"You're… really… here," Caleb finally said, the words so scratchy she could barely hear them.
"Caleb!" She hugged him so hard he groaned. "I'm sorry. Oh, God, I didn't mean to hurt you. Say something. Anything. Just so I know you're all right."
"Tired…" he said, but he smiled at her as his eyes drifted closed, and she started to cry.
Lucas found her that way, clinging to Caleb's hand, tears running down her cheeks. "He spoke to me, Luc. He knew who I was."
Relief eased the worry in Luc's handsome face. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Thank you. For coming here. For taking care of Caleb. For everything."
She nodded. She had done what she could and Caleb would recover.
She had tried not to think what that might mean and she refused to do it now. Instead, when she glanced toward the door, she saw Jonathan Parker striding toward her and there wasn't the least hint of a smile on his face.
"I can't believe you are here," he said, "in a dreadful place like this. When your father told me, I thought he had gone mad."
Luc stepped up beside her. "I brought her, Jon. I know it was a good deal to ask. I was fighting for my brother's life. I thought perhaps if Lee were here, it might make a difference."
Jon glanced down at Caleb, who seemed to be sleeping more peacefully than he had before. "Did it?"
"Yes. It looks as if my brother will recover. My family owes Miss Montague a very great debt."
Jon's amber gaze lingered on Caleb. "I've always liked your brother. I am glad to hear he's going to make it." He returned his attention to Lee. "Nevertheless, this is not a place where you should be. You are betrothed to me and in little more than a week, we are to marry. I'm here to see you safely back to London."
She didn't want to go. She wanted to stay with Caleb. But Luc was looking at her with pity, as if he knew that now that his brother would live, things would return to the way they were before.
"Come," Jon said. "I took the liberty of collecting your things from the inn. The carriage is waiting."
She forced herself not to look at Caleb, simply accepted Jon's arm and let him guide her out of the hospital. They didn't speak again till they reached his carriage.
"I realize you have feelings for Captain Tanner. But he is a soldier. Once he is fully recovered, he will be returning to war."
She stared down at the hands she clutched in her lap. "I know."
"I'll make you happy, Vermillion, I swear it. Once we are wed, you will see."
She raised her eyes to his face. "Lee," she said softly. "I would rather you called me Lee."
Jon bent his head and lightly kissed her. "Of course, dearest." His knuckles brushed along her jaw. "In time you will realize that this is for the best. It's your destiny, Lee. It always has been."
Lee didn't answer. She didn't like the way he was looking at her. Then again, she was tired and depressed. She ached inside and she simply wanted to be alone. Instead, she bumped along in the viscount's carriage, so exhausted she finally tipped her head back against the velvet squabs and fell asleep.
All the way to London she dreamed of a tall man in a scarlet uniform boarding a ship to return to Spain.
For the next six days, she hoped to hear from Caleb but no word came. Instead, a note arrived from Lucas, saying that Caleb was recovering well, that he was completely lucid and rapidly mending. He had been moved to Selhurst Manor to complete his recuperation. There was nothing to indicate Caleb wished to see her. Instead, Lucas wished her felicitations on her upcoming wedding and promised that he would attend.
Lee carefully folded the note and tucked it into her jewelry box. Nothing had changed. She should have known better than to hope for a miracle after the ones she had already been granted. Instead, Friday night, Beatrice pampered her with a bath scented with sandalwood oil and insisted she go to bed early.
Tomorrow was her wedding day.
Lee prayed that God would give her the courage to go through with it.
It was a nearly moonless night. A layer of dense black clouds hung over the streets and a thin mist hung in the air. The courier accepted the wax-sealed sheet of foolscap and slid it into the small leather pouch beneath his arm. Earlier, he had received a message telling him about the pickup and advising him this would be the last he would receive for some time.
Reggie Bags didn't care. He liked the coin well enough, but the risk was bloody steep. Already two of his mates had been caught, one of them killed when he tried to escape John Law. Reggie wasn't a man with much of a conscience, and he was Irish, not bloody English, so that part didn't trouble him, but riskin' his neck this way… well, part of him was relieved his employer had decided to pull in his horns for a bit.
In the meantime, Reggie had a message to deliver and if he wanted the rest of his blunt, he would have to see it done.
He moved away from the rear of the tavern, off into the dark London streets toward the stable down in the East End off Smithfield Market, where he had rented a saddle horse. It was a long ride to Dover, but once he got there, he would leave the message in the usual place and his part in this rotten business would be done. He wasn't sure what would happen after that, but he figured from Dover, a man could row a small boat quietly across the channel to Calais and deliver the message to someone there. All he had to do was get to the coast.
A noise somewhere behind him filtered into his brain and Reggie stopped. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, but when he looked, all he saw was darkness. Still, he had a nose for trouble and the scent was heavy in his nostrils now.
His heart hammered like a kettledrum as he hurried along the mist-slick streets and disappeared into a deserted alley. He paused a couple of times to look back over his shoulder, but no one was there. Then, just ahead of him, a shadow loomed out of the darkness and a tall man with curly black hair stepped in front of him.
"Hello, Reggie," the man said. "I believe you have something I need."
Reggie took one look in those cold blue eyes and his knees started to wobble. "Yes, sir," he said. "I believe I do at that."
"What the devil do you think you're doing?" William Tanner, Earl of Selhurst, strode toward Caleb, whose muscles strained in an effort to lift himself out of the deep feather mattress in his upstairs bedchamber at Selhurst.
"I have to go to London, Father. I need to speak to Colonel Cox." Caleb reached over and tugged on the bell pull to ring for his valet and that small effort made perspiration pop out on his forehead.
"Are you insane? You are barely well enough to eat. Your body needs time to recover. You can scarcely hie yourself off to London!"
Just then former footman Harry Prince, recently promoted to Caleb's valet, came dashing into the room. "You rang, sir?"
"I need a uniform. There's a clean one in the armoire. Help me get it on, will you, Harry?"
"You can hardly stand," William argued, his worry mounting. "What could possibly be so urgent you cannot remain in bed for another few days?"
Caleb's features shifted and an implacable expression appeared on his face. "I'm resigning my commission, Father. I'm leaving the army. I realize you probably won't approve, but this is something I've had a good deal of time to think about. I might have done it sooner, but there was a battle to be fought. There was the matter of duty and honor and the debt I owed my country. That debt has been paid and the duty I owe now is to myself."
The valet rushed forward to help him into his navy blue breeches. The effort cost him and he sank down heavily on the bed.
"Even should that be your decision," William said, "why can't you wait? It's obvious you're in no condition to travel. In a few more days—"
"I want to see Lee. There are things I need to say to her. Things I've already waited too long to say."
Lee. Vermillion Durant. William had been afraid of this from the moment Lucas had arrived with the girl at the hospital. "Things? What sort of things… ?"