Sighing, he decided he had to encourage more of the same. Because her ability to get the better of him had provoked him in ways nothing had in recent years. Which was why it was such a pity she was only a nurse.
It didn’t matter how smart or feisty she was, because when it came to doing his duty, he would have to choose a respectable lady from amid the peerage. This was the only way to improve his reputation and prevent further scandal from befalling his family.
Of course, he would also have to consider a woman who wasn’t already married.
What an unfortunate shame that was.
Henry picked up the paper and stared at the puzzle. Mrs. Cartwright had said she enjoyed them and yet she’d clearly avoided attempting to solve it. He wondered over that for a while and when he failed to arrive at a plausible explanation, he decided to get some more rest. Not that he was particularly tired. He’d affected the yawn for Mrs. Cartwright’s benefit so she’d have an excuse to leave his side. For although he regretted letting her go, he sensed she wasn’t the sort of woman who responded well to a man’s blatant interest. Her constant attempts to school her features and refrain from smiling, along with the way her hand shook when she returned the newspaper to him, were telling. She was loyal to her husband and refused to be charmed by another man, which only made him like her more.
Thankfully, when he woke again later in the day and requested the bath he craved, he was able to convince the orderlies who brought the small tub to his room that he was perfectly capable of managing on his own. Initially they insisted they help, but when he showed he could stand on his own two feet by himself without falling over, they relented.
“I understand you have chosen to ignore my advice and refused to listen to the orderlies when they asked to stay in the room with you while you bathed,” Mrs. Cartwright said when she came to see him in the evening. She was holding a tray on which Henry spied a plate of food and a glass of something he hoped might be wine. “Your wound is serious, Mr. Lowell and the cause of some restriction. What if you slipped in the tub while reaching for the soap? What should I tell your brother then after promising him I’d ensure your complete recuperation?”
Henry did his best to hide the smile that threatened. And failed. “Forgive me, but I do think you’re overreacting.”
She stared at him, and for a moment he feared she might toss the tray and all of its contents directly at his head. Instead, she took a step closer and narrowed her eyes in a way he found both alarming and strangely arousing. “I work in a hospital, Mr. Lowell. I see what happens when people aren’t careful enough. The last man I met who slipped in his tub arrived here with two broken wrists and a concussion.”
It was clearly time to accept her point of view and do the right thing. “I apologize, Mrs. Cartwright. From now on I’ll heed your advice. You have my word and my full cooperation.”
Her shoulders dropped as her jaw went slack, and it occurred to Henry that she was dismayed by his willingness to cede the argument. A frown followed. She pursed her lips as if in speculation. “Really?”
“I swear it.” He smiled brightly. “And if I break my promise, I’ll . . .” He considered his options for a moment while regarding her carefully. “I’ll work in your employ for a week after I recover.”
Her lips twitched. “Why do I feel like this is a trick?” Moving around the bed, she approached the table next to it and set the tray down. The delicious smell of spiced meat and vegetables wafted toward him from a covered plate and made his mouth water. The glass of wine standing beside it had him straightening his posture in anticipation of his meal.
“You think I might deliberately misbehave in order to spend more time in your company?” he asked. Shifting his gaze away from the tempting contents of the tray, he looked up at her and felt his heartbeats echoing through him. Christ, she was lovely. “Even though doing so would involve submitting myself to your will?”
A choked sound rose from her throat. “Of course not.” Her cheeks were turning a fascinating shade of pink. “That would be ridiculous.”
“Would it?” He stared at her boldly, appreciating the small gasp she made and how the air seemed to crackle between them. A pity she wasn’t a possible choice when it came to his future wife. Because although he placed little weight on titles and rank since he’d rather consider character first, he wasn’t free to marry whomever he pleased. Not as an earl’s heir and not when he was trying to restore his own reputation. Indeed, the woman he chose to marry would have to be as respectable as they came and of good social standing. It would also help a great deal if she wasn’t already married.
He laughed when he realized how shocked she looked. “I jest, Mrs. Cartwright.”
