should see another doctor. Get another opinion,” he suggested evenly, burying his pity. She would not want that. “I will find a good one for you. Go with you, if you won’t go alone.”
She squeezed his hands again as though to comfort him. “Dr. Cadwallader has served as the county’s only medical resource for man and beast since long before I was born, Mr. Wilder. I have implicit faith in the man. However, I will confess this last diagnosis of his did shake it a bit. I saw one of his younger colleagues the day before yesterday. I explained Dr. Cadwallader’s findings and my symptoms. He concurred immediately.”
“Perhaps there is some treatment—”
She rolled her eyes and smirked. “Oh, Dr. Smithers had some idea of confining me to bed, dosing me daily with a concoction he admittedly brewed up on his own. But he flatly refused to state just what that medication would alleviate. Certainly not my demise. And thus far, anticipation of that is all that really troubles me. His vague answers and nervous disposition told me all I needed to know. Other than making himself rich at my expense, there is nothing he could do. And I don’t plan to waste my last days lolling about in a sickbed, ingesting heaven knows what, when I feel just fine as I am. For now, anyway.”
Sean sighed, feeling a regret such as he had never known. His own problems seemed trifling in view of Laura Middlebrook’s dilemma. Then it occurred to him. “You had only just found out about this that day I came to your home, hadn’t you?”
“Yes, and you were very kind to me then. As I said before, that is one reason I chose you to help me.”
“I cannot do this, Miss Middlebrook, even if I wanted to. There are obligations, you see. I’m preparing to travel to Paris before the end of the week. Tomorrow, in fact. I am already committed to a case.”
“How marvelous!” she said, grinning. “I’ve always wanted to go there!”
Sean quickly shook his head. “This jaunt will be no pleasure trip,” he lied. “It could very well prove dangerous. So you see—”
“I promise not to distract you from your work. And, as for the danger, I have very little to fear, now have I? Perhaps I could even assist you.”
“Don’t be absurd! That’s impossible.”
“Come now, you won’t be discommoded by this. I promise. All you need do is tolerate my presence for a bit. You needn’t nurse me if I sicken, or feel you have to mourn when…well, when everything’s over and done. Please marry me, won’t you? Just for a little while?”
Her desperate look of entreaty made him blink against a burning in his eyes. He never wept. Never let himself care enough to weep. Tears never solved a damned thing, he knew that. But his inability to reassure her, this damned helplessness to alter what she faced, wreaked havoc with his senses. He swallowed hard and shook his head, struggling one last time to deny her. But the wall Sean had hastily constructed eighteen years before to encase his innermost self simply collapsed. He felt it crumble to dust.
“I intend to go with no regrets, Mr. Wilder. And I promise to leave you with none,” she declared softly. “Please, sir, do we have a deal?”
“Yes,” he whispered hoarsely. He heard the word come out of his mouth and scrambled to form another that would retract it. Hell, he hadn’t meant to agree. “Look, I don’t…oh hell, I wish…”
She released his hands and stood abruptly. “Wishing is for fools and dreamers, Mr. Wilder. Now, step lively! We can make the magistrate’s office before closing if we hurry.”
What was he doing? Sean wondered frantically as he pulled his office door shut and rushed to catch up to her. What in the holy name of God was he doing?
“’Under the power vested in me by the Commonwealth of Great Britain, I pronounce that you are husband and wife,” ’ Sir Buford Mallory intoned as though he did it every day. Sean couldn’t imagine weddings all that commonplace around here, Mallory being a senior justice and all. She had said the old curmudgeon was a friend of her grandmother’s solicitor. Sean had met him officially while employed by the Yard. The blighter had more than a few screws loose. That condition must be highly contagious. At the moment, everyone in the room seemed afflicted, himself most especially. The Book of Offices snapped shut.
Sean blinked sharply at the sound and looked down at the girl whose fingernails were cutting into his palm. She immediately rose on tiptoe and planted a quick, noisy kiss on his open lips. Good God, he was married. Again. An involuntary shudder of foreboding racked his spine.
“There now!” she said brightly, turning to the magistrate. “Where do we sign, sir?”
She had handled everything, Sean thought with disbelief—the special license, the official to do the deed, the rings, even the kiss. He was amazed there was no choir and banks of flowers crowding the chamber.
The old judge shoved two papers across his desk and pointed to a blank spot on the first. Sean watched her write her name on both in bold, flowing script. She did it without a tremble, without a speck of hesitation. Laura Malinda Ames Middlebrook. His own fingers felt numb as he took the pen she offered and scratched his own signature.
“Cavendish?” she asked with a grin. Her shoulders shook with what he supposed to be a quiver of mirth. “How terribly awesome!”
“My mother’s maiden name,” he justified his middle one defensively. He was damned if he would explain the other two, both products of a whore’s whimsy. His glare fastened on her wide gold ring as it disappeared beneath the lavender glove. The band she had slipped on his finger felt abominably tight at the moment.
She pulled a face as he looked up again. The corners of her mouth turned down even as her eyes sparkled with merriment. “I’m only teasing. Cavendish a wonderful name. Sounds as if it needs a Lord in front of it, at the very least.”
He quirked a brow at her impertinence. “Don’t you wish.”
She ought to have looked properly chastened, but Sean heard the barely squelched giggle.
Her persistent good humor made him want to shake her till her teeth clicked. Was she bordering on hysteria? How could she smile? How could she jest?
All the way over to the law courts here in the Strand she had chattered incessantly, interrupting herself to clasp his arm excitedly as they walked. Sean had no idea what she’d talked about. He had been too preoccupied thinking of the horrendous step he was taking. Correction: they were taking. And never, not once during that whole time, had he uttered a single word to halt this travesty. Where the devil was his mind? What had happened to all that control he’d thought he had?
Why hadn’t he sent her and her nonsense packing, he asked himself with a sharp shake of his head. He was afraid he knew. He was terrified that he couldn’t deny this woman anything she asked of him. Because she was going to die, he told himself, forcing the dreaded thought to the forefront of his mind. Compassion was the only reason he had agreed to this. He thought surely he had killed that feeling along with the others, but what else could it be?
He could not bear for her to face what was left of her short life alone. Yes, that must be it. Compassion. Well, surely he could afford to exercise that full measure in this instance. Where was the harm? It was not as though he must devote the rest of his life to it. Only the remainder of hers.
The
