Chapter Eighteen

"L et your maid tend to you while Lyles tends to me." Thorne held both of Blessing's hands in his, rubbing the heels of his thumbs back and forth across the silkiness of her skin. She had lost weight while watching over him, and the shadows under her eyes worried him. Ravenglass had told him she had refused to leave his bedside and barely eaten during the days he had battled with the fever. "Please, Essie. A hot, leisurely bath and a decent nap in a bed rather than dozing in that chair is what you need. I cannot have you falling ill from exhaustion."

She looked at the valet patiently standing in the dressing room doorway with a bundle of linens folded across his arm. "You are not to get his wounds wet," she told the man. "They were cleaned just this morning, and we mustn't irritate the flesh further. Is that understood?"

Lyles gave her a respectful bow. "Yes, my lady."

"Lyles knows his duties," Thorne told her, his heart swelling with her protectiveness of him. "He is a good man."

She frowned at him, clearly unhappy about handing over his care to someone other than herself. "I suppose it is just as well. Viscount Ravenglass wishes to speak with you and refuses to tell me what it is about without talking to you first." She snorted. "Infuriating man."

Thorne kissed each of her hands to keep from smiling. "Go and rest. Please?"

The flintiness of her eyes softened as she touched his cheek. "Only because you appear to be doing so well. But at the first hint of trouble—"

"I will send for you," he said, hoping she wouldn't see through the false promise.

Blessing narrowed her eyes at him. "You are lying."

A hearty laugh burst free of him, making him clutch his aching shoulder. "Not even officially my wife and already you read me with as much accuracy as you name off your constellations." He caught her by the skirt and tugged her closer. "I promise I will send for you, but I cannot imagine anything going wrong. I grow stronger each day. Even Dr. Tattersol said so." He lifted his face to hers and pulled her down for a kiss. "It is my hope that within days, rather than weeks, we may marry."

"Mine too," she said softly, then gave him a nervous smile that made him frown. Before he could ask her about it, she turned away. "I shall go now, my lord, and leave you to the care of your fine manservant." Then she hurried out of the room.

"Now, what on earth do you make of that?" he asked Lyles.

"I am sure I do not know, my lord," the man said. "But one must remember the lady has been through a great deal over the past several days and allowed no one other than herself to see to your care."

"You like her even though she spoke sternly to you." Thorne was impressed. Lyles kept to himself and liked very few people. Even Cadwick had admitted as much when pressed for an answer about the valet's terseness one day.

"It is not my place to like or dislike her ladyship," the man said. He pushed Thorne's bath chair closer to the dressing room door, placed a small table beside it, and fetched the articles needed for a shave and further refreshing ablutions. "Lady Blessing and her sisters have maintained a calm throughout the household during a very turbulent time. All the servants find it quite admirable and are more than a little pleased at the respect and care they extend to Lady Roslynn." He carefully leaned Thorne back and placed a warm, wet towel on his face.

"As I live and breathe," Ravenglass said as he entered the bedroom, "it does my heart good to see you well enough for a shave."

"It does my heart good to get out of that bed." Thorne patted the arms of the bath chair. "Well done on finding this. I know those of this quality can sometimes be hard to come by here in London."

"It was not any trouble at all. I merely sent a man to fetch one from Bath. Everyone knows the best ones are there where the ton takes the waters." The viscount leaned against the door and frowned down at him. "I do have some rather serious news, though, old man."

Thorne studied his friend, then braced himself for the worst. He nodded for the viscount to continue.

"I intercepted a letter meant for Lady Blessing."

"Intercepted?" Thorne thought it a bit strange that his trusted friend had taken up the habit of prying into someone else's post. "How did you know to intercept it?"

"Montagne is not the creative sort," Ravenglass said. "I recognized the man delivering the message as the hackney driver from the day you were shot."

Wishing he could spring up from the chair and track the fiend down, Thorne held out his hand. "I would see this message."

