To Ruin a Rake Read online

  Leaving the hall, they mounted the stairs to the second floor—the sick ward.

  A cold sweat broke out on Roland’s brow as they approached the door. Five paces away, he stopped. Though he willed his legs to walk, they would not.

  “If you prefer, we may tour the outer grounds,” said Harriett, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

  Swallowing past the knot in his throat, he wrenched his eyes off the sign and looked at her.

  Pity. He saw pity in her eyes. The same pity he’d seen in them that day at the cemetery. Heat flooded him, and before he could contemplate the wisdom of it—or lack thereof—he strode forward, put out his hand, and pushed the door open. If she wasn’t afraid of what lay beyond, then neither would he be. At least not visibly.

  “Wait!”

  He spun about, his heart stopping at her urgent command.

  Digging into her pocket, she handed him a swatch of cloth. He held it up gingerly.

  “It is a mask,” she told him, pulling another out for herself. “You must put it on before we enter. All who work with the sick are required to wear a mask to prevent breathing in the miasma.”

  Again, his palms dampened. That was why she’d been wearing a mask when he’d encountered her yesterday. He tried to don his own, but to his shame his fingers shook so it was impossible. After a moment or two spent fumbling with the strings, she let out a sigh of frustration and gestured for him to allow her to assist. Flushing, he did so and bent his head, trying to ignore the way his flesh became hypersensitive as her fingers brushed the back of his head and neck.

  Once his mask was secure, they proceeded.

  Again, he was greeted by homey halls. But the rooms here were not open, nor were they empty. He heard coughing from behind one door, whimpering from another—quickly followed by a woman’s voice offering comfort.

  The sharp scent of lye reached his nostrils even through the cloth covering his face. And vinegar, also. “It stinks in here,” he said, his voice coming out muffled.

  “We take every precaution known to prevent the spread of disease as well as a few that are as yet theoretical. One established method is to clean everything with vinegar.”

  A masked nurse exited one of the rooms down the hall and immediately went to a laving basin placed in the hall to begin washing her hands. There were several of these lining the hallway.

  “Why is she doing that?” he asked, nodding toward the woman. “And what are these basins doing out here? Should they not be kept in the rooms?”

  Harriett gave a nod of approval to the nurse, who had turned at the sound of his voice. “Every room has a basin in it, but these are here specifically for the staff,” she told him. “Even with the masks, I have over time observed that certain illnesses seem to spread by some other mysterious means. After careful study and consultation with several physicians, I proposed that touch might be the culprit. As an experiment, I instituted a mandate requiring everyone caring for the sick to wash their hands with strong soap immediately upon leaving the sick room. You might be pleased to know that since its inception nearly nine months ago this preventive measure appears to have greatly reduced the occurrence of illness among both the children and the staff.”

  A rush of admiration swept through him. “You deduced this on your own?”

  Only her eyes were visible above her mask as she turned to face him, but even so, he could tell she was smiling. “As a matter of fact, I did,” she said, her voice warm with pride. “I have asked for help in the confirmation of my hypothesis, of course. I am no doctor, although William often told me I would have made an excellent one had I been born a man. I believe as he did, in a scientific, logical approach to problems.”

  “Of course you do,” he muttered, immediately biting his tongue. As William’s fiancée, it would only have been natural for her to mold herself according to his preferences. That she maintained the shape despite his death was yet another testament to her love for him.

  “There was no harm in instituting the practice and little related expense,” she went on. “That it has seemingly succeeded brings me great joy. I carefully recorded my findings, too, and presented them to several doctors in London. They are now proposing that other facilities try it. If similar results are seen, then my hypothesis will be proved. If such occurs, it is likely to lead to a better understanding of contagion and how to prevent its spread, thereby benefiting everyone.”

  No wonder William had taken to her. Plain she might be, but her way of thinking would have been much to his liking. And if William had thought her intelligent enough to be a doctor—and train her to run this facility—he must have been greatly impressed by her mind. He eyed her with renewed wariness. He had underestimated her, a terrible mistake to make with any enemy.

  They came to a door with a small window in it. Peering in, he saw a young boy whose skin was discolored by large blotches of angry red. Roland frowned. “What is wrong with him? Is that...”

  “Scarlet fever.”

  It was all he could do to resist the urge to bolt. Instead, he forced himself to back away slowly.

  “You need not fear,” she said. “William told me you both had it as children.”

  She’s right. He breathed again, though only shallowly. The mask he wore was no guarantee of safety, and God knew what else might be lurking in this place. He now sorely regretted his hasty show of bravado. “Even with the precautions you’ve mentioned, scarlet fever is extremely contagious. Do you not worry it will spread?”

  She shook her head. “He was brought to us having already broken his fever, but we are keeping him up here for a while as a precaution anyway. We have dealt with scarlet fever here before, you know. Last year there were seven cases of it. He is doing much better now that he has begun eating again.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Regrettably, his parents and siblings did not survive. He would have died as well, had not a neighbor heard him crying for help and called the guard. The instant his condition was discerned, no one would have him. He was brought here as a last resort.”

