The Reluctant Reformer (30 page)

He peered at her face hopefully and whispered, “Maggie?”

Her eyelashes fluttered once again before opening. They remained open this time. “James?”

She seemed confused, and James squeezed her hand, then rubbed his thumb over her small fingers. He frowned at how cold they were. “Yes. I have brought you to Robert. He will heal you, love.”

If she understood him, she didn't show it. Her eyes began to slip wearily closed; then she forced them open again as if remembering something of importance.

“James,” she said softly, trying to sit up. Both he and Lord Mullin pressed her back down.

“Rest. Save your strength,” Robert urged quietly.

“What, Maggie? Don't talk. Save your strength. What is it?” James murmured. Picking up her hand, he pressed it flat to his face, trying to warm the cold flesh. He wasn't even aware that he was contradicting himself, urging her to rest while asking what she wanted to say. All he could think was that she was as cold as death, and that he was losing her.

“But…have to…tell you,” she got out breathlessly, then winced and sucked in a breath. Pain knifed across her face as Mullin began to probe gently at her wound.

“You're hurting her!” James shouted.

“Yes, I am,” Robert said quietly, then spoke to Maggie and not him as he said, “And I am sorry for that, Margaret. But I have to get the ball out and clean the wound. It will hurt a great deal. Mills is bringing something to ease your pain, but I fear I can't wait. You have already lost a lot of blood.”

“Yes.” Maggie managed a grimace of a smile, then closed her eyes briefly and said, “I just…have…to tell…”

“Maggie.” James almost moaned her name, agonizing over the pain she was suffering. He dropped his head, desperately squeezing her hand.

“I love…you,” she managed to get out. Her voice was faint, but James heard her declaration for all that. Tears welled in his eyes, stupefying him. He hadn't cried since his parents' deaths. Shocked, he squeezed her hand and, wiping away his tears, he lifted his face.

“Mag—” Her name died in his throat as she squeezed his hand viciously and cried out. In the next moment, her grip loosened and her body relaxed, too. She fell silent.

“What have you done?” James roared, rearing to his feet.

He was about to rush around the bed and throttle Robert when a hand fell on his shoulder to stop him. James turned to see Mills standing behind him, a pitying expression on his face and a glass in his free hand. A bottle of some medicinal was caught between his arm and chest.

“She has just fainted,” Robert assured him. Glancing up to nod toward the glass the butler was holding out, he said, “Now drink some of that down and go pray.”

“Pray?”

“Yes, pray. She'll need it,” Robert said grimly as he continued to work.

James downed a good portion of the drink Mills had poured him. His hand clenched on the glass as he lowered it, his expression turning hard. There was so much blood. She was so pale. He couldn't lose her. “You are the one who had best pray. If you let her die, I—”

James paused as Robert raised his head. He blinked in confusion, unable to believe he had been about to threaten his friend. He was obviously losing his head. Which was nothing new around Maggie.

“You have it bad, my friend,” the other man announced almost mournfully. Then he turned from James's tortured face to Maggie's wound.

Ramsey winced as the other man worked, grateful now that Maggie was not conscious to feel anything. “
I
have it? What? I am not the sick one.”

“Yes, you are. Lovesick. I wondered before, but this is one of the worst cases I have ever seen. You have it bad.” Glancing up to see his friend staring at him blankly, Robert explained, “You love her, James. It's why you're acting like such an unbearable ass. You weren't even this
bad when I was working on Gerald. Now get the hell out of here and go finish that drink so that I can work on her—else you'll be loving a corpse.”

James stood frozen for a minute, then staggered away from the bed when Mills urged him toward the door. His head was reeling. Was this love? Was that what this panic was? If so, the books lied. Love was not a happy, joyful feeling that made everything seem lovely; it hurt like hell and turned one into a panicked ninny.
Damn
. Love wasn't heaven; it was hell.

A moan from the bed made him pause at the door. He turned back, despite Mills's best efforts at keeping him from doing so. He couldn't leave Maggie. She needed him.

