A Most Delicate Pursuit (7 page)

She sent him a worried expression. “It is. I don't know how big it is or how deep. What should I do?”

Licking his lips dry, Michael did his best to ignore the throbbing pain. “You have to pull it out. Then irrigate the wound. I don't think we have any cloth to spare for a field dressing.”

“I'll use my shift. It should do nicely.”

He faltered. In spite of his current condition, he found the thought of a shiftless Beatrice to be most disturbing.

“Are you sure you should do that? I mean, you've need of your undergarments, after all.”

“If I were attending a party, yes, but here in the wilderness? Who's going to question it?”

He let out a breath and did his best to calm his careening thoughts. “Of course, you're correct. I was shot in Spain, you know. The other arm. No lovely lady there to care for it, though. The medic was a most disturbing fellow who had the appearance of a skeleton himself and breath that would knock down an ox.”

“Tell me about the war,” she said.

He gasped as she began pushing around the wound. “It's not a fit discussion for a lady.”

“You don't have to tell me the gory details, but surely there was more than that. What about army life?”

Bless her, Michael thought. She was doing her best to distract him. He'd never doubted that she was an intelligent woman, and she was fast proving herself not one of those wilting flowers like many young women of the ton.

“Very well. One of my happiest moments was learning that I was going to be serving in Ash's regiment, under his command. I know you think him a bit stiff, but he truly is a great leader. Takes his service to heart, and he cared very much for the men who served under him.”

It was then that she gave a quick yank and he swore that she'd torn his arm from his body.

“By the gods,” he gasped, a white-hot sheet of pain enveloping him. At the same moment, he felt the meal they'd just finish rise up from his gut. It was all he could do not to vomit, clamping his jaw and moaning.

“Here,” she said. “Turn on your side. Can't have you choking, now, can we?”

Barely able to move, his shoulder spasmed with pain. “Can't move.” He clenched his jaw.

“Right.”

Leaning over him, she gently pulled the blanket from behind him, tipping him forward and settling him on his right side.

Though the small move ratcheted up his agony for a few seconds, once she had him settled, it eased a bit.

“Is that better?” she asked in a hopeful tone.

He swallowed. “Yes, thank you.”

“Good. I'm going to fetch some more straw to put behind you so you won't roll back. Can you stay in this position while I do?”

Unable to speak, he nodded and gripped the side of the cot.

“Good.” He felt her move away from him and instantly missed her presence. Silly, he thought, because it wasn't as if she was leaving him, after all.

He wasn't really sure what happened next. He felt twinges of pain here and there and realized she was dressing his wound. Then he felt the horse blanket go over him. Closing his eye because he could no longer keep it open, he mouthed a thank-you but was sure she hadn't heard him.

Time passed and he felt her presence, as surely as the warmth from the fireplace or the sounds of the night gathering all around them.

Some time after that—he couldn't be sure how long—he thought he felt Beatrice slipping beneath the blanket to lie beside him. She was hesitant at first, but a few seconds later she scooted in to lie against his back and then slipped her arm about his waist, gently anchoring herself against him.

This must be what Heaven was like, he thought, absorbing her warmth and enjoying the closeness of her. Never in his life had any woman been so amazing. If he hadn't been taken by her already, he would have fallen in love that very moment.

If that wasn't enough, he heard her sigh behind him.

“Michael?” she asked.

“Hmm?”

“Do try not to die tonight.”

“I shall do my utmost to stay alive.”

“Good.”

He might have dreamed it, but he felt her lean forward and place a gentle kiss at the back of his neck.

“Scandalous woman,” he muttered, teasing her.

“Insufferable man,” she answered back, nestling in behind him.

Michael sighed. It was well worth getting himself stabbed by a tree branch if it meant having Beatrice so close to him. He wondered what it would take for her to accept his marriage proposal. Losing a limb, perhaps?