Ravenglass drew the folded bit of paper from inside his waistcoat and placed it in Thorne's palm. "The man is deranged—as you will surmise upon reading that."

Thorne opened the paper and read it aloud. " Lady Blessing—I meant to be rid of him and still will, so my Constance will stop loving him and love me instead. I relieved the world of my brother to have her for myself. Now only the bastard Knightwood stands in my way. Help me end him, and you shall be rewarded handsomely. " Thorne looked up at his friend. "So, he murdered his brother as a way to get Constance—and not the title?"

"I am sure he wanted the title as well." Ravenglass shrugged. "Who knows what sort of arrangement Montagne and Lady Myrtlebourne shared? After all, they invited others to join their visits on several occasions. We have witnesses who attested to such."

"I do not suppose you had the hackney driver followed when he left here?"

Ravenglass tipped his head and gave a smug grin. "You know me too well."

"Where are they?"

"Covent Gardens' worst. Seven Dials, in fact."

Thorne found that difficult to believe. "Constance? In that area? Are you certain?"

"Your man Donnelly confirmed it, and she might be more accepting of that rough neighborhood now that she is an escaped murderess intended for the gallows."

"True." Thorne scratched the stubble of his yet-to-be-shaved face, still struggling to believe that all of this had come about because the lust-crazed Montagne had become obsessed with Lady Myrtlebourne, and Thorne had foolishly bumbled into the middle of it.

"What do you wish done?" Ravenglass glanced at Lyles. "And can everyone in your household be trusted?"

The valet hardened his ever-sour expression and gave a curt nod. "My loyalty to Lord Knightwood is unquestionable."

"I trust Lyles." Thorne leaned back again and motioned for the valet to begin. "After all, not once has he slipped while putting that blade to my throat."

Lyles applied a liberal froth of shaving soap and, with his usual efficiency and care, gave Thorne a perfect shave without so much as a single nick.

"You did not answer," Ravenglass said. "What do you wish to do to resolve the Montagne Myrtlebourne issue once and for all?"

Thorne waved away the hand mirror Lyles held in front of him for inspection of his handiwork. "If I could get there without aid of a crutch or a bath chair, I would confront the man and give him a taste of the lead he gave me." He accepted a toothbrush coated in tooth powder from Lyles, then scrubbed his teeth and tongue, ridding himself of the foul aftertaste of the laudanum concoction he hoped never to use again. After rinsing his mouth with water, he rinsed it a second time with a hearty mouthful of Eau de Bouche Botot , welcoming the refreshing taste of gillyflower, cinnamon, ginger, and anise. As he wiped his mouth, he fixed a hard stare on his friend. "You know there is only one way we will truly be rid of the man and his madness."

Ravenglass's expression hardened, his distaste for the matter clear. "We are not murderers, Knightwood. Neither of us."

"No, we are not," Thorne agreed. "But neither are we cowards afraid to protect those we love. I will not have Blessing or her family harmed because I allowed the wants of my cock to lead me where I should never have gone." He gripped the arms of the bath chair, shame and frustration threatening to overwhelm him. His precious Blessing was paying for his sins, and he refused to allow it to continue. Making up his mind, he shifted his weight to his good leg and scooted forward. "Help me stand."

"But your leg…" Ravenglass nervously opened and closed his mouth, greatly resembling a fish out of water. "The doctor said you would be weak for quite some time because of the fever. You should not try to stand."

"I know my body better than he does." Thorne rocked closer to the edge of the seat, doing his best not to put too much strain on his left shoulder, which burned and ached like a raging inferno. "Give me a hand, Ravenglass. Lyles! You help too."

"Is this wise, my lord?" the valet asked with a rare expression of doubt.

"I have never been accused of being wise, Lyles. Now do as I ask."

"We better help him," Ravenglass said, "or his arse will land on the floor, and then there will be hell to pay with Lady Blessing."