 

For once, Maggie found herself waking up without a headache. Unfortunately, her chest was paining her instead. Every breath seemed an effort, but she agonizingly opened her eyes, gritting her teeth as she tried to bring the room into focus. When she was finally able to make anything out, all she could do was blink in confusion. She didn't recognize the room at all. This wasn't her bedroom in her town house, she knew. And neither was it the chamber she had been given at Lady Barlow's.

She was in a small, bright yellow room, lying in a narrow bed she had never before seen. Her gaze slid over the pleasant furnishings, and she tried to puzzle out what had happened. She was still doing so when the door to the room opened moments later, and Lord Mullin stepped into the room.

“My lord.” She tried to greet him, but her mouth and throat seemed terribly dry. She was unable to do naught but mouth the words.

“Ah. You are awake, I see,” Robert murmured, moving to her bedside and pressing a warm hand to her forehead. “And completely fever-free.”

Maggie's eyebrows rose at the combination of satisfaction and relief in his voice, but he noticed neither as he picked up a mug from a nearby table and seated himself on the side of the bed; he then helped her sit up enough to sip from it. It wasn't worth the effort, Maggie decided as pain shot through her chest. Still, she dutifully took another sip of the liquid when he pressed her, enough to wet her mouth and throat. She was thankful when Robert allowed her to lie back down again, and she sighed in relief as the pain in her chest eased.

“I imagine you feel just awful,” he commented, moving to replace the mug on the table. He turned back in time to see Maggie nod. “Well, you are very very lucky to feel anything. You nearly died, Margaret. If James had not gotten you here so quickly…” He shook his head to finish the sentence, but Maggie understood well enough. She would have died. His words had the beneficial effect of reminding her what had brought her here. She quite suddenly recalled the dark room, the scar-faced man, Banks, and Lady X. She also vividly recalled the moment when Lady X had shot her. It was a most unpleasant memory.

She also recalled opening her eyes to find James's worried face hovering over her. She remembered being surrounded by yellow, hearing his soothing voice telling her everything would be all right. Or had that been a dream? she wondered now. His voice had seemed…different. It had been full of something, some emotion she had never heard from him.

“Where…?” she croaked, unable to finish.

Fortunately, Robert understood. He smiled wryly before answering: “I had to throw him out.”

She felt shock at that pronouncement, and it must have been evident. Robert nodded and said conversationally, “James was quite devoted. He didn't leave your side from the moment he brought you here. He held your hand throughout my work on you, then bathed you during your four days of fever—neither eating nor sleeping until your temperature lowered and the danger passed. That was last night,” he added. “Of course, James was quite disruptive in his…attempts to help.”

“Disruptive?” Maggie mouthed.

Robert made a face then explained, “He shouted a lot.” When she shook her head in disbelief at that news, Lord Mullin assured her, “Yes, he did. He bellowed at me for—as he put it—‘butchering you.' Also for not healing you faster and for being…I believe it was a
bloodletting quack—
though I don't know why he said that; he knows that I do not agree with bloodletting.”

Maggie offered an apologetic expression, but Robert wasn't finished.

“He also yelled at Mills, my butler, for being slow and lazy, at Crowch and Banks for being useless, and at you for daring to almost die on him. And he cursed Heaven too, a couple times, I believe.” He grinned at Maggie's dismayed expression and patted her hand reassuringly. “He wasn't always rational. But four days without sleep or food will do that to a person. I finally had to send him home with instructions to rest and eat. I assured him I would not let him back until he had done both.”

Maggie relaxed somewhat. Then Robert added, “He loves you very much.”

Her first reaction was shock. It was quickly followed by hope, then doubt, then fear, and finally simple confusion as to why he would tell her something like that, and in such grim tones.

“Why…” she croaked, grateful when Robert once again finished the question for her.

“Why am I telling you this?” he asked. When she nodded, he sighed and admitted, “Because he didn't take it at all well when I pointed it out to him.”

