Bedford Street Brigade 02 - Love Unbidden (32 page)

“I wasn’t listening. I just heard. You said it when you thought we weren’t paying attention.”

“Yes, well…” Millie made a great show of going to the window and gazing up at the sky. “It does look like the sun is going to shine this afternoon. Perhaps it might be a good day to practice catching the ball.”

“It is! It’s perfect!” Master Henry and Robbie echoed their excitement.

“Very well,” she said. “Get your coats, and I’ll get the ball.”

The two scampered off, then came back ready to go out.

“Can Beth come, too?” Robbie asked. “She said her stomach
doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Millie shook her head. “I think it’s best if she stays with Miss Janie. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Did you hear that, Beth? Maybe tomorrow you can come with us,” Robbie said.

Beth looked up from her drawing and smiled at Robbie.

Millie thought it was because Robbie and Beth were the same age, that there was something special between them. Almost more special than the bond that connected Beth to her brother, Henry.

“Are you ready?” she asked the boys.

“Yes,” they said almost running across the room. Henry turned when he reached the door.

“Do you think Mr. Livingston will come with us today? It’s been months since he got to come.”

“It hasn’t been months, Master Henry,” Millie corrected. “It’s only been a few days.”

“Well, it seems like a month.”

“I’m sure Mr. Conway will accompany us. He seems equally as good at tossing and catching as Mr. Livingston.”

“Yes, but Robbie and I want to show Mr. Livingston how much better we are. Robbie can throw the ball twice as far as he could the last time Mr. Livingston was with us. And I almost catch every ball Mr. Conway throws at me.”

Millie refused to feel guilty about the fact that Roarke Livingston no longer accompanied them. He was being true to his word. So far he’d avoided being anywhere near her.

“Well, if we don’t leave soon, the afternoon will be gone and we won’t have time to get in any ball,” Millie said.

“Come on, Robbie. Let’s go.”

Master Henry opened the door and he and Robbie raced out into the hall and down the stairs.

“We’re going to the park, Rogers,” Henry announced when they reached the bottom of the stairs. “The sun is shining.”

“So it is,” the butler said with a smile on his usually-austere face. “It looks like a perfect day for an outing.”

“Did I hear that you and the boys were going out, Miss Shaw?”

Millie turned. Her heart shifted inside her breast. This was the first time she’d seen him in nearly a week. Except each night when she closed her eyes. Just as it was the first time she’d heard his deep, rich voice in nearly a week. Except when she fell asleep each night.

“Yes,” she answered. “Would you mind telling Mr. Conway that we’d like to go out for a while?”

“I’m afraid Mr. Conway’s not here right now. If you don’t mind waiting, he should be back in an hour or so.”

“You can go with us, can’t you?” Henry said. “You haven’t gone with us in forever.”

“No,” Robbie chimed in. “Not since forever. And I’m getting lots better. Even Mr. Conway says so.”

“I’m sure you are, Robbie. But—”

“Ask him to come with us, Miss Millie,” Henry said. “You know the rule. We can’t leave unless either Mr. Livingston or Mr. Conway comes with us.”

“It’s not polite to interrupt, Master Henry,” Millie said.

“I know. But this is important.” His excitement was palpable.

Millie breathed a deep sigh. “Yes, I suppose it is.” She lifted her gaze. “Would you mind accompanying us, Mr. Livingston?”

He hesitated. “Of course. Just this once.”

“Oh, good!” the boys cheered.

“Wait until you see how good we’ve gotten,” Henry said. “You won’t believe it.”

Millie led the way out the door, then down the few steps that led from the house. The boys flanked Roarke Livingston, and talked nonstop until they reached the park.

The knoll they preferred was strangely quiet. No children frolicked across the low hill while their nannies watched from nearby benches. No vendors hawked their wares at the gated entrances. It couldn’t have been more perfect if she’d ordered it up herself.

Millie followed the sun-warmed cobblestones and was just moving toward the bench she always occupied when a low harsh word from Roarke brought her to an abrupt halt.

