Seducing the Rake (Mad, Bad and Dangerous Heroes) (27 page)

The valet closed his gaping mouth and lunged from the room, calling for the groom.

Watching Morland’s waxy face, Chessy made a desperate prayer for his safety, aware that his wound was the very worst sort. The scent had been the clue.

Fugu,
the Japanese called it. The deadly pufferfish was the source of the most powerful toxin known to man. It paralyzed in seconds and killed in minutes, choking a man with silent and brutal efficiency.

Right now, with every surge of Morland’s pulse, the poison was inching closer and closer to his heart.

~ ~ ~

His legs were totally numb.

It was pleasant at first to feel the ache at his knee subside into blessed oblivion.

He tried to tell Chessy, but his thoughts were sluggish. It felt better to lie against the crisp white sheets and float on dark currents.

Then the cold began to inch up his legs. Soon he felt nothing beyond a heaviness where bone and muscle had once throbbed.

He tried to speak. “Chess—”

No sound emerged. His mouth felt swollen and strange, as if it belonged to someone else. With a savage effort of will, he managed to raise one finger.

But Chessy did not see. Her head was turned while she issued rapid-fire orders to his frightened valet, who turned and ran from the room.

Morland tried to move, tried to speak, mesmerized by the fear in Chessy’s eyes. He could do neither. Now even his finger was frozen, and the slow, creeping death was everywhere, part of every slow, painful breath.

“Chess—”

Then even his eyes closed. He did not move again.

~ ~ ~

He was no longer moving. Already he had the look of death about him.

Chessy ripped at his clothes, recognizing all the signs of the deadly poison’s progress. First the numbness, then the chill. And then the total paralysis as the body’s organs simply shut down, one by one.

Her fingers trembled as she ripped another length of silk and tied it in a second tourniquet just above the first. That might delay the poison’s progress. And with any luck Swithin should be here soon with her supplies.

But until then…

Swiftly she jerked at Morland’s neckcloth. She tried to avoid looking into his locked face, all too aware of the nightmare realm he was caught in.

His shirt buttons came free. She wrenched the linen from his taut shoulders. The wound on his arm was fiery red now, laced with angry slashes of yellow. Chessy caught back a sob as she tightened the top tourniquet.

The earl’s valet returned with a knife and a pan of boiling water. Outside in the hall several more anxious servants gathered, peering into the room.

Chessy paid no attention, dousing a fresh piece of linen in the steaming liquid. Quickly she sponged out the wound, careful to draw away any lingering traces of poison.

Whispering nervously, the servants dispersed.

All the while Morland lay motionless, lips locked, body tense beneath her.

She prayed that Swithin would be fast.

~ ~ ~

The incense drifted, slow and mesmerizing. The old man steepled his hands, seated behind an exquisite rosewood table. “Well, Ah-fang? Did you kill him?”

“The cut was deep. The poison of the puffer fish will soon do its work.”

“You used what I sent you?”

“Most certainly, honorable lord.”

“Tell me what happened.”

The warrior in black bowed. “I did not harm the woman. The secret panel was open when I arrived. The woman was before me, looking for the book.”

“Did she find it?”

“I cannot say, lord. She did not have it when we fought.”

The Triad leader drew a hissing breath. “You
fought
her? Fool! You were to be invisible. Now your presence is known.”

“But she was confused and upset. She will forget about my part in this. She did not see my face.”

“And the
yang-kuei
? The Englishman?”

“He, too, fought well, but not well enough.” A low laugh. “He will die, lord. Just as you ordered.”

“Excellent, Ah-fang. He is a distraction to the woman, and we must not allow that. Not until we have the book.”

The warrior’s eyes narrowed. “And then? After she has given us the prize?”

“Then you may kill her father—and do whatever you wish with
her
.”

So the Englishwoman would be his. The warrior smiled. It was precisely what he had hoped to hear.

He was floating in a place of absolute darkness.

It was not uncomfortable, at least not at first. At first it was like swimming at night, as he had done often as a boy, in the clear, cool pond at Sevenoaks.

Then the weight came. It was shapeless, without beginning or end—and soon it was relentless, like a boulder crashing down upon his chest.

He tried to rise, to shove the rock away.

He tried to speak.

He tried to live—and realized he was failing.

~ ~ ~

Chessy ran to the door as she heard Swithin’s familiar gruff voice echo up the stairwell of Morland House.

“Swithin, is that you?”

“Just so, miss. And I brung your bag of needles, the way you asked.” He held out the precious containers. “How is his lordship?”

Chessy snapped open the leather case and began rooting inside it. “Bad—very bad. And there’s so little time.” With a glad cry she found what she was looking for. She held out a packet of herbs to Swithin. “Have this made into a paste with boiling water and bring it to me the instant it is finished.
Hurry
.”

She did not turn as Swithin bounded from the room.