“You pointed it out?” she began, noting with distraction that her voice was becoming stronger.

Robert noticed it, too, and he smiled even as he saved her from speaking further by explaining, “Oh, yes; I told him that he loves you. It is rather obvious for anyone with eyes. However, he apparently wasn't ready for the knowledge, and he isn't taking it at all well. I am not sure why. I do know that he took his parents' loss poorly and has seemed to try to keep a protective distance between himself and others since then, but…” He shrugged and shook his head. “Anyway, he has been a bear ever since.” The young nobleman looked at her with wry amusement. “Hence the reason I had him leave.”

Seeing the unhappy look on her face, he patted Maggie's hand. “I thought it best to warn you up front. He wasn't ready to have such feelings thrust in his face, and I fear this moodiness shall continue until he comes to terms with them. And since he certainly won't reveal his love for you until he does…Well, I hoped this chat would make married life a bit easier for you to bear until then.”

When she merely stared at him, her thoughts in turmoil, Robert announced, “I think it is time I take a look
at your wound and change your bandages.”

Maggie ignored him as he set to work, her thoughts still in an uproar. She tried to sort out all he had just said. None of it made any sense and she hoped briefly that she was still feverish and imagining this entire conversation. A stab of pain as Lord Mullin lifted the last of her bandages away and poked at her stitches convinced her otherwise. She was awake, all right. But she was having trouble accepting what Robert had said, and all it meant. She had just been told that the man she loved, loved her in return.
By his friend
.

“Only you, Maggie,” she breathed, unsure whether to laugh or cry.

“What was that?” Lord Mullin glanced at her in question. When she merely shook her head and waved one hand in a vague gesture, he shrugged and went back to work. Maggie was left to her thoughts. How could James possibly not know he loved her until Robert told him so? That was preposterous! Until she recalled that it had taken a talk with Agatha to straighten out her own confused feelings.

All right, she reasoned, so it wasn't preposterous that he too had needed someone to clarify his thoughts, but his being reputedly miserable about it?

Well, that wasn't so ridiculous either, she decided, recalling her own misery when she'd realized she loved James and felt sure he did not love her back…. Perhaps his unhappiness was caused by the same thing. All she needed to do was tell him that she loved him, too, and everything would be fine. They would be happy. Her gaze flickered to Robert. “I love him, too.”

“Yes, I know,” he said. Robert finished cleaning her wound and began to replace her bandages. “You told
him while I was first tending to you. By the way, you are doing very well. The ball missed all your vital organs. There was a lot of blood loss, but very little real damage.” He glanced up and looked her in the eye. “I suppose I should tell you that Lady X and her accomplice have already been before the magistrate. They won't be bothering you—or anyone else—anymore.”

Maggie nodded at that news, happy to hear it, but really more concerned with what he had said before that. “Did you say that I told him that I love him?”

“Yes,” Mullin answered distractedly as he finished with her bandages. Then he offered a smile. “You are mending very well. Which means that, in a day or so, we should be able to move you back to Lady Barlow's. That ought to please James. Mind you, the house staff would probably wish it sooner. His hanging about, acting like a wolf with an injured paw, growling about this and that every few minutes, has rather put them all on edge. The sooner it is safe to pack you off to Lady Barlow's, the better. Not that your company isn't delightful,” he added to soften his words.

“He's back, m'lord!”

Maggie and Robert both turned to the door. A servant stood there wringing her hands.

“Already?” Lord Mullin rose with a frown.

“Yes. Mills sent me to warn you the moment he saw the coach pull up.”

“Very well.” Robert sighed then glanced down at Maggie with a tired smile. “It would seem Lord Ramsey has finished resting. Let us hope his mood has improved.”

“Do you, Lady Margaret Wentworth, take this ma…” The rest of the cleric's words faded into a drone as Maggie's mind started to swim.