“We’re leaving, Miss Millie. Now.”

His stern tone stopped the argument that sprang to her lips, and had an alarmingly similar effect upon the children.

“I don’t—”

“Now, Millie.”

His grip on her upper arm should have made her furious, but the look on his face told her not to question him. She cast a quick glance in the direction he seemed to be watching, and saw three gentlemen converge on the path. One had been leaning against a street lamp lining the path they took every day. Another rose from the far bench, and a third stepped out from the tall bushes that bordered the park.

And they were all looking at Roarke. Or at her. Or at the boys.

Panic swelled in her throat at the same moment that Roarke shoved her behind him.

“Get the boys home, Millie. Go!”

“Oh no!” Henry’s childish voice filled the space around them as he darted away to catch the ball that Millie hadn’t known she’d dropped. It bounded along the pathway and rolled onto the grass.

“Henry! No! Leave it!” Millie yelled.

She threw off Roarke’s hand and sprang after the boy who grabbed the ball just as the fastest of the three men grabbed him. The ball flew from his hands, forcing Millie to sidestep the runaway ball at the same moment that Roarke passed her in an angry blur. He pitched himself into the midst of the three men as he bellowed another order to get the children home.

The man holding Henry took a nasty kick in the shin from Robbie who had somehow dashed into the fray. The man loosened his grip enough for Henry to leap away and the boys ran toward Millie. They each grabbed for her hand and together they raced for the gate.

Millie ran with the boys, frantically looking over her shoulder hoping to see Roarke in close pursuit. But Roarke was battling for his life. He flung one attacker into a street lamp, stunning him momentarily.

“Run!” Roarke gasped. “Run home! Now!”

He tried to dodge the brutal kicks of another of his attackers and was stopped by the vicious boot of the third. She screamed, startled by the fear that threatened to consume her. Roarke was dragged off his feet as the three closed on him.

Millie was horrified, but forced herself to turn away. She had to protect the boys. There was nothing she could do for Roarke against the three brutes. She had to get the boys to safety.

The guilt she experienced over abandoning their protector ate at her insides. With every step away from Roarke she prayed that he’d be all right.

Loud angry voices seemed to chase her down the street. Muffled grunts of pain dogged her footsteps. Cries of suffering drowned out the sounds of the city.

When she couldn’t fight the urge to know, she cast a glance over her shoulder. What she saw stopped her midstride.

Her heart plummeted to the pit of her stomach.

Roarke was fighting them off as best he could, but it was obvious that he was losing the battle. She prayed to hear a constable’s whistle, to see signs that someone, anyone, was coming to his aid. The odds were so uneven, and at least two of the men had knives. There was no chance he’d emerge unharmed.

Millie turned away from sight of Roarke struggling to stay on his feet and urged the children on. She had to get help. Had to send someone back to rescue him.

Then, she heard Roarke’s voice bellow from behind them. It was more of a plea than a command.

“Run, Millie! Ru—”

She ran, clutching at Henry and Robbie’s hands as the three dragged one another down the street. The two boys kept up with her for the first stretch of the distance, but soon little Robbie started to lag.

“We’re almost there, Robbie,” she gasped as they rounded the corner that would take them home. “You can do it.”

“I can see our house, Robbie,” Henry said, struggling to catch his breath. “It’s right there.”

A fiery pain shot through Millie’s side. Her mostly-healed ankle throbbed heartlessly. Robbie wasn’t the only one she worried wouldn’t be able to make it in time. She made a move to scoop him up, but her feet wobbled like jelly beneath her. Her skirts tangled about her knees, impeding her flight.
Her
There wasn’t enough air in the whole outdoors to fill her lungs as the daylight seemed strangely to grow dimmer.

“Look!” Henry yelled. “There’s Papa!”

Millie tried to focus her gaze on where Lord Strothum and Mr. Wallace and the two other investigators who worked with Roarke were getting out of a carriage in front of the house.