"Yes, my lord." Lyles took a position on Thorne's left, and Ravenglass stood on his right.

"Whatever you do, Lyles, do not pull hard on my left arm and stir my shoulder even worse than it is. Hold me about the ribs, if you can." Thorne leaned forward, rocking all his weight to his uninjured left leg as Ravenglass held tightly to his right arm. "On the count of three, gentlemen. One…two…three."

With a mighty groan to fuel the effort, Thorne shoved upward and stood. Lyles slid underneath his left arm without yanking on it and held tight to his middle, while Ravenglass pushed up under his other arm and supported him on his right.

Head swimming and a cold sweat peppering his flesh, Thorne sucked in great, deep breaths and kept his gaze locked on the wall in front of him. He could do this. He would not retch, nor would he collapse. For Blessing's sake and the sake of their future, he would do this, and do it well.

"You have gone a bit green around the gills, old boy," Ravenglass said. "Shall we sit you back down?"

"No," Thorne said, forcing the words through clenched teeth. Ignoring the angry churning in his gut, he shifted and put some weight on his injured leg. "Bloody hell!"

Ravenglass and Lyles kept him from dropping, then eased him back down into the bath chair.

"That is plenty for today. Now leave off with your stubbornness and see sense, or I shall inform Lady Blessing." Ravenglass glared at him, then looked to Lyles. "A glass of water for him would not go amiss. I doubt he can stomach anything stronger at the moment."

"Do not talk around me as if I am too incapacitated to speak for myself." Agonizing pain shot through Thorne's leg as he shifted in the chair. "Bloody hell, I have rightly stirred the demons now."

Lyles handed him a glass of water, then placed a cool, damp cloth across the back of his neck. "To curb the need to retch, my lord."

After taking a sip, Thorne handed the glass back to the valet, then held the wet linen tighter against his nape. It did help ease the queasiness. "I cannot give in to the pain or the weakness." He sucked in a deep breath, held it, then blew it back out. "I must get back on my feet with the greatest of haste."

"And do what?" Ravenglass took to pacing, his curt stride shouting his frustration. "We can send someone to the Dials to deal with Montagne and his doxy. It does not have to be you."

"It has to be me." Thorne twisted in the chair to defend his argument eye to eye but wrenched his injured shoulder. The agony sent a swirling mass of black spots blinking through his vision, and an ominous roar thundered in his ears. His stomach clenched with a warning gurgle, and he clapped a hand across his mouth.

Lyles leapt toward him with an empty basin and held it as he spewed out the contents of his boiling innards.

Ravenglass descended upon him. "You are much better than you were but are still quite unwell. By the time you gain the strength to throttle the man with your own two hands, who knows what evil the devil will have stirred?"

Thorne sagged back into the chair. "Bloody hell." He needed to rant, needed to rage, and all he had the strength to do was sit in a damnable bath chair and vomit into a basin. "Not a word of this to Blessing. Understood?" When the viscount didn't answer, he thumped his fist on the arm of the chair. "Understood, Ravenglass?"

"Forewarned is prepared." Ravenglass puckered with a particularly stubborn scowl. "She should be informed, as should her brother, the duke. The Broadmere family is large. Who is to say that if she does not respond to this letter or at least acknowledge it, Montagne may decide to attack one of her sisters to convince her to help him?"

"How is she supposed to respond if the messenger did not wait for said response?"

"The man informed Cadwick that he would return on the morrow for the lady's answer. I overheard him say so myself, and that helped to convince me to intercept the letter and bring it to your attention rather than Lady Blessing's."

Thorne scrubbed a hand across his mouth, relieved that his stomach was settling now that his wounds had returned to the bearable ache he could manage. "Did you make Cadwick aware that he was not to speak of this to my mother either?"

"I did." Ravenglass handed Thorne the glass of water and nodded for him to drink. "Your staff's loyalty to your mother and her felines has not gone unnoticed."

