Rules of Passion (Greentree Sisters 2)

Marietta, observing over his shoulder, hated to think that such desperate people lived in such close proximity to Aphrodite’s home. The doctor glanced around, seeking whomever was in charge, and Dobson cleared his throat.

“I’ll sew the wound,” the doctor said. “It will be easier while he is unconscious. The gentleman seems to be breathing evenly, but a blow to the head like that can cause damage to the brain. Bruising and swelling, even bleeding inside the skull.”

“Should we make arrangements to take Lord Roseby home?” Dobson asked.

“No, no, best to leave him where he is for now,” the doctor spoke authoritatively. “My advice would be as little disturbance as possible. Let him sleep and, if he wakes, give him water or broth, if he can take either. Someone must keep a watch on him; he should not be left on his own.”

The stitching was an unpleasant business. Marietta was given the task of holding Max’s head still, her palms gentle but firm on either side of his face. He didn’t struggle—he was beyond it—and apart from an occasional wrinkle of his brow it was as if he was oblivious to the doctor’s probing. It wasn’t until the wound was sewn, and the doctor put on a fresh bandage, that his eyes flickered and opened.

“Miss Greentree?” Max looked up at Marietta, clearly puzzled, before his gaze slid to the doctor.

“Sir? Can you hear me, sir?” the doctor held his attention.

“Of course I can hear you. You’re shouting,” Max said grumpily. And then, trying to sit up, “What’s going on?” But the slight movement drew a low, agonized groan from him, and a cry of, “Dear God, my head!”

“You were hit, sir. Nothing to worry about. Close your eyes now and rest. That’s it.”

Max didn’t need to be told twice. He had already shut his eyes and appeared to have fallen asleep, or lost consciousness. The doctor was pleased with even that brief, lucid moment, however.

“He’ll be right as rain,” he announced with jovial certainty. “I’ll come and see him in the morning, but I don’t expect there to be any complications now.” He caught Marietta’s wide-eyed glance and smiled reassuringly, “Oh, he’ll be sore, miss, don’t doubt it, but he’ll live to make his nurse’s life a misery, you mark my words. I’ve seen forthright gentlemen like him before, and they don’t like to be incapacitated.”

After a few more stern instructions, the doctor and Dobson left the room, and Marietta was alone with Max.

He didn’t wake again, or move. Watching him in silence, she decided that he looked even more like a Byronic hero than before, if that were possible. Although Marietta had never been much of an admirer of the wild antics of the late Lord Byron—Victorian society considered him shocking—Francesca was besotted with him. So romantic, so tragic! As she looked upon the stricken Lord Roseby, for the first time Marietta could understand Francesca’s addiction.

It was an amazing thing, to find oneself attracted to a man one didn’t know. The jolt of recognition, the tingling in her bones, frightened her and Marietta had no intention of allowing it to go further. She had enjoyed flirting with Max earlier, and she felt sorry for him now, but there must be no more to it than that. Max would recover and go his own way, and she would go hers.

Aphrodite arrived in due course. She had a worry line etched upon her normally smooth brow, and Marietta noticed that her eyes were tired. “You must go home at once, Marietta,” she said. “I should never have let you stay so long. I will sit with Lord Roseby.”

Marietta looked again at Aphrodite’s weary face. “No. You go to Vivianna. I don’t mind staying—I want to. I know Lord Roseby, remember? If he were to wake in pain and confusion…Well, it will not be such a shock if he sees me rather than some stranger.”

Aphrodite gave her a look that was a mixture of amusement, irritation and doubt. “I am sure Lady Greentree would be very cross with me if I let you stay here with a man you hardly know. It is not the done thing, Marietta.”

“Mama would be cross if I did not stay,” Marietta corrected her politely. “She brought me up to always be kind and helpful to injured creatures, no matter who or what they are.”

Aphrodite gave a little snort of laughter. “Very good, Marietta! You are accomplished at getting your own way, I see.”

“Honestly, Aphrodite, I will be perfectly all right. It is my duty to stay. Please, I feel as if it is partly my fault. If I hadn’t made him cross he would never have strode off in such high dudgeon. He’d still be here, enjoying himself.” She did feel responsible for Max, and not just because his leaving had been her fault. It was as if she already knew him well enough to worry about his welfare.

Aphrodite sighed and shook her head. “Very good at getting your own way,” she murmured. Then, with a little shrug, “Very well. The doctor has told me he may be thirsty when he wakes, so I will have some water brought up for him. And there will be broth kept warm downstairs, in case he needs that later on. As for you…one of the servants will bring you tea and sandwiches, Marietta, mon petit puce.”

Startled, Marietta blinked. Did Aphrodite just call her a little flea?

But Aphrodite’s thoughts had moved on from such mundane considerations as broth and tea. “You will think me very hard-hearted, and you must believe I do care about what has been done to Lord Roseby, but I am wondering at the moment whether this will be good for my business. How do you think it looks when the customers of Aphrodite’s Club are knocked down upon leaving? As pleasant as these surroundings are, they may well think twice about calling if they are risking their lives.”

Marietta did not believe Aphrodite was hard-hearted at all—as a businesswoman her concern was valid. “Perhaps no one will know.”

“I think it is already too late. The servants know, and the doctor, and the errand boy who found him. They will all talk to their friends. And what if the monster who did this to Lord Roseby does it again, to another gentleman? No, no, this is not at all a good thing.”

Marietta hadn’t thought of that. “Do you think it will happen again?”

“I do not know, mon petit puce. But we must ask ourselves this: Was it a random attack or was it aimed at Lord Roseby in particular? He is involved in a scandal of the blackest kind. His father has disowned him, his life is ruined. Perhaps there is someone out there who is not satisfied with him being merely ruined; perhaps they want him dead.”

Marietta opened her mouth and closed it again. Max, dead? She felt dizzy with dread at the picture forming in her mind. It was odd, because she was not even certain that she liked him. He had sunk himself in gloom at his own misfortune, and yet he had related with her sense of adventure. When she had questioned his abilities as a lover, he had proved he was quite capable of making her heart thump and her flesh quiver. He had held her hand in his and sucked her fingertips, and gazed meaningfully into her eyes, and just before Aphrodite had interrupted them, he had been going to kiss her. And she would have let him; she had been looking forward to it.

Aphrodite was observing her, and Marietta had the uncomfortable feeling that her mother had read every thought that flitted across her face. The courtesan must be adept at understanding gestures and expressions—unlocking her clients’ secrets was one of the tools of her profession.

This seemed like the moment to talk of her own hopes and ambitions.