Well, he thought, drifting off to sleep, hopefully he could come up with a much less drastic measure than that. But, then again, what wasn't worth risking when it came to winning Beatrice's love?

Thankfully, they'd both slept a few hours before Michael aroused again before dawn. Though she knew he was doing his best not to wake her, she felt him tense beside her.

“Michael?”

He sighed. “So sorry to have awakened you,” he said. “Perhaps if I return to my pile of straw…”

“You are not moving from this cot,” she ordered. “If anything, I should be the one moving.”

“No, please don't. It's not you, really. Just having a tough go of it. I'm not used to sleeping long hours in the rough. Army training, I guess.”

He was lying, and Beatrice well knew it. Still, she had to let the man have his pride.

“Tell me about your childhood,” he said, mumbling beside her.

“Michael, you shouldn't be awake. You need to rest.”

His breath became ragged. “Can't,” he told her.

“It's the pain, isn't it?”

Opening his eye, he gave her a watery glance. “It's a bit achy. One of the best treatments I've found in the past is to engage in a lively conversation.”

“Now?”

“Please,” he said. “Tell me about yourself. Your childhood, for instance.”

“And that will help?”

Michael grimaced. “It will indeed.”

Seeing the brave face he put on, Bea couldn't refuse him. If only she'd had something to ease his pain.

“Oh. Let's see. My childhood was quite normal, boring, I would say. We lived most of it in a small cottage. Um, I think you know of it.”

“Ah, yes,” he told her. “I went with Amelia to fetch your mother the night of Ash and Caroline's wedding. A good night, that was, eh?”

Bea smiled. “It was grand, wasn't it? Or, perhaps not such an event as the ones you've attended, but I found it most enjoyable, seeing my sister wed.”

“I did enjoy seeing Ash leg-shackled as well. Though I have to admit, I was rather jealous of him. To have a fine wedding and a wife such as Caroline.”

Bea drew a breath. “But that's possible for anyone, isn't it?”

She heard him hesitate. “For most, certainly, and for you, absolutely.”

“But not for you?”

A silence fell between them, hovering there as if some ghost had entered into their presence.

“No,” he said at last. “Not for me.”

“I don't understand. You'll make a fine husband, I'm sure.” She slipped out from behind him and then knelt down beside the cot, pulling the blanket back to get a better look at his wound. The dressing was stained with dried blood, but it appeared to be secure.

“Me? A fine husband? That's something I've never heard from a woman before.” He chuckled, but it looked as though that caused him even more discomfort.

“Well, you would be if you'd cease your gambling, dueling, and womanizing.”

“Never,” he quipped.

He coughed and huddled on his side. She could tell that his movement was very painful, but she suspected the injury to his shoulder was only part of it.

“Here, try to stay still,” she said, fearing that if he moved too much, he would tear his wound open and start it bleeding again. And she had only so much of her shift left, after all.

“You are too kind,” he said, though his breath was coming shorter and she saw that he was becoming more and more restless.

“No, I'm not. I just could never face Ash if he learned that I hadn't taken good care of you.”

He laughed at that but said nothing. He seemed to drift off after that.

Not knowing what else to do, she tore another piece of her shift. After soaking it in the cool water, she started wiping his brow.

He grabbed her wrist. “You've no need to trouble yourself.”

“Nonsense. Let me try to ease your fever a bit.”

He smiled up at her. “Ah, Beatrice, you are my angel.”

She laughed at that. “No, I'm not. You forget, it's because of me that you're in this tangle to begin with.”

Bea felt a catch in her chest. He'd called her his angel. His words both warmed her and thrilled her. “As you have been my brave knight,” she whispered.

After she'd spoken, she saw that he'd ceased moving and had fallen to unconsciousness. Pressing her hand against his forehead once again, she realized that his brow had become warmer still. As she watched, his breathing changed from the quick, gasping breaths to slow and deep. Perhaps there was hope after all, she thought.