  It begged asking, though he dreaded to hear the answer. “Do many of them die?”

  Her head bowed. “In this ward, occasionally. In the case of a severe illness, it sometimes cannot be helped.”

  “Why do you do it? Why risk taking in the sick?”

  She looked at him, fire in her eyes. “He was already past the crisis.”

  “You may be clever, Lady Harriett, but you don’t know everything. How could you be certain he was no longer contagious? They could have lied to you about his condition in order to get rid of him.”

  “As I said, we have dealt with scarlet fever here before. I know each of its stages intimately.”

  “Oh, yes,” he said, crossing his arms. “Such intimate knowledge. I forget that you have had exactly two years of experience from which to draw upon in order to make such life and death decisions.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “As a matter of fact, I have consulted with numerous physicians on the matter! But I don’t suppose that makes a difference to you, does it?” She jabbed a slender finger at the little window. “You would have sent that child away. You would have let him die.”

  “You risked the lives of all the others here.”

  “We have minimized the risk, as you can see.”

  “But you cannot eliminate it entirely.”

  “There is no possible way to do that—not with our current resources,” she argued. “The only way to safeguard against such things is to have a separate facility and staff to care for the sick. It was something William was working on before he died, for he thought as you do, that the sick and the healthy should be kept apart. I happen to agree. Unfortunately, there is the small matter of funding.” She pointed at the window. “Look at him and then look me in the eye and tell me you would have turned him away.”

  Against his will, he again looked in at the boy. His head lay quiescent on the pillows, his little face with its protruding cheekbones telling the story of his
hardship. “I would have looked for an alternative solution,” he grumbled, forcing himself to meet her gaze.

  “I have no alternative solution to offer. There is nowhere else for sick children to go because London is full of heartless people. I do the best I can with what I am given.”

  He stared at her, at her fierce hazel eyes, the grim set of her mouth. She had determination. Courage. Passion. A current ran through him. Not an unpleasant one. Quite the contrary, in fact. Such inappropriate stirrings for the woman were cause for alarm.

  “I shall consider what you’ve said,” he told her, hoping he didn’t sound as awkward as he felt. “Perhaps I can find a way to…” To what? Help? Am I insane? He could not get involved in this. William was the saint in the family, not he. He wasn’t equipped to play the role of the noble, beneficent lord. He determined to tell her that life wasn’t always fair and that she would have to continue to make due. But what came out of his mouth was entirely the opposite. “I will see what I can do. There are no guarantees, but perhaps a small building on the edge of the grounds.”

  For a moment, her mouth opened and closed without a sound. In a way, it was almost worth it just to see her rendered speechless. He wondered how often in her life it had happened. Not very often, he guessed.

  Eight

  Harriett stared. Impossible! He couldn’t have just…

  But he had. She looked into his eyes, searching for insincerity in their whiskey-brown depths, but found none. The queer sensation in her belly, the one she’d been trying to ignore for the past hour, intensified. She swallowed, her mouth of a sudden having gone quite dry. Say something! “It would need its own kitchen and separate staff to prevent cross contamination,” she croaked, trying to stay focused.

  “As I said, I will consider it.” He blinked and looked away.

  She almost sagged with relief as the strange spell was broken. What the devil was wrong with her? “I shall be grateful for whatever assistance you may render, of course.” It was high time they moved on again. The sooner she got him out of here the better. “If you will follow me, I will show you the live-in staff quarters.”

  Not waiting for him to agree, she began walking. Her legs shook. In fact, all of her shook. “You may have noticed we are having the grounds fenced in and the courtyard enclosed,” she said, struggling to sound cool as they exited the sick ward.

  “I noticed,” he said, his usual sarcasm back in full force as he pulled off his mask and slapped it into her waiting hand. “Walls and fences to keep the inmates in.”

  “Not at all.” She shoved the cloth back into her pocket with tingling fingers. “It is to keep the rest of London out. These children have had no safe place to play but indoors until now. Children need sunshine and healthy physical activity.”

  He declined to comment as she led him into one of the nurseries and past rows of cribs occupied by sleeping babes. Going to the window, she pulled aside the sash and gestured for him to come and look.

  Manchester moved in beside her and looked down on a happy scene.

  Below, a group children played, some with skipping ropes, some with wooden spinning tops or bilbo catchers, and others with each other in a raucous game of tag. In one corner, younger children were placed upon blankets to roll about in the sunshine under the watchful eyes of their nurses. Harriett could hear the laughter through the glass. It warmed her more than the bright sunlight streaming in.

  She risked a glance at Manchester. What he was thinking she could not begin to guess, but his brow was creased and his manner serious. I suppose it would be too much to expect a smile from the man. Despite his grim demeanor, he was quite good-looking in profile. Not as elegant as William, but...

  “They appear quite cheerful.”

  The flash of irritation his soft comment elicited provided a welcome correction to her wayward thoughts. ”Did you expect them to be trudging in line, their legs shackled to a chain, perhaps?”

