Blood was swiftly wiped away by Lady Duncaster who’d proven most efficient in regards to this matter. The doctor retracted
his pincers, pulling out a fragment of Lady Mary’s gown, “Excellent,” he murmured. “Most infections are caused by bits of
foreign material getting pushed inside the wound upon impact, so I am happy to have recovered this.”

Not long after, the doctor declared making contact with the lead ball itself. Richard’s hands tightened against Mary, even
though her body had gone limp after losing consciousness again. Still, he could not risk her waking up and disturbing the
doctor’s delicate work. Slowly, the shot was dragged out of her torso and dropped into a bowl. “That ought to do it,” the
doctor said as he leaned back with a sigh. He placed his hand against her forehead. “She feels cool to the touch, so I would
suggest keeping a blanket over her for warmth.”

“Do you think she will be all right?” Lady Duncaster asked, giving voice to Richard’s own concern.

“Only time will tell, I suppose.” Reaching for his needle and thread, the doctor proceeded to stitch up the hole.

Richard knew what he meant, even though he’d hoped that the doctor might have offered more of an assurance. But having been
to war and witnessing the effect such wounds could have on seemingly healthy and strong men, he was also aware that the worst
might still be to come. “I will watch over her,” he said decisively.

The statement was met by hushed silence until Spencer quietly said, “I do not think that doing so would be an appropriate
course of action. You are not her husband, after all.”

“I will be soon enough. Once she recovers.” And she would recover. She simply
had
to. The alternative wasn’t an option.

“Even so, you must consider her reputation,” Lady Duncaster said. “People will talk once they notice your presence here.”

Grinding his teeth, Richard stared at each of them in turn, not liking the extent of their sound judgment. “Then what would
you suggest I do? Because I can assure you that doing nothing is out of the question.”

“Perhaps you could sit by the door while Lady Foxworth and I take turns in the room with her.”

“By the door?” he muttered, feeling as though he’d just been banished to a corner.

“You will still be close enough for us to keep you apprised of her condition and you would also be of great help if we need
to call for the doctor to return. Considering how invested you are in her recovery, I daresay you would fetch him faster than
any of my servants.”

“You can be certain of it,” Richard said.

“Then it is settled?” The pitch of Lady Duncaster’s voice suggested a question even though Richard was wise enough to know
that it was anything but.

He nodded, because although he would have preferred to sit by Mary’s bedside, he knew such a thing would not be possible.
Instead, he found himself occupying a comfortable armchair only minutes later. A footman had even brought him that day’s paper
so he would have something with which to pass the time. As if he was able to concentrate on politics or gossip—trivialities,
in truth, when considering the fact that Mary’s life was still very much at stake.

Instead, he focused on his breaths, aware of how tight his chest felt against his lungs. He turned the pages of the paper,
but failed to comprehend a single word that was printed thereon. It was all a massive blur, distorted by the most bizarre
feeling that the only thing he cared about was in the room beyond, and that he just might lose it.

The thought stuck, disturbing him to the point of restlessness. For years he’d been motivated solely by the need for revenge.
He’d achieved his goal. Victory was his. But at what cost? A shudder went through him. Carthright had definitely wronged him.
Of that there was no doubt. And he might not deserve his title, his property or his fortune, but if Richard hadn’t striven
to take them all from him, then perhaps . . .

He shook his head, unwilling to torture himself with what-ifs. One thing was certain however, and that was the fact that he
would gladly repeat the past five years of misery for a chance at a different outcome—one in which Mary would not get shot.

The door opened beside him and he was on his feet in an instant. “How is she?” he asked upon seeing Lady Duncaster.

“She is still sleeping.”

“Have you touched her forehead, ensured that she does not feel feverish?” Lord how he hated the helplessness.

She nodded. “Of course.”

Expelling a breath, he thanked her for letting him know, resuming his seat as she returned to the room, closing the door behind
her.

Two hours later, Lady Foxworth arrived to switch places with Lady Duncaster. “Mr. Heartly,” she said, her hollow eyes sparking
a little upon seeing him there. “I did not expect to find you here, though I suppose I should have done. What happened today—”

“She will recover,” he said with certainty.

Her only response was a tremulous smile, and then she was gone, ushered into a room that he was still denied entry to. Lady
Duncaster exited soon after. “I will send a tray up with some food for you. Is there anything else you would like?”

“Perhaps a clock? I did not think to bring my pocket watch with me when I left my room this morning and I would like to keep
track of the time.”

“Of course,” Lady Duncaster said. “I will ask a footman to bring one up for you right away.”

As it turned out, the footman brought a notebook and pencil as well, which was wonderfully thoughtful since it allowed him
to jot down Mary’s status every half hour. Even though there was little to say, it gave him something more meaningful to do
than reading the paper.

“Would you care to join me for a drink?” Spencer asked at half past eleven when he returned carrying a brandy bottle and two
glasses.

“I certainly would not mind the company.” Richard began gesturing for the footman to bring another chair but Spencer stopped
him, lowering himself to the floor instead with his legs stretched out before him.

“Any news?” Spencer asked as he poured the brandy and handed one of the glasses to Richard.

“She sleeps,” Richard said with a shrug.

“I suppose that is a good thing. From my experience, sleep is the fastest way to recovery. That and some good food!”

Richard couldn’t disagree with that. Leaning forward, he clinked his glass against his brother’s and took a sip, grateful
for the drink’s soothing effect. “I just wish that she would wake up and let us know how she is feeling.”

“She will,” Spencer assured him. And then, “I bet you must be pretty angry with Carthright.”