"Good." Thorne narrowed his eyes. "We shall draft a reply for the messenger to carry back to Montagne so the man believes his threats have been acknowledged. I believe our first response in this game of cat and mouse should be one beseeching him for mercy—just to see how he reacts. What say you?"

"Providing you agree to warn Lady Blessing and the rest of the family?" Ravenglass arched a brow at him.

As much as he hated involving Blessing any more than she already was, Thorne grudgingly admitted that his friend was correct. "Fine. But not until she has enjoyed her bath and a refreshing nap free of the worrisome burden this will surely add to her."

Ravenglass nodded. "Agreed." He caught hold of the back of the bath chair and wheeled Thorne over to the side of his bed. "You should rest as well. She will accept this news much better if you appear stronger and well rested when it comes time for tea."

"You are well on your way to becoming an annoying nursemaid," Thorne told his friend.

"Good." Ravenglass offered his hand to help Thorne back into the bed. "Annoying you is one of the few delights of my life."

*

Thorne looked so hale and hearty with his white shirt of the finest lawn stretched across his broad chest and open at the throat. His loose trousers of the softest buckskin, held up by braces, and paired with stockings and shoes, made it seem as though he could jump to his feet at any moment. Even with him temporarily confined to the bath chair, his handsome strength threatened to melt Blessing into a puddle of breathless fluttering. This man would be her husband. Quite soon, in fact.

Refreshed from her bath and a luxurious nap in a bed overflowing with pillows, she seated herself in a chair beside him and reached over to squeeze his hand. "I feared this day would never come," she whispered, almost choking on the words. She blinked hard and fast, trying to stop the happy tears and failing. She swiped them away, embarrassed at being so emotional. "Goodness me. What a silly ninny I am."

Thorne kissed her hand and clasped it to his heart. "Not a silly ninny at all. You are my precious treasure, and I am more thankful for you than you will ever know."

But something in his eyes gave her pause. "What is wrong?"

He bowed his head and kissed her hand again before lifting his gaze to hers. "I fear our game with Montagne and Lady Myrtlebourne is not yet finished."

A heady mix of rage, hatred, and the unfairness of it all crackled through her like a windswept blaze. "What now?" She braced herself, clenching her teeth until her jaws ached.

Thorne tipped the slightest nod at Ravenglass, who sat across the sitting room from them. "Show her."

The viscount's troubled look filled Blessing with the unreasonable urge to fly out of the room and never look back. But she had never been a coward and was not about to start now. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and sat taller as he crossed to her and held out a note.

"This arrived for you earlier today," he said, his manner wary.

"For me?" She took the message, noticed the broken seal, then looked back up at him while fighting to control both her tone and the feeling of being intruded upon. "And how did you come to have it in your possession, my lord?"

"I intercepted it when I recognized the messenger as the same man who drove the hackney carrying Montagne on the day he shot your betrothed."

"I see." She would accept that answer for now even though she resented the invasion of her privacy. Determined to stop her hands from shaking, she slowly unfolded the dreaded thing and read it.

"The man is mad." She reread the disturbing message, then turned to Thorne. "How could that fool even begin to think I would help him do you in? I love you."

Serendipity, Fortuity, and Lady Roslynn beamed at her from the settee on the other side of Thorne. She rose and handed them the letter so they could read it too.

"We must hunt him down and shoot him." She turned to Ravenglass. "Since you have yet to act upon this disturbing matter, I must assume you cannot stomach the challenge, so I shall do it myself."

"Essie!" Thorne shook his head at her. "Ravenglass has yet to address this for several reasons—he thought you and your family should first be informed, and I told him that I wished to handle it myself."

Contrition pricked her conscience. Lord Ravenglass had been nothing but kind and helpful. "Forgive me, my lord. You have been most protective of all of us since this mess began. I should not have slandered you so." Then she turned and shook a finger at Thorne. "You are in no condition to handle anything and will not be so silly as to attempt to do so."

