Cold-Hearted Rake

Her breath stopped. A pulse began to throb in every vulnerable place of her body. “You… you’ve been dosed with enough laudanum to sedate an elephant,” she said, trying to sound light. “It would be wiser not to tell me anything at the moment. Go to sleep, and in the morning —”

“Lie with me.”

Her stomach tightened in yearning. “You know I can’t,” she whispered.

Undeterred, he gripped her wrist and began to tug her toward him with pained determination.

“Wait – you’ll hurt yourself —” Kathleen fumbled to set the candle on the nearby table, while he continued to exert pressure on her arm. “Don’t – your ribs – oh, why must you be so stubborn?” Alarmed and anxious, she climbed onto the bed rather than risk injuring him by struggling. “Only for a minute,” she warned. “One minute.”

Devon subsided, his fingers remaining around her wrist in a loose manacle.

Lowering to her side to face him, Kathleen immediately regretted her decision. It was disastrously intimate, lying with her body so close to his. As she stared into his drowsy blue eyes, a bolt of painful longing went through her.

“I was afraid for you,” she said faintly.

Devon touched her face with a single fingertip, tracing the edge of her cheek.

“What was it like?” she whispered.

His fingertip followed the slope of her nose down to the sensitive verge of her upper lip. “One moment everything was ordinary,” he said slowly, “and the next… the world exploded. Noise… glass flying… things tumbling over and over… pain…” He paused as Kathleen took his hand and pressed it against her cheek. “The worst part,” he continued, “was the cold. Couldn’t feel anything. Too tired to go on. Started to seem… not so terrible… to let go.” His voice began to fade as exhaustion overtook him. “My life… didn’t pass before my eyes. All I saw was you.” His lashes fell and his hand slipped from her face. He managed one more whisper before he fell asleep. “The last moment, I thought… I would die wanting you.”

Chapter 19

It was the laudanum.

That was the thought Kathleen repeated to herself last night until she’d fallen asleep, and it was her first thought upon waking. In the fragile gray light of dawn, she climbed out of bed and hunted for her slippers, which were nowhere to be found.

Blearily she padded barefoot to the marble-topped washstand in the corner, scrubbed her face, and brushed her teeth. Staring into the oval pedestal looking glass, she saw that her eyes were bloodshot and dark-ringed.

I thought I would die wanting you.

Devon probably wouldn’t remember, she thought. People seldom recalled what they had said under the influence of opium. He might not even remember kissing her beside the carriage, although the servants would gossip about it interminably. She would pretend that nothing had happened, and with any luck, he would either have forgotten it, or have the grace not to mention it.

Reaching for the bellpull to summon Clara, she thought better of it and drew her hand back. It was still early. Before she began the complicated process of dressing and arranging her hair, she would look in on the patients. She pulled her cashmere shawl over her nightgown and went to see Devon first.

Although she hadn’t expected him to be awake, the door to his room was ajar and the curtains had been drawn open.

Devon was sitting up in bed, propped on pillows. The thick locks of his hair looked damp and clean, his skin gleaming from a recent shave. Even there in a sickbed, he looked robust and a bit restless, as if he were chafing at his confinement.

Kathleen paused at the threshold. As tense silence filled the distance between them, a wave of excruciating shyness caused her to blush. It didn’t help that he was staring at her in a way he never had before… bold and vaguely proprietary. Something had changed, she thought.

A faint smile touched Devon’s lips as he glanced over her, his gaze lingering at the colorful shawl.

Kathleen closed the door but hesitated, feeling nervous about approaching him. “Why are you awake so early?”

“I woke up hungry, and I needed a wash and shave, so I rang for Sutton.”

“Are you in pain?” she asked in concern.

“Yes,” he said emphatically. “Come here and make me feel better.”

She obeyed cautiously, her nerves stretched as tightly as piano wires. As she drew closer to the bedside, she detected a sharp scent that was out of place on him and yet oddly familiar… an effusion of pennyroyal and camphor.

“I smell liniment,” she said, perplexed. “The kind we use on the horses.”

“Mr. Bloom sent up a pot of it from the stables and demanded that we apply a poultice to my ribs. I didn’t dare refuse.”

“Oh.” Her brow cleared. “It works very well,” she assured him. “It heals the horses’ pulled muscles in half the usual time.”

“I’m sure it does.” A rueful grin crossed his lips. “If only the camphor weren’t burning a hole through my hide.”

“Did Sutton apply it full strength?” she asked with a frown. “That concentration was intended for horses – he should have cut it with oil or white wax.”

“No one told him.”

“It should be removed right away. Let me help.” She began to reach for him but paused uncertainly. The poultice was bound to him beneath his white nightshirt. Either she would have to pull up the shirt and reach beneath the hem, or she would have to unbutton the placket down the front.