Stiffening, Richard allowed a slow nod. “Angry does not begin to describe how I feel about him. Whatever he did toward me,
this is so much worse.”

“Perhaps I should warn you against punishing the fellow any more than you already have done?”

“That will not be necessary. I realized this evening that it was my blind path to revenge that has led to this very moment.
Without it, Mary might not have gotten shot since Carthright would not have had a reason to challenge me. Christ, Spencer!
Pistols were
my
choice!”

Spencer snorted. “If you start thinking like that, you will never stop. The point I was trying to make is that I spoke to
Lady Foxworth earlier. Rest assured that she will not allow Carthright to go unpunished.”

“What can she possibly do to justify his actions? He is not even her son.”

“Do not underestimate the lady, Richard. I find that women have a tendency to achieve their goals in the most extraordinary
ways.”

The door to Mary’s bedchamber opened and both men got to their feet as the lady in question appeared. Her anxious expression
was not the least bit comforting. “She is developing a fever.”

Richard tried to look past Lady Foxworth but she blocked his line of vision. “How bad is it?”

“I think you ought to fetch the doctor.”

Richard didn’t question her for a second. He just handed his glass to Spencer and left at a brisk pace, returning with the
doctor just a few minutes later. But when he tried to follow the doctor into Mary’s room, Lady Foxworth stopped him. “She
is not decent, Mr. Heartly. Please try to understand.”

The door closed in Richard’s face and for a long drawn out moment, he just stood there staring at it, unable to comprehend
that he was being kept away from the woman he loved while her life hung in the balance. “Damn Society and its ridiculous rules!”

“Hear, hear,” Spencer muttered. Leaning against the wall, he’d waited for Richard to return.

Casting a look over his shoulder, Richard said, “I ought to break this bloody door down.”

“I can help you, if you like.”

A tempting idea, though one that would probably not be well received by anyone else. So he waited, glanced toward the clock.
Almost an hour ticked by at a murderously slow pace before the doctor himself re-emerged. From behind him, Richard could hear
Lady Foxworth bustling about in an agitated way that only served to heighten Richard’s concern. “It does not look good,” the
doctor pronounced. His apologetic manner grated.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Richard asked.

“The wound does not look infected, but her fever is steadily rising. If we fail to stop it, then there is no telling what
might happen as a result.”

“In other words, she might die,” Richard said, speaking almost mechanically.

“That has always been a possibility,” the doctor said, “but now . . . perhaps a more likely outcome unless we can manage to
bring her temperature down.” Lowering his voice he whispered, “Her aunt believes that she should be kept warm—that the fever
is a good thing and that we should allow it to grow, which of course is a misconception. In my experience, the best results
are achieved when the fever is reduced, but Lady Foxworth is in a state of panic and refuses to listen to reason.”

“Then what would you suggest?” Spencer asked with the sort of calm that had long since departed from Richard.

The doctor hesitated briefly before saying, “She must be cooled, so perhaps if a bathtub can be brought up, then—”

“No,” Richard said. “That will take too long.”

“I agree,” the doctor said, “but what else . . .”

He wasn’t given a chance to complete his question as Richard pushed past him, entering Mary’s room in a few short strides.

“Mr. Heartly,” Lady Foxworth gasped. “You should not be in here. It is not proper!”

His eyes fell on Mary, on the sheen of perspiration veiling her forehead, her flushed cheeks and the agitated state she appeared
to be in as she threw her head from side to side, groaning in between. “To hell with propriety. This is about saving her life.”

“We are doing all that we can,” Lady Foxworth said, her voice filled with despair as she tucked the blankets around Mary and
wiped her brow with a cloth.

“No. She needs to be cooled, not heated.” Richard moved toward the bed, his hands reaching for Mary’s blankets.

Lady Foxworth caught him by the wrist. “Please,” she implored with a shake of her head. “I cannot bear the thought of losing
her.”

He understood her grief. “Neither can I, which is why I can assure you that I intend to make her better by whatever means
necessary. You may disagree with my method, but consider her progress this past hour while you have been trying to keep her
warm beneath these blankets. Has her condition improved or worsened?”

A few seconds passed and then, choking back a sob, Lady Foxworth drew back and nodded, her expression one of utter defeat.
“Very well. Do what you think best.”

He didn’t wait another second, tossing aside the blankets so that only the sheet remained. Leaning forward, Richard tucked
it around Mary as he scooped her up in his arms and headed for the door, her head resting firmly against his chest.

“Where are you taking her?” Lady Foxworth asked from somewhere behind him, but Richard didn’t stop to give her an answer,
nor did he deign the doctor or his brother with an explanation as he passed them both on the way out of Mary’s room. Instead,
he practically ran as fast as his feet could carry him, careful not to stumble on the stairs.

A few guests who were making their way up to bed stopped to look at him, their eyes widening when they saw that he was carrying
Mary. Some even asked what was wrong, but Richard ignored them all as he hurried toward his destination, exiting onto the
terrace and crossing the lawn. With a leap, he plunged into the lake until they were shoulder deep in the icy water.

Air rushed from Mary’s lungs and he instinctively hugged her closer. “Relax,” he whispered against her cheek. “This is good
for you. It will make you better.”

She said nothing, responding only with a deep murmur as she pressed herself against him, the sheet and her chemise floating
around them, bright against the enfolding darkness. As the water settled, Richard could hear the frogs croaking from the embankment.
Fully clothed, the weight of the water made standing upright a chore, his feet constantly slipping against the pliable mud
beneath him.