Page 5 of How to Seduce a Viscount
Shehadto wake up. There was a message to deliver. There were men to fight. Luce would need her protection. The earl could not afford to lose another of his Horsemen, another of his beloved grandsons. The Greek cause was counting on her. So many were counting on her if she could just wake up.
Some vital part of her pushed its way forward into consciousness but it was difficult. Her limbs were heavy, there was an ache and pain and she was so very hot. Better to stay asleep her body counselled her mind. In sleep there was healing, there was peace. To wake up would mean hurt and illness. Those would be the price of consciousness. Did she really want to chase that?
This wasn’t about want. This was about need and sheneededto wake. To sleep was dangerous. What might escape her lips if she slept? What secrets might she give up in the throes of fever? For surely that was the source of her heat.
From a distance, she heard a voice, pleading, wishing, for her to wake up. A hand enfolded hers, its grip firm and healthy, lending her strength as it drew her forward to wakefulness. Lips brushed her knuckles with an unlooked-for gentleness. She was closer now. She could hear words.Wake for me, I need you.Yes. Yes, she thought. She would wake up for this. For him.
She forced her eyes open to meet his gaze, dark and warm like melted chocolate before milk was poured in. A smile of relief and joy took his face in gradual increments. His expression gave away much. He’d been worried for her. He was still worried. Her injury must be severe, then. It certainly felt severe. Between the ache in her side and the fever, she would not last long in the waking world. She would need sleep, but before she slipped back, she had to tell him. ‘My coat…’ She could barely make the words. They stuck in her throat.
He had a glass of water to her lips. ‘I have the code,’ he offered softly. ‘You’re not to worry. The message has been delivered. Your attackers are dealt with. You got two of them. I will question the other and learn who sent them.’
Wren swallowed, grateful for the cool water and for his news, delivered as it was in gentle tones and concise words as if he knew she didn’t have long. That every waking second counted. ‘Is it bad?’ Her voice sounded stronger but that strength was an illusion. Already her eyelids were heavy.
‘I’ve stitched you up. The doctor has been sent for.’ He was holding her hand again. She liked the feel of it, the sense of connection it wrought. She wasn’t fighting alone. ‘There will be fever but we will get you through this.’
She wanted so desperately to give a nod. She could not make her head move. She thought she managed a small smile instead as her eyes closed. She could rest now. The business of the message had been dealt with.
‘Wait.’ Luce’s voice was sharp. ‘What’s your name?’
She made a desperate effort to whisper, ‘Wren. Wren Audley.’ That’s when she knew just how worried he was and just how badly she was hurt. He wanted her name in case he needed it for a tombstone. But she couldn’t die. Not yet. There was a code to crack and Stepan to find. There was work to do and she couldn’t do it dead.
Chapter Three
She didn’t die, although there were times over the next three days when she thought she might, especially if one counted dying of embarrassment. For someone who detested being dependent on others for even the merest of assistance, Wren had been reliant on the immensely kind Mrs Hartley and the stoically practical Rose for everything, large or small. And Luce, too. Whenever she’d been awake, he’d been there at her bedside. She’d rather have starved than let him feed her beef broth from a spoon as if she were an infant, but Luce wouldn’t hear of such foolishness.
Wren did understand though that she was lucky the sting to her pride was greater than the sting of her injury. A mid-grade fever had subsided, leaving her grouchy and restless in a bed she was truly too weak to leave. That didn’t mean she hadn’t tried. Day two, she had attempted to get out of bed and managed to stand up by herself for all of twenty seconds before taking a tentative step and falling over. Her folly had brought Luce running to pick her up off the floor and a visit from the doctor to check her stitches.
Such bravado had added two more days of bedrest to the doctor’s orders. Unfortunately, Wren couldn’t argue with the suggestion. She was kitten-weak in ways that went beyond thegash in her side. Bedrest would ease her wound, but only time would restore the blood she’d lost. That last contributed prominently to her grouchiness. She could hardly track down word of Stepan stuck in a bed, wearing one of Luce’s nightshirts. But she decided, after her two days of extra bedrest were up, it wouldn’t stop her from helping with the first part of her mission. Her brain was in perfect working order even though her strength was not. She could still contribute on that front.