“Father! Father!”

Lord Strothum turned toward them. From the expression on his face, he knew immediately something was terribly wrong. He and the three investigators raced toward them.

Henry flew into his father’s arms the second he came close enough. Mr. Wallace reached for her, and Jack Conway lifted Robbie into his arms. The men surrounded them like sentinels, and propelled them toward the house.

“Help him!…” Millie choked, desperate to catch her breath. “Roarke…Help him…. They’re going to…kill him.”

Millie paced back and forth across the morning room. Lady Strothum and Rogers had rushed the boys upstairs, but she’d come here to wait for Mack Wallace and the others to return with Roarke. She stopped on every pass to stare out the window.

If Roarke hadn’t been injured too badly, they should have returned by now. If Roarke was alive, they should be…

She swiped away an errant tear that streamed down her face.

She should be with the boys. She was their nursemaid, after all. But Rogers had ordered tea and cookies to be sent up. And Lady Strothum and Janie were with them. They would watch over them, and listen to their tales of adventure about how they’d escaped the bad men.

Millie lifted the drapes again and stared out the window. There was no sign of anyone. Disappointment engulfed her.

She paced the room again, and with each step she repeated her prayer that he hadn’t been injured too badly. Or if he had, that he wasn’t dead. She offered a fervent prayer that he was still alive.

She stopped again and her heart shifted in her breast. They were bringing him back, but he was injured. Lord Strothum was leading the way and three investigators were carrying him.

Millie rushed across the foyer.

Rogers had the door open and they entered the house.

Millie focused on Roarke’s beaten features and clasped her hand to her mouth to try to stifle the cry that was determined to escape.

Her stomach turned and she pressed her clutched hands to her middle as if the pressure would calm the roiling emotions inside her.

Roarke’s usual robust complexion lacked even a hint of color, and one arm hung limply at his side. But it was the blood that stole her breath. There was blood everywhere. His shirt was soaked in blood, his face was covered with blood, and blood dripped from his shoulder onto the marble entryway.

“The staff has prepared a room on the third floor, my lord,” Rogers said as they carried him to the stairs. “And the doctor has been summoned.”

“Good, Rogers,” Lord Strothum answered, then followed the men up the stairs. “We’ll need water and clean cloths.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Millie ran to get the water and cloths that they would need. She couldn’t do a lot. But she could at least do that much.

“What are you doing, Millie?” Rogers asked. He rushed up behind her and took the basin from her hands. “I’ll send a maid to take the water to them. You need to be with the children. You need to—”

“No. I need to help him. I need to—” Millie looked at the concerned expression on Rogers’ face. She knew what he was thinking. She knew he didn’t like Roarke for the same reason she was supposed to hate him. But she didn’t hate him. Far from it. And she didn’t wish him dead. She couldn’t.

“He knew when he sent us away that he might die trying to stop them from harming Master Henry. He knew…and he did it anyway.”

“It was his job to protect you and the children, Millie. It’s what he was hired to do.”

Her eyes filled with tears and one of them spilled down her cheek. She let it fall to the floor. “It may have been his job, Rogers, but his actions saved me. And Robbie.”

“That doesn’t change anything,” Rogers said in a tone that held a strong hint of disdain.

“Yes, it does,” Millie argued. “It changes everything.”

Millie didn’t know why his actions had changed how she felt about him, but they had. And it wasn’t just his actions today. It was the fact that he was so different from the monster she’d created after Rosie had died.

There was so much good in him that she couldn’t force herself to hate him. Even if Rogers couldn’t bring himself to forgive him, she already disliked him less than before.

“They need water and cloths,” she said, then turned away from a scowling Rogers to get them.

She went to the kitchen and filled a basin with water and grabbed some clean cloths, then took the servant’s stairs to the third floor. She found the room where they’d taken him. It wasn’t far from her own room, just down the hall and around the corner in the east wing. She was glad they hadn’t taken him to the servant’s quarters. She wouldn’t have wanted to think of him in one of the small rooms there.