Already she was slitting Morland’s breeches with a fine silver-handled knife. She studied the lean, muscular thighs beneath. Her fingers ran along the scarred knee. She winced at the savage lines of silver radiating like a starburst from the joint.

The horror. The agony he must have felt.

But Chessy did not allow herself to think of that, not now, when his present danger loomed so great. She used
hao-chin
needles, fine and long. She slid the first into place just above his knee and twirled it firmly. The second she inserted at the center of his thigh, and the third four inches below his groin.

Had she been totally rational at that point, she would have blanched in the face of such an excruciatingly intimate task, but now she thought only of Morland’s advancing chill, his growing pallor.

Dear God, let me not be too late. Let my fingers be strong and skillful and absolutely accurate.

Carefully she continued the needling techniques she had learned long before from old Abbot Tang…

Retrieving three more needles from her bag, she inserted them at the same points along Morland’s opposite leg, watching for any sign of motion or sensation.

Nothing.

Swithin returned, bearing a cup of pungent liquid. Chessy dabbed some on a piece of linen and applied it to the wound, then stood back, gnawing her lip.

“Keep adding more of the paste, Swithin. I-I must concentrate.” She closed her eyes, willing away the racking fear, concentrating on the points she had learned years before in the abbot’s tree-shaded study.

“The
tai-mai
meridian controls internal sicknesses. Needle its master points, and you can promote great healing.”

Chessy frowned. Nothing was
working
! Not the needles, not the herbal blend. There had to be something else, something she did not remember.

She clenched her fingers, struggling to remember. If she had known how important those lessons would be, she would have paid more attention. Then with a wild cry she turned and dragged out a box with white powder from her bag. It was dangerous, of course. Too much, and he would die.

But if she did nothing, he would die anyway.

Summoning all her focus, she lifted a tiny amount of powder on a silver spoon and scattered it over the wound. She watched Morland’s face for any return of color.

Nothing. His lips were blue-tinged, and his breathing had nearly ceased.

She clasped her hands to her chest, staring at his motionless body. “Don’t give up now. Not when there are so many things I have yet to make you pay for, my irritating, impossible rake!”

Desperately, she applied more
ma-huang
powder. The stimulant was made from a native Chinese herb that charged the body, making the heart pump furiously and the blood vessels expand. It would speed up the transit of any remaining poison through the body. If he made it through the next few minutes, he might survive.

Tears streamed down Chessy’s cheeks, but she paid no attention. Her fingers shifted the delicate needles, spinning them just as she had seen the abbot do.

“Try, do you hear me?
Fight
!”

If Morland heard, he gave no sign. His breathing grew weaker, slow and shallow and jerky.

Chessy bit her lip. There was nothing more for her to do now. Nothing to do but wait.

And remember…

~ ~ ~

It had been one of those perfect blue and white days in early spring, the kind so rare in the tropics. All day the sun had poured from a flawless sapphire sky, turning the water to crystal.

They had swum and explored the reefs, then climbed to a tiny island and eaten berries and fish roasted over a fire Tony had built. Chessy had laughed at his first awkward attempts to kindle a flame, then had taken pity on him and done the job properly herself.

He had answered by boning the fish and laying the fillets out on rocks, where they had sizzled noisily. While her stomach rumbled, Chessy added a handful of savory herbs. A rich cloud of wood smoke billowed around them, imparting a sense of magic to everything they did.

Chessy had spun about in a little dance, thrown back her head, and laughed.

Just for the sheer joy of being alive on such a perfect day in spring. Because the sky was clear as sapphire and the sea ran on like glass all the way to the horizon.

They were alone in their tiny island kingdom, away from anyone who would censure or disapprove or scold, and the day was heaven, or as close as Chessy ever expected to know of heaven.

Morland had let out a rumble of laughter, spinning her about and throwing her up into the air. He had caught her, still laughing, still the amused, half-mocking older brother she had always wanted but never had. It had been an embrace of simple camaraderie. Of reckless energy.

And then somewhere between breaths everything had changed, no longer simple, no longer uncomplicated, but now breath-stopping and dangerously personal.

He had put her down slowly, very careful that their bodies should barely touch. His face had changed, its simple exuberance darkened by a racing blend of emotions, shock and denial key among them.

Chessy had stared at him, wide-eyed. As he’d raised his hand to her cheek, the wind had blown a strand of hair around his arm, binding them as if in some primitive pagan ritual.

She had seen the unnatural tension in his jaw, the sudden darkening of his eyes.

Unmoving, he had stared down at her, his eyes full of an unspoken question—a question that Chessy was still too innocent to understand.

Slowly he had bent his head. His breath had swept her cheek. His mouth had followed.

Then, oh then, he had touched her, lip to open lip, mouth to trembling mouth. It had been wonderful, awful. White-hot and icy cold. She had put up her hands to push him away, to draw him close. She had shivered, feeling his tongue brush her lips.