It was like that until the first rays of daylight filtered through the thatch above them. Though he'd not so much as shifted since he'd fallen asleep, his pallor still remained wan, but at least he was no longer moaning.

Rising from her spot beside him, Bea went to stoke the fireplace yet again. Thankfully Michael still had his flint and pipe in his pocket, or they wouldn't have had that. But she knew that they'd little water and nothing to eat. It was time to gear up her resources and figure out what she needed to do to keep them both alive.

Slipping outside, she surveyed the area around the cottage. Michael had found a stream not far from the cabin, so, following a worn path, she made her way to it. Filling two pots and a bucket, she carried the precious liquid back to the cottage. Once inside, she saw a chest in the corner of the storeroom and she went to investigate. Though the hinges were rusty and there was a layer of dust an inch thick upon it, she managed to pry the top open.

What she found inside filled her with joy. Likely, the cottage had been used recently by hunters. In the chest there was a tin of tea, a fillet knife, and several utensils. This would allow her enough to catch and cook them a decent meal. If they were to have any food at all, it was up to her to provide it.

Though she'd never been hunting a day in her life, Bea had a pretty good idea of what needed to be done. More than stealing a few eggs, indeed. When she'd gone to the creek she'd seen a fish swimming in the shallow water. Also, some fat plovers might make a meal, and nothing was better than broth to bring a man back from near death.

Pushing back the thought of Michael's condition, she set to work.

Michael drifted in a dream, occupying that place between wakefulness and sleep. He knew the world continued around him, having heard Beatrice's movements around the cottage: her coming and going, stoking the fireplace, arranging his blankets, and dampening cloths to wipe his brow and ease his fever. She'd hummed part of the time and he realized that she'd the voice of an angel as well. In fact, it was as if her dulcet tones were what anchored him to life and he clung to every sound she made.

“Michael. You need to wake up for a while.”

“Hmmm?” He found it hard to arouse fully. It felt as if his mind were weighted down by a ten-stone weight.

“I've made some broth and if you don't get something inside of you, your condition will only worsen.”

“Thirsty,” he managed.

Seconds later, he felt a cup pressed to his lips and Beatrice's small, cool hand at the back of his neck, tilting his head forward as she carefully dripped cool water into his mouth. He took a sip and then another. The water was cold and tasted like pure ambrosia.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” she said above him.

He must have fainted after that because time flowed around him and the very next thing he knew, it was night again and the small cottage was filled with the scent of frying fish and steeping tea.

“Beatrice?” he called out, struggling to sit up. Before he knew what was happening, he felt her suddenly beside him.

“Easy or you'll tear open your wound.”

Opening his eye, he saw her there, standing between him and the hearth, a midnight angel set aglow by the modest fire she'd set.

“I must have been dreaming.”

She knelt beside him and, reaching into the pot beside her, dampened a cloth. “Must have been a terrifying dream,” she said, wiping his brow for what felt like the hundredth time since their arrival.

Michael let out a breath. “I acted like a frightened child. My apologies.”

She only smiled in response. “No need to apologize. We all have bad dreams every now and then.”

“I've had my share.” He watched her a moment more. “So, will I live?”

“I think you're finally starting to recover,” she told him. “Your fever is almost gone.”

It was true. While he wasn't yet his old self, he did feel somewhat stronger, though, to be honest, there was something not right about him besides the scarred wound of his shoulder—something off or unusual. He couldn't quite put his mind to it, just the same.

Once she'd finished his brow, she went to work on his wound. Though it stung as she pulled the soiled cloth from the tender flesh, watching her kept his mind busy enough that it became nothing more than a mild irritation.

As always, any time he spent with Beatrice was delightful. The musical sound of her laughter, her easy smile, and her quick wit combined with her ethereal beauty made her almost too hard to resist.

But resist her, he did.

It was paramount that he forever put away any thought about romantic entanglement with Beatrice. His very life depended on it, in fact. For he, more than anyone else, knew that he would never survive another failure. In spite of Beatrice's tender nature, he was sure that any growing affection between them would only lead to disaster.