Millie walked as fast as she could without spilling the water. When she reached his room, she took a deep breath, then walked in.

She knew his wounds were severe. She’d seen the blood when they’d carried him in. But she wasn’t prepared for what she saw.

They’d removed his shirt, which exposed a cut on his side. The tear was long, and gaped open wide, and blood streamed from it even though Jack Conway tried to staunch the bleeding by pressing a cloth to the wound.

Another long, ugly knife wound severed the flesh on his arm, and another jagged tear exposed the tender flesh of his chest. Blood ran in steady streams from both wounds. Hugh Baxter tried to slow the blood escaping from the gash on his arm, and Mack Wallace attempted to stop the blood flowing from the tear that ran from one side of his body to the other. Nothing any of them did seemed to curb the loss of blood that escaped from his body and soaked into the covers beneath him.

There were ugly red marks all along his ribs where he’d either been punched or kicked. His face was swollen and covered with dark spots that were already bruising. And his eyes were swollen, the left nearly shut. His beautiful face was hardly recognizable.

Mack Wallace grabbed one of the cloths the minute she put the provisions on the table beside the bed. He replaced the blood-soaked cloth he’d been using with clean cloths, but within seconds they were as red as the ones they’d replaced.

“Are you afraid of blood, Miss Shaw?” he said, dipping a second cloth in the basin of water.

“No, sir.”

“Good.” He handed her a wet cloth. “Work on his face. We need to get as much of him cleaned up as we can before he regains consciousness. Once he wakes, we’ll play hell trying to touch him.”

Millie took the cloth and ran to the other side of the bed. She worked quickly and thoroughly, removing the blood that was dried on his lips and from nasty cuts beneath both eyes.”

“I wish the doctor would get here,” Jack Conway said. “I can hardly feel a pulse.”

Millie looked at the expression Jack shared with Mack Wallace. His unspoken message was the slow shake of his head.

Millie read his thoughts as if he’d spoken them aloud. He didn’t expect Roarke to survive. Neither did Mack Wallace.

A heavy weight settled inside her breast, and she suffered the same sense of loss she’d felt the night Rosie died.

She continued washing Roarke’s face, repeatedly praying that he wouldn’t die. She cleaned his face, then moved to other parts of his body. She worked until she heard footsteps coming down the hallway.

“The doctor’s here,” Hugh said.

“Good,” Mack Wallace answered. “I just hope he’s not too late.”

The doctor bustled into the room and went directly to the bed. He
looked at Roarke’s bruised and battered body, then shook his head. “I’ve seen worse,” he said after he’d removed his jacket and handed it to Hugh. “But they were already dead.”

The doctor began his work, but Millie couldn’t watch. Instead, she took Roarke’s hand and knelt beside the bed. If he died, she didn’t want him to die alone. She didn’t want him to think no one cared for him. She cared. Even though she’d told herself over and over that he’d abandoned Rosie when she needed him most, her heart refused to hate him.

Millie clutched his hand and held it to her breast.

Sometime later, Mack Wallace placed his hands on her arms and brought her to her feet.

“Come with me, Miss Shaw. You don’t want to watch this.”

Millie looked up into the concerned expression on Mack Wallace’s face. “I don’t want him to be alone.”

“He won’t be.”

Millie nodded. She gave Roarke’s hand a gentle squeeze, then placed it on the bed beside him.

She left with Mr. Wallace, and accepted his assistance to her room. Partly because she wasn’t sure she had the strength to make it there on her own. But mostly because a part of her hurt so badly that she needed another human being’s touch or she feared she might fall apart.

“You were very brave today, Miss Shaw. I know how frightened you were for the children and their safety, but because of your courage, they are safe.”

“Do you think the men were after Master Henry?” she asked.

Mack Wallace nodded. “More than likely.”

Millie swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Mr. Livingston stopped them. He fought with them so we could get away.”

