Page 43 of A Whisper Of Desire (The Disgraced Lords #4)

Chapter Nineteen

S he couldn’t swallow. It felt as if she’d been in a desert sandstorm, as if sand and grit filled her mouth. She desperately wanted something to drink.

As if someone was reading her mind, a trickle of water passed her cracked lips and it was heaven.

“Get Maitland. I think she’s waking up.”

It was Hadley’s voice.

She tried to open her eyes, but stabbing pain in her stomach saw her squeeze them tightly shut. A groan escaped.

She heard hurried footsteps and then a large, warm hand engulfed one of hers while warm, soft lips were pressed to her forehead. She could smell Maitland. She tried to smile, tried to squeeze his hand back, but weakness invaded her bones.

“I think she knows it’s me. I saw her try to smile. Thank God. Marisa, come back to me.”

I’m trying, she wanted to yell.

A long period of time must have passed since her last sips of water, because she was thirsty again.

A large, warm hand still held hers, and this time when she tried to open her eyelids they obeyed.

The room was dimly lit, and she could smell the fire in the grate, but most of all she sensed that the large bulk sitting in a chair next to her was Maitland, and he was asleep.

Turning her head, she took a sharp breath and tried to let the pain wash over her.

She looked at the man she’d given her heart to.

Except for the quality of his clothing, he looked like a scruffy beggar.

His face was covered in a beard, his clothes looked as though he’d slept in them for a year, and his hair was mussed and matted together like a bird’s nest.

How long had she been . . . ill?

Just then his eyes flickered open and tired, worried eyes swept her face. She read the relief in them when he understood she was awake and looking at him. A big tear welled in one green eye and he squeezed her hand. “Thank you for not leaving me.”

“Of course,” she managed to croak out.

He quickly rose and poured water into a cup and helped her rise up so she could drink. The liquid was the sweetest nectar she’d ever tasted. Once she’d finished, he gently eased her back onto her pillow.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been trampled by teams of horses. What happened? How long have I been”—she stopped and looked at the room; this wasn’t home—“here?”

She lay back, exhausted from saying only those few words.

“You’ve been floating in and out of consciousness for almost three weeks.”

“What happened? I remember being taken and then racing in a carriage, then it crashing, but from there, nothing.”

Something flashed over his face, some deep sorrow, but it was quickly gone, and perhaps she imagined it. “Isobel! Oh, no, is Isobel alive?”

“She’s fine. She wasn’t hurt at all.”

“That’s good.” Still, his look purveyed terrible tragedy. She quickly looked down her body and moved her legs to ensure that everything was in working order.

“You were hurt in the crash and have had a major stomach wound, plus another bump on the head. The wound has healed nicely, but for a week I thought I might lose you. You developed a small infection, but you’re my strong girl. You fought it off and won.”

She heard the emotion behind his words. “I’m sorry I gave you such a fright.”

He kissed her palm. “Just ensure you don’t do it again.”

She smiled and nodded. “When can we go home?”

“I see my patient is feeling better.”

A tall, thin man in uniform entered the room.

“I’m Dr. Colbert. If your husband would let go of your hand, I’d like to observe your condition. Then I might be able to give you an answer to your question.”

Maitland pressed another kiss to her palm and then vacated his seat next to the bed so that the doctor could examine her.

She felt no embarrassment as he peeled down her blankets to just past her waist. She noted she was wearing a man’s oversized white shirt. He smiled reassuringly as he lifted up the shirt to expose her stomach.

An ugly jagged scar the size of her palm could be seen on the bottom right area of her stomach. She’d expected the wound would not be pretty, but it was far worse than she’d expected.

Maitland seemed so sad and concerned, but she supposed it was because of the infection. She knew those could be deadly.

The scar still looked a little red and scabby, but there was no pus or other signs of putrefaction evident.

The doctor gently prodded the area. “Any pain or major discomfort?”