Relief swept over her features. “Of course you do.” She took a step back.
“I’ve never enjoyed eating alone. It would give me great pleasure if you would remain here with me for a while and keep me company.” Surely there was no harm in that. She glanced at the door as if salvation waited beyond it. Henry took a deep breath and then spoke the one word he hoped might sway her. “Please?”
Her eyes met his and he saw in them her struggle with indecision. When she eventually slid her gaze across to the vacant chair beside his bed and nodded, joy fizzed through his veins like rich champagne.
“I cannot stay long, Mr. Lowell. I am expected home for dinner.”
“I see.” The joy turned to flat disappointment. Her husband was probably waiting for her to join him. Attempting a smile to hide his true feelings, yet determined to do the right thing, he said, “Now that I know this, it would be thoughtless of me to desire your company. If you would rather—”
“No. It is quite all right.” She picked the tray up again and waited for him to reposition himself before placing it in his lap. Lifting the lid off the plate, she set it aside and lowered herself to the chair. “It must be dull to remain abed all day, so I can appreciate your need for conversation.”
What he appreciated was she, but he refrained from saying as much. Instead Henry took a bite of his food. It wasn’t the best pork roast he’d ever had, but it was certainly good enough. Why, it was almost as if the flavor was diminishing the ache from his wound as he chewed. He washed the meat down with a sip of his wine.
“Your husband is a lucky fellow, Mrs. Cartwright.” He proceeded to cut a potato, once lengthwise and then across, before dipping each piece in the gravy and making a very deliberate effort not to look directly at her. Her silence was pulling his muscles and tendons together in tight knots of tension.
“I’m not married,” she finally said.
Henry’s entire body relaxed. This new information shouldn’t make a difference to him since he’d already determined that there were other reasons for him not to pursue her. Yet knowing she was available flooded his mind with extreme satisfaction, even though he knew it was wrong, considering what her words meant.
“You’re a widow.”
“Yes.”
Carefully, he raised his gaze and was slightly surprised to find her studying him. A wave of heat washed over his skin even as she glanced away in an obvious effort to hide her interest. “Then who’s waiting for you with dinner?” he asked, and proceeded to eat some more meat.
She cleared her throat and shifted in her seat. “A couple of friends with whom I share my home.” A soft smile pulled at her lips. “Life can be hard for a woman with no prospects. I felt compelled to take them in when they told me of their troubles.”
Henry frowned. “As kind as that makes you, it also suggests you were living alone for a while before these friends of yours came to join you.”
“I was,” she confirmed. “For almost a year.”
Henry set his fork down and stared at her. “That is most unusual, Mrs. Cartwright, not to mention unsafe. Especially when considering your young age and your beauty.” Had she no family who cared what people might think of an unmarried woman living alone without a companion? Was there nobody to offer her some protecti
on?
“Perhaps I am not as young as you think, Mr. Lowell. As for my beauty . . .” She took a deep breath while allowing her fingers to toy with the fabric of her gown. When they stilled, she said, “I thank you for the compliment, but I know I am not the sort to turn heads. You may rest assured that I have been perfectly safe from harm until now.”
“But what of your reputation? Even if you are older than twenty, which is what I imagine your age to be, a respectable young woman does not live alone, no matter what.” He realized he was suddenly angry, not at her but on her behalf. She’d obviously been neglected by those who ought to have her best interests at heart or . . .
“You do not know my circumstances well enough to place judgment, nor are you entitled to do so.” She spoke calmly but with an edge of authority to her voice. “As you are my patient, it is my duty to care for you and ensure your recovery, but my personal life outside this hospital is none of your concern. Unless, of course, you wish for me to reproach you for your affairs.”
Damn the tabloids and damn his stupid attempt at ruining his own reputation. He’d done it so successfully that Mrs. Cartwright had labeled him a reprobate scoundrel right from the start. “None of the rumors you’ve heard about me are true,” he told her, even though he doubted she would believe him.
“What about your affair with Lady Elmwood?”
