A Wicked Pursuit (23 page)

Sir Randolph shook his head. “You will do this against my advice, my lord,” he warned. “Nor will I be responsible if the results are not what you desire.”

Harry smiled, but this smile had little humor to it.

“I won’t fault you, Peterson,” he said. “I’ve spent most of my life going against the sound advice of others, and I see no reason to change my ways now. Your hand from my knee, if you please.”

Reluctantly the surgeon removed it, taking the place of the assistant supporting Harry’s lower leg.

Harry nodded and glanced up one last time to his cousin. “A small wager, Sheffield?” he asked. “A hundred guineas says I can bend my own knee.”

“You’re daft,” Sheffield said. “I won’t bet against you.”

Harry smiled, but no one else did. It occurred to Gus, there in the middle of all these men, that turning this into a kind of challenge, a test, was a peculiarly male thing to do. Peculiarly male, and peculiarly Harry as well. Only she knew that despite his bravado, his palm was damp against hers and his heart was racing. He’d orchestrated this moment for himself to combat his own apprehensions, and now it was up to him either to follow through, or to back down.

Gus didn’t doubt for a moment which he’d do.

“Be brave, Harry,” she whispered, leaning close so the others wouldn’t hear, “and try. You can do no better than that.”

He smiled at her one last time. Then he stared down at his knee, clearly concentrating, and his fingers tightened again around Gus’s. His thigh trembled from the effort, but slowly, slowly he was able to bend his knee on his own, not as far as Sir Randolph had been able to take it, but enough. Enough to prove he hadn’t lost the ability, enough to make his point, enough to make the others in the room break into spontaneous applause.

But it was to Gus that he turned.

“There,” he said, breathing as hard as if he’d run a race. “I did it, Gus. You saw, didn’t you? I did it.”

She nodded, not trusting her voice. She didn’t know why she felt so close to tears. She should be happy for him, overjoyed by what he’d proved he could do. Besides, the last thing she wished to do was weep before His Grace and the others.

“Pray excuse me, Miss Augusta,” Sir Randolph said firmly, “but it would be best for his lordship to rest now.”

He didn’t wait for Gus to reply, but immediately began to guide Harry to the center of the bed. Her hand slipped free of his, and she stepped back, out of the way of Sir Randolph and his assistant.

Harry didn’t fight the surgeon, either, gratefully sinking against the pillows. Clearly he’d marshaled all his limited strength for that single effort, and now he was markedly pale, his face taut with exhaustion. He listened, but barely replied as Sheffield congratulated him on his progress before he left the room, and as Sir Randolph and Dr. Leslie did the same. Gus hung back, waiting for the time they were all gone and she could be alone with Harry.

Finally only Tewkes remained, but not for long. “Should I draw the curtains, my lord?”

“Leave them as they are,” Harry said wearily, “and leave us as well. I wish to speak with Gus alone.”

She drew the familiar armchair close to the bed, leaning forward so their faces were level.

“I shouldn’t stay long, Harry,” she said. “You need to rest, and don’t say you don’t.”

He sighed, and smiled. “I won’t, because I do,” he admitted. “Ahh, Gus, that did not go as I’d planned. Not at all.”

She’d known he was tired, but still she’d expected to see more of triumph in his eyes, rather than the unmistakable despair that she found there now.

“I do not know what you were planning, Harry, to be so disappointed,” she said softly. “What I saw you do was something close to a miracle. You were determined, and extraordinarily brave.”

“That was hardly a miracle,” he said with a disparaging sniff. “A miracle would have had me hop from the bed and stride about the room.”

“And I say it was a miracle,” she insisted. “Harry, I’m sure Sir Randolph told you the same as he told me, that there was a distinct possibility more of your leg was damaged, beyond the bones alone, and that you would never walk unassisted again. You proved that wasn’t the case.”

“Sir Randolph always exaggerates,” he said. “That’s how he can command more sizable fees.”

“He wasn’t exaggerating,” she said bluntly. “I saw your leg when they cut away your riding boot, and I watched Dr. Leslie set it. If Sir Randolph had been here then, I believe he would have taken your leg off and been done with it, and we wouldn’t be quarreling about this now.”

He frowned, his expression so dark that she wasn’t sure if he’d heard or not. “This isn’t quarreling.”