“Well, it’s sore and it hurts when I try to move.”

“I think the soreness is more the internal bruising to your muscles and other organs. Give it time and you’ll fully recover.”

“When can I take her home?”

He stood up and looked at Maitland. “She can leave when it’s comfortable enough for her to stay sitting up for the whole day. I’ll give you my notes on her injuries for your personal physician.”

Marisa laughed. “I think he’ll be able to see my injury. The scar is self-explanatory.”

She watched as Maitland frowned and shook his head at Dr. Colbert. Without looking at her, Maitland sunk back into the chair recently vacated by the doctor, exhaustion etching his face.

“I think you should go and get some sleep, sweetheart. You look as if you’ve been awake the whole three weeks.”

The doctor laughed. “He pretty much has been.”

Marisa’s mouth opened, but before she could scold her dedicated husband, Hadley’s head poked round the door.

“Fabulous. You’re awake.”

“Hello, Hadley. Did you stay for Maitland?” When Hadley nodded in the affirmative, she felt humbled. “Thank you for being here with him.”

“Maitland would do it for me, should I require it. Arend would have stayed, but someone had to escort Isobel home, and he’s not known for his bedside manner.

Besides, he has sent for the other Libertine Scholars to join us in London to update them on Angelo’s death.

Unfortunately, Angelo’s demise means we have come to a dead end, so to speak. ”

Tiredness fogged her brain, but she knew something. What was it? Angelo had said something to her as he lay dying.

“Fleur de Lily,” she said softly. “He said as he died, Fleur de Lily.”

Hadley ran a hand through his hair and shrugged as he looked at Maitland. “It doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Nor me, I’m afraid, but I hope it might mean something to Arend. Those two had a past.”

Marisa plucked at the sheet, trying to remember something else.

The night she’d been grabbed, Marisa thought, perhaps she’d seen something important as she stepped out of the room, but when Angelo grabbed her leg, her attention was diverted.

There had been a shadow farther along the corridor.

A person passed a window at the top of the stairs and the gaslight outside had illuminated the face, but only for the blink of an eye.

She lay back and closed her eyes, willing the memory to crystalize. It was as if she should know the person, but the face would not take shape. Once she’d rested and recovered and got some of the laudanum out of her system she might remember what, or more important, whom, she saw.

She could hear the men talking, discussing the name Fleur de Lily, but she needed to sleep again. Later she’d tell Maitland she didn’t want any more laudanum. It messed with her mind and she wanted a clear head to try to remember.

“She’s asleep.”

Maitland inwardly smiled at Hadley’s observation as he crossed to sit by her bed. He gently stroked her cheek, and his heart swelled with love. “I can’t wait to get her home,” he answered quietly.

“At least she’s safe here, surrounded by the soldiers.”

Maitland nodded. “If you need to get back to London, feel free to leave. I’ll be fine now that I know she’s all right, and, as you say, I have plenty of armed protection.”

“It might be a good idea to catch up with Arend. Who knows what he might be up to.” Hadley bent to kiss Marisa’s forehead. “How will you travel back to London? It would be a perfect time to attack you both.”

“Dr. Colbert is providing an armed guard to escort us when she’s well enough to travel.”

“Then I’ll take my leave.” He stuck out his hand, but Maitland stepped close and hugged him.

“Thank you,” he said, choked with emotion. “I’m not sure I could have made it through her illness without you to give me hope. I will not forget your kindness.”

Hadley stepped out of his embrace and simply said, “No thanks are needed. I know how important she is to you. I’m glad you married her.

She’s helped you come alive . . . well, if we discount her life hanging by a thread during the last few weeks.

” He shrugged, adding, “That’s what love does to you. ”

Maitland didn’t bother denying Hadley’s words. He did love her. “You speak of love as if you know something of it.”

“Love is not my friend, but I have experienced its joys and felt its barbed arrows. I loved a woman once, a beautiful young woman, but it was not to be.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. She was not worth my tears. A second son, even the second son of a duke, can’t compete with another man’s title and riches.”

