Free Lady Scandal by Shannon Donnelly Page B

deep, red gash across Paxten's ribs—would heal
well enough. The ribs had been bruised but not broken.
    Last night, when Diana had translated what
the doctor had said, Alexandria had been relieved. But fever had
set in. She had nearly sent for the doctor again. However, he had
already warned them to expect a bad night.
    The sound of horses now in the yard below
drew her attention and she hurried to the window, her brow tight
with worry. She relaxed when she saw only a farmer and his wagon
outside, apparently here to sell produce to the landlord. No
soldiers. Nothing to alarm. No one had found them.
    But how long until someone did come after
Paxten? She would be foolish not to assume the worst—whoever hunted
Paxten would eventually figure out that he had escaped in her
coach. Which meant they would soon be searching for her
carriage.
    Turning away from the window, she went back
to Paxten's side. She smoothed the blanket over him. She had
promised Diana a day—and that had been spent already. She could not
afford to waste more time. She knew exactly what needed to be done
to keep Diana safe. Which meant that she must act.
    Quietly, she let herself out of Paxten's
room. She would need to speak to Diana after she had washed her
face and seen to her own needs. Then there was the carriage to
order, and the trunks to see to. So much to do. But at least she
would not be leaving Paxten at death's door.
     
    #
     
    The hard crack of a carriage whip jolted
Paxten from his nightmares, and had him bolting upright in bed,
clutching his side before he actually identified that sound was not
the shot fired in his dreams. He glanced around, aware of the
narrow bed under him, of sheets tangled around his naked legs. And
of the pressure of something around his throbbing ribs. He glanced
down at the white bandages around his middle, and rubbed a hand
across his face. A day of stubble scrubbed his fingertips.
    The memories trickled into place. The
doctor. The medicines poured down him. Ah, yes. But had he dreamed
of talking to Alexandria's niece last night, or had that really
happened? He certainly had dreamed of Alexandria. And of too many
other things from his past.
    Outside in the yard, carriage harness
jingled. Curious, he rose, padding across the bare wood. He reached
the window in time to see Alexandria's coach—fresh horses attached,
the coachman up front and the footman standing at the back—as it
rounded the bend in the road that led away from the village.
    He pressed one palm against the window.
    She had gone. Left him. An ache tightened in
his chest. He shook his head. What a smart woman she had become—so
very good at looking after herself. But she had always been
sensible about these things. And utterly capable of parting company
with him—any of number of times it seemed.
    He forced a crooked smile. Ah, but what did
it matter. So this ended his plans. That was all. If she had gone,
she'd gone. It left him...irritated, that was all. Yes, annoyed
that she had outfoxed his schemes. Well, so it went. He would
encourage the touch of relief that she had taken away the
temptation to do his worst with her and to her.
    With a hand pressed to his sore side, he
made his way back to the bed. Rising fast had left him light-headed
and he was glad enough to lie down. Had she left money for his
room, or was he on his own there? No matter. He had survived worst.
That winter in Russia for one. Their parting a decade ago for
another.
    Closing his eyes, he decided to worry about
all of it later.
    But the door creaked open and clicked close,
a bustle of skirts came closer, and the pungent aroma of hot tea
washed over him. So she had left someone to look after him—a comely
tavern maid he would hope.
    He opened his eyes to see not the maid he
expected, but Alexandria, putting a wooden tray on the seat of
chair that stood next to the bed.
    He stared at her. It could not be fever
dreams still. Could it? His eyebrows snapped tight along with