What was she doing? How could she marry James? Was she willing to spend the rest of her life tied to a man she loved desperately, but who felt nothing for her? Or, at least, a man who could not express the feelings he had?

Turning, she glanced over the guests at the wedding, her gaze finding Lord Mullin. The man had saved both her life and her sanity—at least up to this point. His calm, steady manner and words were the only thing, that had gotten her this far. His insistence that James loved her had helped her heal, and had kept her from calling off the wedding each time James acted as if this union were purely a matter of honor. And he'd done so
many times. He had barely spoken to her since her recovery.

Of course, he had not been shouting or stomping about, either. She could have borne that. But he had been cold. He didn't seem to want her anymore—not physically, at least—and that worried her more than anything. Their passion had brought them together, and to feel its absence…In James's passion, she had been able to find hope that he cared for her. But he hadn't touched her since before she'd been shot. He'd even seemed to avoid her.

No, she supposed she didn't believe Lord Mullin's claims anymore. She didn't think James loved her; he didn't even seem to like her. His cold and reticent behavior these last two weeks seemed to indicate that clearly enough. If anything, he appeared to loathe her now.

What had caused this? Had it been her confession of her feelings? Perhaps it was all right for him to like and lust after her as long as her emotions were not engaged. Perhaps he was trying to let her know not to expect her feelings to be reciprocated. Would he treat her thusly for the rest of their lives? she wondered miserably. Could she bear it if he did?

“Lady Wentworth?”

Maggie peered up blankly at the minister, aware that she had missed her cue.

“You are supposed to say, ‘I do,'” James prompted. Maggie turned her eyes to his implacable expression. He did not look like a happy man. He looked stiff and cold and as if he wished himself anywhere but here with her. If she said yes, she would be consigning him to a lifetime of what he considered to be hell. And herself, too.

“No.” She didn't realize the word had slipped from her lips until James's expression changed to one of shock. He looked as if she'd hit him between the eyes with a mallet.

“What?” he squawked disbelievingly. The word was echoed in horror by his aunt and all of Maggie's servants.

“I said, no,” she repeated. A calm quiet replaced the fear and confusion of moments before. She was doing the right thing. She knew that. “I will not marry you, James. Not when it is going to make you miserable.”

Turning away, she started back up the aisle toward the church's exit, refusing to look at the shocked guests rising from the pews.

“My lady!” Banks was the first to break out of his shock and move after her. His alarm was obvious as he hurried to her side, pleading, “Oh, do reconsider, my lady. Are you sure about this? Think of the future.”

“I
am
thinking of the future,” she answered sympathetically. The servant was worrying over their economic forecast, but there was so much more at stake. This once, she needed to look out for herself as well as her servants. “We shall buy a smaller home, big enough for everyone, but less expensive than the house Gerald left me. We will be fine.”

“Sit down!” James suddenly roared. Maggie paused and swung around in surprise. It wasn't till she saw the way he was glaring at their guests that she realized he hadn't been speaking to her.

“All of you! Sit down! This wedding is not over,” he shouted. As soon as everyone had retaken his seat, James started up the aisle toward Maggie, scowling furiously. Pausing before her, he struggled briefly until he man
aged a less angry expression. His voice was reasonable as he said, “Maggie, what is it that you think you are doing? You cannot refuse—”

“I just did,” she interrupted quietly.

“Yes, she did,” one of the nearby guests said, the comment particularly loud in the silence. A wave of murmured agreement followed.

James turned a fierce glare on the crowd until they fell silent; then, managing to school his face into something approximating calm, he once more faced Maggie. “Think of the scandal,” he implored.

Maggie did. Briefly. She was hardly aware of her foot tapping as she considered. In the end, the answer seemed easy enough. Yes. People would talk. They would whisper and twitter and so on, but if she moved to the country as she planned, all would be forgotten soon enough. Well, perhaps not so soon, but hopefully sooner than her death…which was how long she would suffer the misery of being married to someone who didn't love her. Straightening, she said with feigned cheer, “What is another scandal, more or less? Give them ten or fifteen years and no one will remember my name.”