She sighed, not wanting to upset him. “Very well, then,” she said. “We’re not quarreling.”

“Not at all,” he said, and she was startled by the depth of sadness in those words. “I thought today would be easier. I thought that once I had the smaller splint, my leg would feel more like it used to. And it doesn’t. Not at all.”

“But this is only the first day, Harry,” she said gently, once again taking his hand. “You were grievously hurt, and healing takes time. It will not be easy, no, but if you are as determined as you were today, then you will succeed.”

He raised her hand to his lips and lightly kissed the back of it, as if in gratitude. “My cousin desires me to return to London with him.”

“But Sir Randolph forbids it,” she said quickly. “I heard him say so.”

“Sheffield has reluctantly agreed to abide by Sir Randolph’s orders, yes,” Harry said. “But his reasons for wishing me to leave here had more to do with you than with the woeful state of my leg.”

Gus’s heart sank. “I’d guessed as much from his manner. He does not care for me, does he? He finds me lacking.”

“Quite the contrary,” he said. “He cares for you a great deal. He reminded me of your station, that you are an unmarried lady with an immaculate reputation. He said that for your sake, it’s not right for me to remain here as your guest at Wetherby Abbey.”

“It’s not,” Gus agreed wistfully. “Especially not with us alone together except for the servants. If you’d been able to travel, you would have been gone from here ages ago.”

Harry sighed his impatience. “Don’t be willfully blind,” he said gruffly. “You’ve given me every reason in the world to stay.”

She tried to pull her hand from him, but he held it fast.

“Listen to me, Gus,” he said, his gaze so intense that she couldn’t look away. “All my life, everything has been exactly as I’ve wanted. For better or worse, it’s part of who I am, what I was raised to be. I’ve never been denied or refused in any significant way. Until now, and this infernal leg. Now nothing is right, and it has been . . . humbling. Nothing is how I wish it to be. Except for you, Gus. Except for you.”

“Please, Harry,” she whispered, her heart beating wildly. “You shouldn’t be saying such things to me.
Please
.”

“I know I shouldn’t,” he said, his voice low and harsh with urgency. “I won’t dishonor you, Gus, and I won’t disgrace you. I’ve sworn that to Sheffield, and more important, I owe that to you. Besides, in my present state, I’m not exactly worthy of your regard in return.”

“That’s not true,” she protested. She left her chair to sit on the edge of the bed, needing to be closer to him. “I’ve never once thought that, let alone spoken it to you.”

“You don’t have to,” he said. “That little demonstration of my infirmity earlier was sufficient to put an end to even my misguided optimism.”

“You’re wrong,” she said firmly. “What you see as weakness, I saw only as strength and courage.”

He shifted restlessly against the pillow. “Now you are the one who is exaggerating, Gus.”

“No, I am not,” she insisted. “Exaggeration is not in my nature, Harry. I should have thought by now you would see that I am hopelessly practical. Next week you will leave this bed, and you’ll dress like a civilized gentleman, exactly as you said. That alone will make you feel better. The more you work your leg, the stronger it will become, and the stronger
you
will become. I won’t pretend your recovery will be easy, for it won’t, but I shall be there with you for encouragement, if you wish it.”

“Of course I wish it,” he said, apparently indignant that she’d even suggest otherwise. “You were there from the beginning. I expect you to see it through to the end.”

She drew back. “Goodness, Harry. Is that more of you being noble and expecting to have whatever you want?”

He sighed, chagrined. “I suppose it is,” he said. “But I cannot imagine this recovery without you at my side. May I have the honor of your presence, Miss Augusta, as I swear and stagger my way through these next weeks?”

“Yes, my lord,” she said succinctly. “I do not quit in the middle of a task, and I don’t believe you do, either.”

“Ever the optimist.” He smiled wearily. “All of which is exactly why you have become so important to me. Dear Gus! What’s to be done with us, eh? Where are we bound?”

She looked down at her hand clasped in his, wanting to choose her words with care without the distraction of his blue eyes watching her. She had never been half of an “us,” especially not one as complicated as this, and she’d never been faced with the choice that now stood unavoidably before her.

