Wild Star (Star Quartet 3)

Byrony found the strength to jab her elbow into Chad’s stomach. He yowled, and raised a meaty fist to strike her.

“You damned bastard.” Brent was on him in an instant, his fist connecting with Chad’s wet jaw. Jesus, he was thinking, was it one of Maggie’s girls? Chad dropped back, and Byrony stumbled toward Brent. He caught her against his side. She was trembling violently.

“That’s enough, gentlemen,” he said.

“There’s two of us, Neddie. High-and-mighty Hammond ain’t got no say out here!”

A shining derringer appeared as if by magic. “I suggest that you two leave, now. No,” Brent continued, his voice soft, almost amused, “don’t try it. I’ll blow your brains out.”

Byrony vaguely heard the argument, heard the two men cursing vilely. Then they were gone.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” Brent asked, easing his derringer back into its small holster. “Didn’t Maggie teach you anything?” She felt herself being shaken. The hood to her mantle fell back.

Brent saw a sodden, tangled mass of hair, and impatiently shoved it back. He sucked in his breath, then cursed. “You. Jesus, Byrony, what the hell—”

He broke off abruptly. She was looking up at him with utterly blank eyes.

“What’s the matter with you? Where’s Ira?”

In bed with his half-sister. She wanted to laugh, but the sound that emerged was a wet cough.

“Dammit, what are you doing out in this miserable weather?” He pulled her in under the wooden overhang and clapped his hand over her forehead. Fever. She was burning up with fever. He felt panic and fear. God, no, she mustn’t be ill. “Damn you, where is your precious husband? Come on, I’ll get you home!”

“No!” She jerked away from him so quickly, he didn’t have time to react.

“Byrony—” he yelled after her in fury.

He saw her stumble off the sidewalk, weave in the thick mud, and sprawl forward onto her side.

TWELVE

He cursed as much from fear as from anger. He walked after her, picking her up, nearly tripping into the mud with her.

He managed to stumble back to the sidewalk. What the hell was he supposed to do now? There was really no question, and he tightened his grip on her as he strode to the back of the Wild Star. “Don’t you dare be ill, you little twit.”

He managed to unlock the back entrance, and strode up the stairs to his rooms. Black-haired, sloe-eyed Felice saw him and he said, “Get me Maggie at once.”

Why was she unconscious? Had that bastard hurt her?

“What’s going on, Brent?” Maggie took in the wet, filthy bundle in his arms.

“It’s Byrony,” he said. “I don’t know what’s wrong. She has a fever. She’s unconscious.”

Byrony, Maggie thought. So it wasn’t some woman he’d known a long time ago. She became brisk. “She’s filthy and we’ll have to bathe her. I’ll have Caesar fetch Saint. Since Felice has already seen you, and the girl can be trusted to keep her mouth shut, I’ll have her help us. Don’t move, Brent.”

Byrony stirred in his arms and muttered something about a baby. He tightened his grip, whispering to her, “What about a baby? Your baby? Byrony?”

Her head fell back against his arm. So long, he thought, so long since he’d even seen her. Now she was ill. He realized after a moment that he was praying. He looked at Maggie like she was the angel of mercy when she came quickly back into the room.

“All right, Brent. Take her into your bedroom. Felice is heating water. No matter if she’s ill. She’ll be even sicker if we don’t get her out of those sodden clothes. Caesar’s off to get Saint. Pray that he’s home. But then again, nobody but an idiot would be out in weather like this.”

Brent carried her into his bedroom, a place he’d fantasized about having her. At his mercy. Having her want him and admit to it. Having her sprawled on his bed, her arms raised to him.

“Just put her here on the hearth. Get out your tub, Brent.” Maggie looked up at him, realizing he hadn’t moved. He was staring down at the girl, his face pale.

“Brent.”

Gently he eased her onto the cold floor in front of the fireplace. “She’s ill,” he said.