The comment sent another wave of whispers through the church, some agreeing that ten or fifteen years should be enough to forget the scandal, and others disagreeing. It seemed about half and half, she noted before James burst out frantically, “But we have been together! You could be with child!”

“Oh, that was grand of you to announce,” Maggie snapped. It didn't look as though things would be forgotten in ten years, after all. The entire church was now talking excitedly.

“Maggie—”

“No!” she snapped. The crowd went silent again, eager to hear what came next. “I have said no and I meant it.”

Spinning on her heel, she started for the door again. Banks was steadfast by her side, and the rest of her staff slipped out of the pews to march toward the back of the church in a little parade. Their show of support was heartening, and Maggie could have hugged every single one of them. She didn't see Lady Barlow give up her startled state and rush out of the front pew to hurry toward James, but she did hear her when the woman barked, “Do something, James! She is leaving!”

“You said you loved me!” he called out.

It wasn't the words so much as the betrayed sound of his voice that made Maggie pause. The murmurs in the church had grown ridiculously loud. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath then made herself face him once more. The murmuring died at once, the air growing tense with anticipation.

“I do love you,” she admitted softly, flushing at the oohs and ahhs exhaled by their guests.

“Then…”

James took a step forward, but she raised her hand to stop him and continued, “And that is why I will not marry you. I will not marry someone I love when the very idea of it is making him miserable.”

“Who is miserable?” he asked with surprise. “I am not miserable.”

“Oh, James,” Lady Barlow piped up at his lame response. “I think she is referring to how cold and grumpy you have been of late.”

“Aye, you been miserable lately,” one guest said.

“These last few weeks at least,” another agreed.

Lord Mullin stood up. “You tore a strip off your driver the other day, right in front of the club, and you never treat your servants poorly. Aye, you've acted miserable, all right, James.” Robert gave Maggie an apologetic glance.

“Oh, do shut up!” James glared at his friend, then turned back to Maggie with a sigh.

“Well, perhaps I have been out of sorts of late,” he admitted reluctantly. A series of snorts rose among the guests, but James steadfastly ignored them. “It is not because of this wedding, though. Or because you love me. I am glad you love me. That isn't what has made me so unhappy.”

“Then what has?” Maggie asked desperately. She watched a battle take place on his features. When at last it ceased and he merely looked at her helplessly, she felt disappointment tug at her. She turned toward the door again. She had managed only one step when he blurted, “Because I love you, too!”

“He loves you, my lady!” Banks called hopefully to where Maggie had stopped again.

“Harrumph. It's not decent to love your wife,” a woman to Maggie's right said staunchly. “Good thing she isn't marrying him.”

“Oh, do shut up so we can hear her,” someone else snapped at the unhappy-sounding woman.

Maggie turned toward James, her confusion clear. “You are miserable because you love me?” she asked. Robert's words came to mind, but still she didn't understand.

“No,” James answered unhappily. He moved forward until they were standing nose-to-nose. “I am not mis
erable because I love you; I am miserable because of how it makes me feel.”

Maggie tipped her head, annoyed and bewildered. “How does it make you feel?”

“It hurts and it scares me,” he admitted in a soft voice. His aunt and Maggie's servants crowded closer to hear. “I cannot control or protect you, Maggie. You do what you will, when you will. When I nearly lost you, and I saw my life spreading out before me so barren without you, I—”

“What the hell is he jabbering on about?” an older gentleman asked grouchily.

Maggie glared at the rude man, then was taken somewhat by surprise when a flushed James suddenly took her arm and dragged her toward the exit. Over his shoulder he called, “Wait here. We shall return momentarily.”

Much to her surprise, he didn't stop once they were out of the church, instead he continuing on until they reached his coach. Waving away the temporary servant hired to watch the horses while Crowch attended the wedding, James opened the carriage door himself and helped her inside. He followed.

