Betrayal. Georgina Devon

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      Dev woke slowly, his head spinning, his leg throbbing. Heat was a palpable blanket of discomfort, so he tossed aside whatever was covering him, only to discover he was still twisted in something.

      ‘Bloody hell,’ he muttered, frustration and pain increasing his normal impatience. Where was he? Why did he hurt? Why couldn’t he move?

      Hougoumont. Flames. Pain. The woman.

      Memories roared back, bringing agony instead of comfort. But he was alive, he had survived that battle fought in hell. Was it over? Had they defeated Napoleon? What of Patrick?

      He tried to sit up and pain shot from his right leg to his groin and up his spine. He fell back, cold sweat breaking out on every part of his body.

      Slowly and carefully, he lifted his head only and gazed down the length of his body. He wore a nightshirt that reached down to his thighs, ending—

      His right leg was encased in a wooden splint from foot to knee.

      He groaned and let his head drop. He vaguely remembered someone saying it would have to come off and him telling a lad not to let it happen. It seemed the youth had done what he asked. Relief washed over Dev.

      It was instantly replaced by anxiety. He was alive and whole. Was Patrick? Had he saved the French lad?

      And what about the woman? The one who had cared for him. Or had she? The memory was not solid. It seemed to float in and out of his mind. Maybe it was a dream. Perhaps it had been the lad, if there had been a lad. He was delirious.

      Yet, the image of a beauty with ebony hair and green, green eyes haunted him. Her face was an oval with high cheeks, a wide mouth and flawless skin. Unless there was no woman, and his mind was playing tricks with him—which was quite possible under the present circumstances.

      Perhaps he was even crazy. He would not be the first to go insane after a battle. His older brother, Alastair, had suffered nightmares for years that made him relive the battles against Napoleon in Spain.

      Wearily, Dev rubbed a weak hand over his brow. If only someone were here to tell him what was going on.

      The sound of an opening door caught his attention. Turning, he saw a youth pause in the act of entering the room.

      Chapter Two

      Pippa stopped flat. Her patient was awake and alert, his gaze fixed on her. Taking a steadying breath, she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.

      His cheekbones were rouged with fever or exertion, but his eyes were aware and intelligent. ‘Who are you? Where am I?’ he demanded in the tones of one used to being obeyed.

      She smiled in spite of herself even as she bristled at his order. He reminded her much of Philip, her twin. Moving to the bed, she said, ‘My name is Pippen LeClaire, and you are in my room.’ At his frown, she added, ‘No one knows who you are, and I am the only one with room for you. I could not leave you in the street or have you taken to the hospital with the other wounded.’

      The scowl faded from his face when she laid the back of her hand lightly on his forehead to feel for fever. He had none.

      ‘Then I have much to be grateful to you for. And my name is Deverell St Simon.’ His brow furrowed again, and his eyes took on a faraway look before coming sharply back to her face. ‘Are you the lad who saved my leg from amputation?’

      She nodded.

      ‘Then I owe you my life,’ he said gravely. ‘I would not have wished to live a cripple.’

      ‘You owe me nothing,’ Pippa said hastily, feeling uncomfortable at his solemnity. ‘I am a healer and helping others is something I must do. Besides,’ she said as matter-of-factly as possible while her heart pounded in discomfort, for she had known exactly how he would feel and that scared her. ‘You will never move comfortably and most likely that leg will plague you until you die.’

      He attempted a shrug that made him grimace. ‘Much better than wearing a wooden peg.’

      Pippa, seeing the stubborn set of his jaw, forbore comment and hoped fervently that he would continue to think so. ‘You have been unconscious and delirious for nearly a fortnight and must be ready to eat a feast. If you will lay quietly, I will ask the landlady for some gruel.’

      ‘I won’t eat pap!’

      Instead of arguing, which she knew from past experience with her twin would be fruitless and only end in a fight, Pippa turned away and left the room. He was weak enough and hungry enough that he would eventually eat whatever she brought him.

      Dev watched the youth leave. The boy had an odd feminine look about him, with a face that was free of beard and hips that were a trifle too wide for his shoulders and moved a tad too much for masculine purpose. Pippen reminded him of the woman he had seen in his delirium—a ridiculous thought.