  “It was intended merely as a positive observation.”

  The quiet reproach took the wind from her sails. “My apologies,” she finally replied. “I misunderstood. Yes. They are as happy as can be, considering their circumstances. One thing I’ve learned about children is they are resilient. Some of these have come from terrible places, places of such neglect and abuse as would sicken the heart of any human being. Or at least it ought to do,” she added. “Not everyone views a child as something precious to be guarded and cherished.”

  He turned to her, fixing her with a gaze that, like everything else about him now that he was sober, was enigmatic. “You would have made a fine wife.”

  The quiet, unexpected compliment made her insides tremble in a way they’d never done when William had expressed admiration for her. She peered at Manchester, confused—on many levels. I think I preferred him when he was behaving like an ass...

  A flush rose in his face. “What I mean to say is that he—William—felt as you do,” he amended. “He always wanted children.”

  “Yes. We had planned on a large family,” she replied, still distracted by his odd manner.

  Something almost like pain flashed in his eyes, but it was quickly veiled in a wry smirk. “William planned a great many things. Like this Hospital. But he is no longer here to see to the execution of those plans.” His face hardened. “I didn’t ask for this, Lady Harriett. I didn’t want it—I don’t want it. That is the first thing you must understand.” Turning on his heel, he marched from the room, leaving her standing with her mouth agape.

  For the life of her, she could not figure him out. One moment he was perfectly civil, nice even, and the next…

  She managed to catch up to him in the hallway, but had to resort to an ungainly trot to keep pace with his long stride. “I didn’t ask for this either, you know,” she said. “I certainly didn’t anticipate you ever becoming involved with this place, and I find it most disagreeable that you seem to be blaming me for it!”

  Reaching the end of the hall, he yanked open the door. “I don’t blame you.”

  “Well, you certainly appear to be doing so,” she said, stepping in front of him.

  He slipped past.

  “I know you still bear a grudge against me for what happened that day,” she blurted. Triumph filled her as he stopped two steps down. Finally, the real bone of contention between them had been addressed.

  When he turned to face her, his eyes were disconcertingly level with hers. “You’re wrong. I harbor no ill will toward you for your reaction at the cemetery, but I do hold you responsible for the deliberate deception that followed. You should have told me you were running this place.”

  “You would have had me removed in an instant.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I do. Because I know what kind of man you are.”

  “Oh?” A thin smile crossed his lips. “Do tell.”

  She screwed up her courage. “You are the kind of man who gets himself drunk before his brother’s funeral and deliberately disrupts it. The kind of man who blatantly disregards everyone else’s grief and thinks only of his own. The kind of man who assaults his brother’s fiancée and then has the gall to publicly insult and humiliate her before her beloved is even in the ground!” Her blood was up now, and she had no fear. “You are a selfish man.”

  His hard, bright eyes pierced her. “Selfish? I offered to help you just now.”

  “You offered me an olive branch with a snake in it!” she countered, ignoring the danger and coming closer. “This whole thing has been nothing more than a trick to placate me, to put me at my ease until you can find a way to be rid of me. The only reason you came here today was to find fault with my work here and discredit me. No matter what niceties you utter, you cannot persuade me to believe otherwise.”

  He took a step up, bringing them nearly nose to nose. “The only serpent here is you, madam. If we are investigating motives here, then let us examine yours. Your purpose since the moment I set foot in this place has been to shut me up
and get me out of the way. Your way. Well, I am not so easily removed. You can expect to see more of me. A great deal more of me,” he snapped. “Until I am satisfied that things are as they ought to be according to my own good opinion, I shall remain the proverbial thorn in your side.”

  Damn. Her temper had gotten the better of her again. She considered apologizing and trying to salvage things, but the look on his face told her it was far too late for that. Better honesty, then. “It appears we are agreed in one thing, Your Grace—our mutual distrust of one another. But whereas mine stems from the repeated experience of bearing your assault on both my person and dignity, yours comes purely from pigheaded prejudice.”

  She turned to flee back up the steps, but before she could do so, he caught her wrist and jerked her back around to face him once more.

  “I have no problem with strong women, Lady Harriett,” he said, his gravelly voice sending shivers down her spine. His eyes darkened from whiskey to sienna as he leaned in. “In fact, I prefer them that way. But you go beyond the pale. You are controlling, manipulative, and deceitful. I shall be watching you. Make no mistake about that. And the first time you err, I shall be here to bring down the axe.”

  Tingles radiated from her imprisoned wrist as she stood there, heart hammering. Every inch of her flesh seemed painfully aware of how close he was. He drifted nearer, and her toes curled in anticipation of…of...

  Without warning, he released her and whirled away to resume his progress down the steps.

  This time, she stayed where she was and did not pursue him. She wasn’t sure she would have been able to do so even if she had wanted, for her legs trembled like those of a newborn foal. Gripping the rail for support, she listened for the downstairs door to close.

  Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes as it slammed. Damn him. And damn her temper! Why couldn’t she have held her tongue? Now she’d made matters even worse.

  ~ * ~