"Essie—"

"Do not Essie me, or I shall retract the permission I gave you to use my pet name." She was in no mood to be reasonable. Not when an insane devil threatened everyone she loved. "Now, what is our plan to end this worrisome business?"

"Your betrothed wishes to stall the demented cove until he is strong enough to take control of the matter himself." Ravenglass shot a smug look at Thorne.

Blessing held her breath and counted to ten to keep from giving a most inappropriate response to such a ridiculous notion. Instead, she clasped her hands in front of her waist and asked, "Stall him how?"

"I suggest you think long and hard before answering," Fortuity warned Ravenglass and Thorne. "She has already held her breath once. That indicates she has reached a most dangerous level."

"Held her breath?" Ravenglass asked.

"An exercise her mother taught her," Thorne said. "Now is not the time to discuss it."

"As I asked," Blessing said in a much louder manner that they would do well to heed, "stall him how? And are you stalling Lady Myrtlebourne as well?"

"The messenger said he would return tomorrow to pick up your response and deliver it," Ravenglass told her.

"My response." Blessing narrowed her eyes and took to pacing around the room. "So, we plan to follow the man, find the self-proclaimed earl, and offer him the same treatment he gave to Thorne—yes?"

"There is no we in this matter," Thorne said with a fierce scowl. "I will not have you endangered any more than you have already been."

"Says the man sitting in the bath chair because he is so weak from a raging fever caused by two gunshot wounds."

"Essie!" Serendipity hurried over, took hold of Blessing's hand, and escorted her back to her chair. " You cannot be the one to finish this. I know Mama and Papa taught us independence, courage, and the belief that we can do anything we set our minds to—but this is not one of those occasions. I beg you to see sense. This matter is better left to the men. Please be reasonable. Look into your heart and mind and heed the advice Mama and Papa would surely give us all at a time like this."

Blessing caught her bottom lip between her teeth and bowed her head. She wanted to shriek with rage and charge off to punish the devil who had caused Thorne so much pain and suffering. But as much as she hungered for revenge, a small part of her knew Serendipity was right, and that her wisdom should be noted.

She pulled in a deep breath but no longer felt the need to hold it. Lifting her head, she arched a brow first at Ravenglass, then angled it at Thorne. "So, tell me, my lords, what are your plans to end this torture for us all?"

Thorne reached over and gently took her hand. "I need to do this, Essie. Handle this in my own way. I have seen what this has done to you, and it grieves me because it is my fault. I deserve to suffer for my past. You do not."

"You make my heart hurt when you say things like that."

"It is my love for you that makes me say them." He pressed a kiss to the backs of her fingers so tender that she almost wept. "Ravenglass and I intend to compose a letter that will properly start this evil game of cat and mouse. I will keep you informed, but I forbid you to get any closer than that." He leaned toward her and tugged her in so he could brush the sweetest of kisses across her lips. "You are my heart, Essie. I cannot bear to lose you."

On the verge of tears, she touched his cheek, then smiled at the smoothness of his jawline in an attempt to distract herself from crying. "You have had a shave, my lord."

"I wondered if you would notice." He turned his head and kissed her palm, sending a warm fluttering through her.

Snuffling across the room pulled Blessing's attention to her sisters and Thorne's mother. All three openly wept as if someone had just died.

"Heaven help us," she whispered more to herself than Thorne.

He grinned and kissed her again. "Heaven already has, my love. We shall win this battle. I swear it."

Every possible thing that could go wrong churned through Blessing's mind like a storm at sea. But she forced a calm fa?ade. After all, if she was to be a wife, did they not always have to appear to trust their husband's judgment? She hoped not, because she would not be good at pretending he was right when he was so plainly wrong. Faking an agreeable smile, she nodded. "I know we will win. We have to."