In short, marry her, but do not fall in love with her.

“Thank you,” he told her when she'd finished. Though his shoulder ached, it was from healing and not from putrid infection.

She shushed him. “It's I who owe you so much, Michael. None if this would have happened…”

He stopped her. “There's no blame, Beatrice. As your brother-in-law would say, we are simply victims of our circumstances.”

“Of course.” She sighed and sat back on her heels. “I've managed a stew, of sorts”—she smiled—“though I've nothing more than a few wild radishes, some leeks, and some turnips. It looks as if someone has attempted a garden here about.”

“Attempted is right. Those of us who take our hunting seriously come here and live on the rough.”

“You mean rough as opposed to staying at Slyddon.”

He laughed. “Yes, though we try to be ferocious hunters, the truth is we're a mere passel of kittens when it comes to our comforts and Ash's wine cellar.”

Beatrice laughed and Michael could have drowned in the sound of it. “Still, it's good for one to try to live by one's wits, you know. Builds character.”

“Actually, I was thinking the very same thing.”

He was taken aback at her statement. “Really?”

She nodded. “Indeed. The truth is, America is a very big place.”

“Larger than all of Europe and then some. But, you're going to Boston, correct?”

“Yes. But, one never knows where life will lead one, you know. I was thinking that if I were somehow to become lost in the woods, or if my employment was not agreeable, I'd have a much better chance if I knew how to take care of myself.”

“Beatrice, I hardly think that your employer would throw you to the streets, or that wilderness, for that matter. If nothing else, they would send you back here.”

She shrugged. “To be honest, I don't know all that much about Lady Ringsley. Well, other than what my inquiries have provided. But, either way, a girl needs to be prepared for every instance.”

“I suppose that's wise.”

She grinned. “Yes, I believe so, too.” She let out a breath. “So, in light of that, I've a favor to ask you.”

Michael propped himself up on his good arm and eyed her carefully.

“What can I do?”

“Teach me how to hunt. Oh, and fish, though I think I have a good start on that. I did manage to catch some fish in that stream where you fetched our water yesterday.”

“That's a tall order. And, I have to say, not something a lady usually requests.”

She laughed at that. “Well, you have to admit, I'm not really like most ladies.”

“I have to agree with you there.” He thought on it for a moment. She was right about America. More than that, he feared more danger might await her, no matter what happened. There would be no harm in teaching her to defend herself as well. In fact, he was surprised he hadn't thought of it already.

“Very well, I will teach you. We've a few days more here, I think. Best not to tarry too long in any one place for now.”

“Oh, thank you.” She lunged forward and, throwing her arms around him, gave him a vigorous hug.

Michael gasped when she suddenly landed against him. Engulfing him in her warmth, nothing but the thin cloth of her bodice keeping them from touching skin to skin, nearly drove him mad.

“Beatrice,” he whispered, half of him hoping she wouldn't hear his plea. “Please,” he muttered, not sure whether he wanted her to continue their embrace or push away.

“Oh,” she said, suddenly jerking backward, covering her mouth with both hands. “I'm sorry. I've hurt your shoulder.”

He gave her a half-pained expression, very grateful that she thought it was his discomfort that made him pull away and not his body's lustful response to her closeness.

“It's all right. I'm fine.” He did his best to concentrate on his breathing and not the riotous myriad of images that stormed through his mind.

Beatrice naked on his bed, Beatrice in his arms with her hair loose and flowing around her shoulders, and, worst of all, Beatrice, straddling him, her center poised just above his erection.

“Thank heavens,” she said, the sound of her voice drawing him back into the present. “I feel terrible causing you further discomfort.”

Michael bit down on a moan. “Perhaps you could get me a cup of water,” he managed. “I'd get it myself, but I feel a bit weak.” Which was partially true, the other part that if he moved in the slightest, he'd reveal the hardened results of their embrace still evident in his trousers.