“This is not perhaps the best place to talk, but at least it offers a modicum of privacy,” he said. Pulling the carriage door closed, he settled on the bench seat across from her.

“I—” Maggie began, but he held up a hand to silence her.

“No. Let me start,” he said. Tugging at his cravat impatiently, he took a deep breath and dove in. “Maggie, I have been a complete ass these last two weeks. I love you. I realized it at Robert's after you were shot.”

“Well, Robert told me that he told you that you loved me.”

“Yes, he did. But he didn't have to. Not really,” he added when she looked doubtful. Heaving out a breath, he confessed, “Maggie, I was half in love with you before we ever met. I think good old Robert was, too.”

Maggie's eyes widened. “The letters?”

“Yes. Your letters. Gerald read them to us every time he got one. He told us a lot about you, too, of course, but through your letters we heard your voice and got to know you. You lifted us out of that blood- and muck-filled world and brought life and light with you. I couldn't wait to meet you when I returned. I was actually eager to keep my vow to look out for you. I would have done it even had he not asked me.”

He grimaced slightly at himself, then said, “You see, that day you were shot, when you told me that you loved me, I opened my mouth to say it back, but then Robert started to work on you. You cried out and fainted, and I didn't have to say anything. If I had spoken, I might have convinced myself that I was just repeating the words to be polite. I'm not very…good at
feeling
. But I didn't have to speak. Unfortunately, Robert didn't let me off the hook. He saw how I truly felt.” James sighed. “He saw that I truly love you. But what he doesn't know is
why
I love you.”

“Why?” Maggie echoed, almost afraid she was dreaming.

“Yes, darling. Why. You see, I love you because of everything you were in those letters, but I love you also because of the exuberance with which you live your life. I love you because you care for your servants more than you care for yourself. I love you because you do what
you believe, and go where you need to go to do what you have to do. But loving you for those reasons—you're not someone who's easy to love, Maggie. You have a wild streak. The way you live is dangerous. When I saw you lying in that bed, when I truly believed you were going to die on me, I felt such pain that…well, I haven't felt it since my parents died.”

He looked up, and she felt herself melt in the heat of his stare. “When your brother died in my arms, it almost killed me. He was such a dear friend. I admired and loved him. But you, Maggie, have come to mean so much more than he ever did. I knew that your death would tear me apart. Losing you would hurt so—”

“But you
didn't
lose me,” Maggie interrupted. She shifted from her bench seat to his, patting his leg soothingly. “I survived.”

“This time,” he agreed. “But I will lose you someday. I must. Either I will die or you will, and that has been tormenting me these past two weeks.”

“But—”

“No, let me finish,” he said quickly. “That is why I have been such an ass. But I haven't been thinking clearly at all.” He laughed suddenly, self-mocking. “Obviously. Because when you said no to marrying me just now, I realized what I was doing: instead of protecting myself with my foolish behavior, I was simply causing myself to lose you even sooner than was necessary.”

Taking her hands in his, he pressed a kiss to each. “An intelligent man would enjoy the time we have together, cherish every moment with you, and not waste whatever time we have on fearing the future. I haven't been a very intelligent man, Maggie, but I vow here and now that if you marry me today, I will return to being
the intelligent man I used to think I was. I'll spend the rest of my life doing everything in my power to make you happy.”

“Oh, James,” Maggie breathed, tears welling in her eyes. “I love you and always will.”

“Even when I am stomping around, grumpy and miserable?” He asked the question with gentle humor, but Maggie caught the uncertainty that flashed in his eyes.

His uncertainty should not have surprised her; his misery and grumpiness were the reasons she had just refused to marry him. Still, Maggie found herself startled by the sign of his vulnerability. Cupping his face in her hands she put all the sincerity she possessed into her words as she said, “Yes, my lord. I shall love you always no matter how grumpy and miserable you occasionally get…I shall just remind myself that it is caused by fear.” She broke the solemn moment with a grin and added, “Then I shall remind you. That should jolly you out of the mood at once.”