She could consider her reputation and her virtue, and put an end to this nebulous “us” before the rest of the world began whispering about it, too. Harry might not be able to leave with his cousin, but she could certainly ask His Grace for a place for herself in his carriage to London. There she could take refuge in her aunt’s house with her father’s protection until Harry was sufficiently recovered to leave Wetherby Abbey. Then he could return to his old life, and she to hers, and that would be a tidy end to that.

Or she could remain here with Harry.

She could stay, and be completely reckless and irresponsible for the first, and perhaps the only, time in her life. She could relish this time with Harry, likely the only man she’d ever know who possessed this devastating degree of charm, handsomeness, and pure manly manliness. She knew that wasn’t a very elegant turn of phrase, but that was how she thought of it in her head: Harry’s manly manliness, and how it could reduce her to blithering, incoherent bliss. It was part of the reason that her feelings of friendship had already slipped halfway to being in love with him. She’d only to look up at him now to be reminded of it, and the power of his kisses and whatever other wonderful wickedness might come from them.

Most of all, staying here with Harry was a two-headed gamble. First, she’d gamble on herself, that as the plain second daughter of a viscount, no one in London would bother to gossip about her. And second, she’d gamble on Harry himself: that all his talk of what she meant to him might actually promise something lasting between them, that being halfway in love could blossom into a glorious entirety.

She understood now why her eyes had filled when he’d been able to bend his knee. It meant he was on his way to being healed, on his way to not needing her, on his way to leaving forever.

It was all part of the gamble. A gamble, yes, but one that in the end she was willing to take.

“I’m no sibyl, Harry, able to see into the future,” she said slowly, “and I cannot begin to guess what will happen with us. But I will venture that perhaps we are worrying overmuch about what is proper and what is not, what is friendship, or—or a different regard.”

“‘A different regard,’” he repeated ruefully. “I suppose that is the genteel way of saying I want nothing more than to pull you down beside me and kiss you senseless.”

She blushed, imagining him doing exactly that. “Perhaps instead we should concentrate on making your leg—your
infernal
leg—better, and simply accept each day as it comes to us, and let it lead us where it may.”

His dark brows came together. “Meaning exactly what?”

“Meaning that I will stay here with you, and you with me,” she said, “and that whatever else happens between us will simply . . . happen.”

He smiled with obvious relief, raising her hand to kiss it again.

“How did you come to be so wise, tucked away here in the backwaters of Norfolk?” he teased. “No wonder I’ve become so deuced fond of you.”

She smiled, willing to tease him back. “It’s because I’ve always lived in Norfolk, not in spite of it. If I had been reared in London, I’d be as great a fool as everyone else there.”

“Meaning me, of course.” He chuckled, reaching up to thread his fingers into her hair. “Then if you are wise, and I am not, would you explain to me why after all my resolutions to be entirely honorable where you are concerned, I still can think of little beyond kissing you.”

“Even a simpleton can answer that,” she said, letting him draw her down. “Because kissing can be honorable, and—and I wish to kiss you, too.”

“Most excellent wisdom,” he murmured, feathering small kisses along her jaw. “You know, I do believe kissing will help my leg improve as well.”

She chuckled softly, with pleasure and anticipation.

“Then I suppose you must kiss me as often as you please,” she whispered. “Because I intend to see you dance under the stars, exactly as you promised.”

Sheffield left
the next morning, alone, and although Harry was sorry to see him go, he was also pleased to once again have Gus to himself. But while he’d hoped that, now his recovery had fairly begun, it would progress with ease, he swiftly learned how wrong that hope was, even with Gus at his side.

The next weeks were every bit the challenge that everyone had predicted, and more, too, since those doing the predicting weren’t the ones suffering through it. Each day seemed to bring both a small accomplishment, yet with it a fresh reminder of how far he’d still to go.

He’d eagerly anticipated being finally freed from his bed and his nightshirt, to be permitted to dress like a regular gentleman and sit in a chair. But even with Tewkes and a sturdy footman to help him, the once-simple process of dressing had become painfully complicated.

Tewkes had already thoughtfully enlarged the cuff in a pair of his breeches to allow for his splint, but the opening still wasn’t large enough. The seam had had to be entirely split, with the two halves left trailing open in a disreputable fashion. Even so, wrestling the breeches up over the ungainly splint had been so lengthy an exercise that he’d been nearly exhausted by the time it was done.