“That was his job, Miss Shaw. He did what he had to do.”

“But he might have…” Millie couldn’t finish her sentence.

“Roarke is young and strong. If anyone can survive this, he can.”

“But you don’t think he will, do you?”

Mr. Wallace hesitated more than a few seconds. “That decision is out of our hands, Miss Shaw. Only God knows if he’ll live or not. Now, go inside and lie down for a while. It’s been a difficult day. You need to rest.”

Millie went into her room and closed the door behind her. She washed and put on her robe, then lay down on the bed. But she couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t think of anything except whether Roarke Livingston was still alive, or whether he was dead.

If he was dead, Millie wondered if she’d made a mistake by not telling him that he had a son.

. . . . .

Millie didn’t think she’d be able to sleep, but she must have for at least a few hours. When she opened her eyes, it was no longer daylight.

She rose and slipped on a dress, then left her room. She had to know how he was. Had to know if he was still alive. Or if he was dead.

Surely someone would have come to tell her if he’d died. But then, why would they?

She made her way down the hall to the room where they’d taken him. The door was closed, but a faint light shone beneath the door. She turned the knob and opened the door.

The doctor was gone, as was Mack Wallace, and Hugh Baxter. Jack Conway sat in a chair beside the bed. When he heard her enter, he looked over his shoulder and focused on her.

“May I come in?” she whispered.

“Of course.” He rose from his chair and motioned for her to sit.

Millie walked to the bed, but didn’t sit. She needed to see him. Needed to see for herself that he hadn’t died.

“He’s still alive,” Jack Conway said, “although more than once I had to check because I couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not.”

“Will he make it?” Millie asked, waiting for a slight movement that would indicate Roarke Livingston was still breathing.

“The doctor isn’t hopeful. He said if he survives the night it will be a miracle. Personally, I think the fact that he survived what the doctor did to stop the bleeding was a miracle.”

“Was he unconscious through it?”

Roarke’s friend breathed a heavy sigh. “I wish he had been, but no. He woke up when the first needle went through his flesh.”

Millie dampened a cloth in the basin of water beside the bed and dabbed Roarke’s face. Pain was etched in his features. Even in sleep, his mouth was drawn tight.

A heavy weight settled inside her chest.

“Please, sit down, Miss Shaw.”

“I…” Millie shook her head. “I shouldn’t be here. I should go back.”

“I think Roarke would want you to be here.”

Millie placed the damp cloth on the bedside table and sat. Jack Conway brought over another chair and sat beside her.

“He cares for you, you know.”

Millie shook her head. “No.”

“And you care for him.”

Millie shook her head with more firmness. “No, I don’t… He doesn’t…”

“It’s all right. Anyone in the same room with you for more than a few seconds can see you have feelings for each other. Even though you and Roarke fight admitting it more than any two people I’ve ever seen. Even Betsy, my wife, and I didn’t fight the attraction we had for each other as desperately as you two seem to.”

When she didn’t say anything, he continued.

“I asked Roarke when we first came here if he knew you. He said no, that he’d never met you before. The question then became, if you’d never met, why did you react so negatively toward him on your first meeting?”

A niggling unease stirred inside her. She should have hidden her dislike for him better when he and the Bedford investigators first arrived. But seeing him had been such a shock. Coming face to face with a man she’d hated for more than four years was too big of a surprise for her to hide. She hadn’t been able to conceal her true feelings.

But she couldn’t tell Jack Conway that. She couldn’t tell him anything. Instead, she stared at the man on the bed and tried to convince herself that it didn’t matter to her one way or another whether he lived or died. But that was such a lie. She knew with certainty that a small part of her heart would die if he didn’t live.

“What do you know about him?” she asked.

“Not much,” Jack answered. “I know he had a brother. He’s mentioned him once or twice. But I’ve never seen him. In fact, I’m not sure he’s still alive. I don’t think he has any other siblings. If he does, he never talks about them.”