While she grudgingly admitted that Serendipity was right about a woman's limitations in this world, there was no reason why Blessing couldn't help in this situation—just a little. And no matter what Serendipity said, Blessing could never imagine Mama standing idly by and letting Papa rush into a dangerous situation that could have been better managed. And manage this situation she would. She would keep Thorne safe, since he obviously had no intention of looking after himself.

"Shall I write tomorrow's letter?" she volunteered to him. "That way he will see it written in a feminine style."

Thorne frowned, but then his furrowed brow gradually smoothed. "I suppose you could. We thought the first letter should be quite beseeching. A plea for mercy and compassion."

"Beseeching?" she repeated, almost gagging on the word.

"Yes." He nodded. "That will provide us with a modicum of time while waiting for his response. I am certain it will be a coarse one."

"Indeed." Blessing rose, crossed the room to the writing table, and seated herself, all the while silently chanting, This will buy me time to think of something as well. She selected a sheet of their best stationery, inked her quill, then stared down at the blank page, completely incapable of coming up with anything remotely beseeching. Curses, threats, and general ranting came to mind, but nothing meek and pleading. She turned to Fortuity. "You are going to have to do this. All I can think of are the multitude of ways I wish for the man to suffer and die."

"Essie!" Serendipity subtly tipped her head in Lady Roslynn's direction as if warning Blessing to mind her tongue around her future mother-in-law.

Thorne's mother offered Blessing a curt nod. "I understand completely. If it were me writing that letter, I would only be able to threaten the bastard—not placate him with mewling."

Thorne choked on his tea, and Ravenglass barked out a laugh.

Fortuity shooed Blessing away from the writing table, took up the quill, and immediately scratched out a message while reading it aloud. " Lord Myrtlebourne ." She paused and looked at each of them. "I would assume the mad devil would take offense if I addressed him as Montagne. "

"Quite right." Thorne held out his cup to Cadwick. "No more tea—brandy, if you please."

"Very good, my lord." The butler fetched the decanter and made the rounds of the room, topping off everyone's cups.

"Carry on," Blessing urged Fortuity, knowing her imaginative sister would never fail her.

Fortuity inked the quill again, scribbled several lines, then wafted the paper to dry the ink. "I do not like sanding. The wicked stuff ends up on everything."

"Oh, do read it to us, Tutie. Do not keep us on tenterhooks." Blessing chewed on her bottom lip, hating Montagne for monopolizing time that would be better spent helping Thorne grow stronger.

"I kept it brief." Fortuity gently blew on the paper, then squared her shoulders and read, " Lord Myrtlebourne—I beg that you set aside your unholy plan of murder and sorrow. Escape London with your lady love and start anew. Please. I beseech you to leave us in peace, as my beloved Thorne may yet die from your earlier attack. Again, I most humbly beg you to leave us be. Lady Blessing Abarough ."

Blessing wrinkled her nose at the message's weak, sniveling tone, but she supposed that was the feel that Thorne wished to achieve. She sidled a glance at him, then rolled her eyes at his broad smile. "And shall I know the pleasure of putting that letter into the messenger's hand?"

Thorne's smile disappeared. "Absolutely not. No one is to go near the front door when that man arrives, and Cadwick?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"He is not to be granted admittance to this house. You will pass the message outside to him."

The butler nodded and accepted the folded note from Fortuity. "Fear not, my lord. It will be handled exactly as you wish."

Blessing bit her tongue at the annoying level of difficulty added to the plan, but she kept her irritation to herself. She sipped her brandy and muddled over the options left for her to discover Montagne's location. While she wanted with all her heart to serve the man the retribution he deserved, this was one of those rare occasions where she grudgingly agreed with her sister—she should not do this herself. Even Mama and Papa would agree that their daughters should never take on a deranged murderer themselves. So she wouldn't. But that didn't mean she couldn't hire it done. She wasn't quite sure how to go about hiring someone to do such an odious task, but she would figure it out. Thorne's life depended on it.