The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2(88)

"Every day I seem to remember a bit more, thanks to you." He smiled, though his eyes still looked blank, haunted.



She squeezed his hand tightly, pressing it to her breast under her cloak. "Every day I find out more about you, and grow more in love with you than ever. You're such wonderful, gentle man. I thank God every day for sending you to me."



She kissed him and giggled as she caught two older women staring. Then they looked at Alexander and smiled at the man they took to be a war hero and his blushing young bride. Lucky woman....



"What shall we do now?"



"You can stay if you like, play some more. I'm sure he won't mind."



"No, I feel like walking a bit, and after that another trip to the Baths."



"Wonderful." She hugged his arm tightly to her. "I'll get a daily paper and read to you. And I have a couple of letters Jenny forwarded here to the townhouse, though not from Jonathan."



He looked a bit disappointed, but said nothing, merely took her arm more firmly and walked on.



They went down as far as Pulteney Bridge, which she told him had been built in imitation of the Ponte Vecchio in Florence.



"It was completed by Robert Adam in 1774, and was his only contribution to this magnificent city. Great Pulteney Street was built in 1788 and was designed by Baldwin. There is a terrace here overlooking the river where we can stop and read, and I have some sandwiches in my reticule."



"Lovely. Let's sit and open your letters."



She laid out the food and opened the first missive. "This is just one from the Duke, saying he and everyone else in the party are well. Elizabeth is thriving in Ireland, blossoming like a new woman, apparently. Vanessa is getting ready to give birth, and all is well."



"Good news," he said, relieved for her, and oddly for himself as well. He might never have met any of them, but from all Sarah had told him, he was certainly starting to view all of the Rakehell set as his friends. "And the other letter?"



She opened it and scanned it quickly. "Dr. Blake Sanderson. Dreadful writing. This could take some time. He apologizes for not being home sooner, but there are still so many wounded who have to be re-patriated after the war. He's in Bordeaux at the moment, and says he will be coming home with a very special patient. He wants Jonathan or myself to make inquiries as to a suitably spacious and private house for a gentleman of means here in Bath."



"Oh, really? Who?" Alexander asked curiously.



She scanned the pages in silence then, too stunned to speak.



"What is it? What's wrong?"



"He's well, sworn me to secrecy. But I can tell you, for whom would you tell. It's Michael Avenel, Viscount Glyne. He's alive. Terribly wounded. Paralyzed from the waist down, without much hope of ever walking again. He doesn't want his family to know, to be burdened by him, Blake says."



"Oh, darling, I'm so sorry."



He gathered her against his chest and kissed the tears from her cheeks. Then it hit him. "Good God. His brother Randall's letter-- That poor family."



"Yes. He's hideously injured. Back and legs mangled. It's a miracle he's even still alive. Blake says he was an absolute hero at Toulouse. That he's still not sure he got all the musket balls and shrapnel out of his body. Michael wouldn't leave his men no matter how badly he was injured." She crumpled the letter slightly in her curling fist, so agitated was she. "Lord in Heaven, what was he thinking?"



"You sound almost angry," Alexander observed, trying to keep his tone neutral.



"Yes, yes I am, Alexander. I think of what happened to you, and my brother, Thomas, Clifford, Gareth, and now and Michael, and I'm furious. Disgusted with the wretched waste. Bloody Napoleon. I hope he rots in Hell.



"And I'm angry with Michael for being so wretchedly noble. And I'm furious with the Fates for laughing at us. That battle should never have been fought. Napoleon had already abdicated. The news was just far too slow to reach the south from Paris. And with Gareth wounded and taken prisoner at Bayonne, it's just too dreadful."



"But Blake is well?" he asked quickly, steeling himself for the prospect of more bad news.



She read on for a moment, then patted him on the knee. "Yes, he'll come home with Michael as soon as they allow him. He says he must spend some time in London, but wants us to put in a request with the housing agents here on Michael's behalf, though of course, not to use his real name. We must simply say that Dr. Blake Sanderson needs accommodations as befitting a gentleman of his means."



"By all means we must help your friend," he said firmly.