Fuelled with determination, Wren carefully got out of bed and stood slowly, this time making sure to hold tight to the poster as she inched towards the dressing robe draped over the chair. Luce’s chair. Where he sat when he came to visit, which wasn’t as often as she’d like but she understood. He had a message to decode and time was of the essence. He was working. He didn’t have time to read aloud to her or play cards. Although, Mrs Hartley had mentioned he’d not left her side that first night when she’d been in the most danger. It was only when the danger had passed that he’d vacated his chair, seeing her for a few minutes for a bedside supper. He spent those minutes giving her an update on her health and offering assurances that she was healing well. But they had not discussed the message after that first night. Nor had he asked any further personal questions.
Wren reached for Luce’s robe, a black silk garment that smelt faintly of winter woods and spice. She breathed it in and laughed at her silliness. Of course it would happen this way: that she’d manage to capture Luce Parkhurst’s attentions only while she was asleep. That was how her luck was. She often got what she wished for but in ways she’d not intended. Wren gingerly slid her arms through the sleeves, her movements stiff and slow. A person never quite realised how connected one’s muscles all were until some of those muscles were out of operation. Any motion of her arm pulled at her side. It would be a while beforeshe could even think about using her stiletto. Just the thought of trying to stab with it in her present condition made her wince.
Now for the door. Just five steps. She rested triumphantly when she reached it without mishap. She opened the door and stepped into the hall to make the journey to the library. The length of the corridor looked daunting. She would take it one door at a time, she told herself. There was no rush. Thank goodness this was not like her usual jobs for the earl where stealth was required. There’d be nothing stealthy about her progress today and she certainly didn’t have the strength to hide. If any of the servants came upon her in the hall, she’d have to persuade them to help her along instead of sending her back to bed.
It was indeed a journey by the time she reached the library but well worth it for those windows. She leaned quietly against the door frame, gathering herself from that final effort, and took it all in. The enormous bank of cathedral windows that let in copious amounts of daylight even in winter, the pleasant warmth of the room she could feel even from where she stood and the man who sat, enthralled in his work at the long table with hair mussed, jacket off, shirtsleeves rolled up and glasses perched on his fine, long nose. Not even the windows could compete with the sight of that.
‘Beautiful view,’ Wren commented, dragging her reluctant gaze back to the windows. ‘I see the snow has lasted.’ The limbs of the sycamores lining the drive glistened in the sunlight beyond the windows, majestic and magical in their snow-kissed glory.
‘Wren! What are you doing out of bed? Did you walk all the way on your own?’ Luce pushed back from the table and raced to her side.
‘All the way down the hall,’ she offered wryly. ‘It must be a whole hundred yards.Quitethe journey,’ she glibly mitigated theaccomplishment. ‘You needn’t fuss.’ But silently she was grateful for his arm about her and the support he offered as he settled her in a chair beside the fire. Her efforts had cost her more than she’d anticipated.
Luce gave her a stern obsidian stare. ‘You could have fallen. For someone so eager to be up and about you seem very willing to risk bedrest again.’ He reached for a soft velvety throw the shade of deep mahogany and draped it over her lap.
‘I’m not in my dotage,’ she scolded even as her fingers luxuriated in the plushness of the blanket and her mind basked in the indulgence of being cared for in spite of her protests to the contrary.
‘No, but youarebarefoot in a nightshirt in a house undergoing renovations in the middle of January.’ Luce took the seat across from her, his gaze making her keenly aware of her rather unsatisfactory dishabille. She must look a fright, drowning in his nightshirt and robe, her hair a-tangle from lying abed. The words ‘waif’ and ‘orphan’ came to mind. Hardly words for how she’d like Luce Parkhurst to remember her.
Luce tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair, a smile curling on his mouth as he offered a friendly scolding of his own. ‘Youare stubborn. You don’t like others taking care of you, even when you need it.’
‘I don’t likeowingothers. It makes a person weak.’ She didn’t allow people to fuss over her in part because she knew no one would. Whowasthere to fuss over her? There were no parents, no siblings, no beloved friend. If she were to disappear, only the earl would note her absence. When he died, there’d be no one. It was best not to get used to such pleasures when she knew she’d lose them. ‘Relying on others can be dangerous in my line of work.’
‘Which would be what, exactly?’ Luce queried with a hard stare that made her wonder if he’d believe a half truth or at least accept it if he couldn’t believe it.
‘You already know. I work for your grandfather. I run messages for him.’ All true. There wasn’t a single lie among those words, except that they weren’t complete. She did more than run messages. But did it matter? The words wouldn’t be true much longer. Soon, she’d be retired. Wren pushed the thought away. She didn’t want to think about that yet. Who would she be if she wasn’t Falcon?
Luce gave a considering nod. ‘What else do you do for him?’