What could Maitland say to that? “This is the way of the ton. I realize what I share with Marisa is unusual.”

Hadley smiled and squeezed his arm. “Not so unusual for the Libertine Scholars. All four of you have found a woman to love. Women worthy of such love. That gives me hope.” He gave a sad smile and gazed back at Marisa.

“You have found a wonderful woman. I’m happy that she will fully recover.

Now, if we could catch the bitch that did this to her, I’d be even happier. ”

At the words “fully recover,” Maitland’s smile dimmed. He had not confided in anyone the truth of her wound and what it did to her. The sorrowful ache was carving out his insides, but he thanked God he still had her in his life.

The big decision he had to make was whether he should tell her. Maybe it would be better if he alone carried this burden. He certainly wasn’t going to tell her until she was fully recovered and strong enough to hear the news.

Isobel couldn’t bear the silence in the carriage one moment longer. The man sitting brooding across from her had ignored her from the minute he’d handed her into the carriage to leave the army barracks, and they had been traveling for almost two hours now.

She must admit the idea of traveling back to London with Lord Labourd seemed almost as frightening as being abducted.

He was not a friendly man. However, his dark countenance seemed to enhance his good looks.

A look of danger and menace permeated from his silent corner of the carriage.

If he were not so appealing to the eye, her journey would be even worse.

What preyed on her mind was that she had no idea how Marisa was faring. They’d left before Marisa gained consciousness. Plus, she thought she’d heard His Grace tell Lord Labourd that Marisa had a slight fever. Speaking of fevers . . . it seemed very hot in the carriage.

Or perhaps it was her response to the man sitting silently across from her.

Lucky for Isobel, he was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t seem to notice her fascinated observation. She risked another stare his way. What was it about a man who wore his hair in a riot of curls yet still appeared completely masculine?

“I’m still not very clear on how and why you were kidnapped.”

She almost let out a squeal. His quiet question sounded so loud, and threatening, after not speaking to her for so long.

“Then we have something in common. I have no idea why I was taken. Perhaps they mistook me for Marisa?”

His dark eyes studied her intently and she almost squirmed in her seat. Why did he make her feel guilty when she had nothing to do with this situation? She barely knew any of the Libertine Scholars.

“You do look similar.” He looked her up and down, lingering indecently on her chest, his cold gaze still managing to leave heat in its wake. “However, I thought you said they lured you out in your stepmother’s name.”

“I assure you I’m as confused as you are.”

“Or perhaps you are a spy in league with our villainess?”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.”

He looked away. “Still. There has to be some connection, or some reason you were taken.” He swung back to give her a scornful look. “Don’t worry. I will derive the purpose. You best hope you are as innocent in this duplicity as you profess.”

With that he turned to look out of the window once again. Humiliation saw her heart hammering in her chest. At least she thought it humiliation. She’d never let it be fear, and God forbid it was anything else like attraction. The man was a block of ice.

An attractive block of ice, she’d give him that.

However, what she would not give him was the satisfaction of the last word. “Perhaps my stepmother might know of a connection. She must be worried.”

He ignored her comment completely, the silence engulfing the carriage once more.

After another hour they arrived in Mayfair, but instead of taking her directly home, the baron made for Lord Lyttleton’s townhouse.

“Wait here and remain unseen. To protect your reputation, I shall collect the Dowager Lyttleton and hope like hell that people believe she took you to visit a relative just outside of London.”

She nodded and slid down on the squab. They had left Crouch End after lunch and now it was darkening for night.

She’d been missing for several days. No doubt her reputation was already in tatters.

The baron probably was trying to ensure he didn’t get left having to do the honorable thing and make an offer for her hand.

A shiver raced over her skin at the idea of being this man’s wife. She wasn’t honest enough with herself to decide whether she shivered from fear or excitement.