Mistress at Midnight(35)

'How was she hurt?'

'It was my fault. I should have known they would follow. I should have kept her safe.'

Blue eyes scanned his face and he could hide nothing, the raw grief of  worry eliciting a rare swearword from a woman who seldom broke any rules  at all. And then she, too, was beside him, a long thin piece of fabric  in her hand which she wound tight around Aurelia's upper arm, her pale  white dress splashed in red.

'We won't let her die, Stephen, and the bleeding is slowing. Look.'

The oozing had ceased a little, but as he calculated the time and volume  lost since being shot, it was of little comfort. He had seen people  bleed out before his eyes a number of times and they were always cold,  like Aurelia was.

He merely nodded. With her bruised cheek and her wet hair loosened  vibrant red against such utter paleness of skin, Aurelia had the look of  a mermaid washed up on some foreign beach. Alone and forsaken. All  Hawkhurst wanted to do was to hold her, keep her close, but as the  doctor hurried in carrying a bag he stood back instead, allowing the man  access.

'She is lucky,' the physician said finally after a thorough examination  of her arm. 'The bullet passed through and has ruptured nothing. There  is a substantial blood loss, of course, from all the movement, and she  will be weak. But she is young and healthy so a full recuperation should  occur.' His hand rested across her forehead before measuring the rate  of pulse in the artery of her neck.

'She will need someone with her tonight in case she becomes feverish. If  you could carry her upstairs, Lord Hawkhurst, to one of the  bedchambers, I will dress the wound there.'

'The pink room, I think, Hawk,' Lillian said as he lifted her. 'There is  a generous basin in the alcove and a sofa by the window.' She laid her  hand against his and he was pleased for a contact that was warm and well  meant.

The lack of luggage had not yet been mentioned, nor had Luc and Lillian  plied him with questions about the obvious attack but he could tell Luc  was keen to know if danger was still imminent.

He hoped like hell that he had not been tracked to this place, but he  prayed even harder that Aurelia would feel a lot better by the morning.

And beneath everything there simmered the problem of how he could  protect her from the long and all-knowing arm of the British Service in  general and Alexander Shavvon in particular, a man who must now be  wondering where on earth it was they had gone to ground.                       
       
           



       





Chapter Fifteen


The flicker of a candle was the first thing she saw, a tiny orange flame  that sent light across a beautiful room swathed in dusky pink.

Hawkhurst was there, stretched out on a chair near her bed, his legs  crossed and his head bent at an awkward angle. Turning to look at him,  she felt pain sear through her arm, the heat of sickness making her  weak. Blood still lingered on the sleeve of his shirt, indicating that  he had neither changed his clothes nor bathed. she could barely swallow,  so dry was her throat. 'Water?'

He came fully awake as she breathed the word, raising her head to the  rim of a cup and allowing small sips before taking it back. 'How do you  feel?'

Aurelia did not know, for a violent headache had scattered all logic,  leaving her floundering somewhat in a place that was frightening.  'S-scared.'

'You will live.' The words were strong and assured, no doubts within  them. If he left, she was suddenly certain that she would never survive  this.

'Stay?'

He simply took her uninjured hand into his and brought her fingers to  his lips. Feeling the scratchiness of his unshaved face and the warmth  of his touch, she closed her eyes.

I love you. The honesty of the thought brought her peace as a single  tear traced its way down the side of her eye and fell into her hair  spread across the pillow. Fear subsided, too, her world narrowed to this  one room. Pink. Like a young girl's, the silk in long curtains of the  finest quality and the furniture harking back to an older and more  generous time.

In the distance she could hear the first dawn call of birds.

'It will be morning soon,' Hawk said as he saw her listening, his eyes  softer now, threads of relief through tired, worn gold. He did not let  go of her hand.

'Where are we?' She found it difficult to remember things.

'Woodruff Abbey. Luc and Lillian's country home.' His voice was slow and  quiet, and speaking of something other than sickness calmed her. If she  was truly dying, would he be so unhurried?

'Is it safe?'

'Yes.' A wealth of trust lay in the word. Delsarte and the implications  of espionage and deceit crouched further away in another time and place,  a conversation that could keep until she felt stronger. In London her  family would be frantic-she knew they would be-but right now she needed  to think of herself.

She smiled. No longer all alone. Closing her eyes against hope, she slept.

'Delsarte should be shot for this.'

'He will be.'

'And Aurelia St Harlow? What will happen to her?'

Stephen stood against the balustrade, looking over a garden to one side  of the bedroom. 'The injury is only a small part of Aurelia's worries,  Luc, for if Shavvon has got wind of her involvement with the French  intelligence then I cannot think of a single way to save her.'

No, that was not quite true. Hawkhurst shook his head at the thought,  for there was one. If he married her here and now, his name might be  enough protection.

Luc seemed to be veering down the same track. 'Shavvon owes you,  Stephen, and if you brought in Delsarte and any of his group still left,  surely that could be an end to it.'

'Perhaps.' The Atherton title was an old and venerable one and peers of  the realm and their families were seldom dragged before the courts.  Besides, under law, presumptive legal unity treated husband and wife as  one and he could fight far better than Aurelia would ever be able to.

'Lilly thinks she has had enough hurt in her life and now needs safeguarding.'

Anger solidified. If Woodruff Abbey was beautiful, then Atherton was  doubly so and the luxury and ease of the place might soften all the hard  edges of the obstacles between them. He could help her, if she would  let him, and in return …

She was nothing like Elizabeth Berkeley and all the other young ladies  who had set their caps at his wealth or titles. She did not want baubles  and dresses, the newest of carriages or the largest of diamonds. He  could not imagine her lolling around the ton, collecting gossip or  enjoying scandal. Lord, she had been the centre of some of the most  damning slander of all and seen first-hand the hurt it caused and the  suffering.

She had harboured the father of a girl badly used by Charles and taken  the criticism upon her own head for years and years. No, Aurelia was  nothing like any other he had ever encountered and for that fact he was  grateful. She was her very own person, solid and worthy. Someone like  that at his side would be … formidable. He smiled at the thought.

The doctor had indicated she should be well enough to travel by the end  of the week and before that he had a job to do. With Delsarte locked up  and the sorry saga of the Park Street warehouse finished, he would be in  a stronger position to help her entirely.                       
       
           



       

But first he would employ guards to watch the Abbey while he was away,  just in case Delsarte had obtained some knowledge of their movements.

Lillian Clairmont was one of the most beautiful women Aurelia had ever  seen, with her pale eyes, unmarked skin and her remarkable sense of  fashion. Today she wore a gown that was a warm peach, a diversion from  the paler tones she had worn across the past days and the hue sat  against her skin well. Aurelia wondered how the gold silk from the fine  looms of Macclesfield might look upon her and decided she would send her  a bolt as a thank-you gift as soon as she had returned to London.  Hawkhurst had grabbed the documents pertaining to the business before  leaving the inn and they were tucked safely away and little worse for  wear. She would make certain the deeds were placed in her safe once they  were back at Braeburn House.

They? She frowned.

Hawkhurst was no longer here. She knew this because Lillian had said so  yesterday in a passing conversation, and it had been four days since he  had sat with her in the dark hours before dawn and held her hand. She  refrained from asking if he would return, understanding in the ruckus  with Delsarte and the letters passed to Touillon that he might never  wish to see her again.

The hurt of it stung even more than the bullet hole.

'I thought today you would wish to have a bath. My maid could wash your  hair and you could get dressed and sit outside in the garden in the  sunshine. The pink peonies are out and so are the white irises.'