He blew out a breath. “The earl is jealous of any man who talks to his wife. It was a misunderstanding.”
“And I suppose all of your other exploits described in the newspapers over the years are false as well and that you are instead a saint?” She stood, collected the tray from his lap and set it aside on the table. “I am not a fool, Mr. Lowell. The fact that even I am aware of your poor reputation can only mean one thing.”
He dared not ask and yet he had to know. “And what is that?”
Flattening her lips, she looked at him with eyes that held little hope for his salvation. “You are notorious and probably far more dangerous than I would ever have imagined possible before I met you.”
Rendered dumb by her statement, Henry failed to voice a defense and was forced to watch as Mrs. Cartwright turned away and strode from the room, leaving him utterly alone with his thoughts. Never in his life had he met a woman with that much backbone or such ability to make him feel small and undeserving of her attention. It made him want to prove himself to her, to show her that he was nothing like the man she believed him to be but rather the sort who deserved her respect.
Returning home to the modest town house she inhabited on Gerrard Street, Viola shut the door and paused to listen. A loud thud was followed by a rapid drumming sound. She turned toward the stairs, waited expectantly and smiled broadly when a large, dark brown beast skidded across the top of the landing and proceeded to bound down the steps. His tongue flapped from the corner of his mouth as he flew toward her, barely managing to slide to a panting halt on the slippery marble floor.
Viola crouched down and scratched her Rottweiler lovingly behind his ear. “Good boy, Rex.” His tail wagged furiously from side to side as he nuzzled deeper into her hand, begging for more affection. She laughed, allowing him the pleasure while reaching into her skirt pocket and retrieving a small piece of meat.
Rising, she stood over him and commanded him to sit, rewarding him with the tasty morsel and another scratch of his head.
“Oh, Viola,” Diana, one of Viola’s two housemates, said as she entered the hallway from the stairs leading down to the kitchen. “I thought I heard you come in.”
Viola removed her gloves and placed them on a narrow table next to the wall. “I suppose it’s hard not to with Rex making such a commotion every time.”
“He’s a loyal dog and misses you tremendously when you’re not here,” Diana replied. Younger than Viola, she’d been sold by her uncle to a bawd and was one of the two runaways Viola had rescued after relocating from Tremaine House. The other was Harriet, who’d fled a brothel after taking a beating. Viola had offered both women shelter and food, and in return they carried out some of the chores Viola didn’t have time for. They also ran a support group every Monday at the hospital to help and advise other women in similar situations. All in all, it was an arrangement that had become increasingly permanent over time.
“Thank you,” Viola said. She gave Diana a pleading look. “I don’t suppose dinner’s ready?”
Diana smiled. “Of course it is. Harriet has made the tastiest pork pie and vegetable soup.”
“I still wonder at her culinary skills,” Viola said.
“We’re very lucky to have her.” Diana went to the door through which she’d recently come and called for Harriet to come upstairs and join them.
“How was work today?” Harriet asked Viola when they were all sitting at the dining room table eating their soup.
Viola took another spoonful of the tasty broth and savored the soothing warmth it provided as it slid down her throat. She glanced at her friends. “Mrs. Richardson was in a fine mood and Emily proved very helpful in cheering up an eight-year-old boy who was brought in with a fever. It looks like influenza, but I’m not too worried since he appears to be a strong and otherwise healthy child.”
Diana and Harriet responded with appropriate sounds of interest while Viola continued relating the highlights of her day. As an afterthought, she told them, “I also finished the invitations for the grand opening of the rejuvenation center so they can be sent out tomorrow.”
“How many people have you invited?” Diana asked.
“One hundred.”
Harriet’s eyes widened. “Do you think they’ll all show up?”
“I expect so, if for no other reason than curiosity.” They finished their soup. Viola helped Harriet and Diana remove their bowls and put clean plates on the table.
“And Mr. Lowell?” Diana asked while serving herself a piece of roast meat.
Viola felt her stomach contract. Of course she’d mentioned his arrival and had voiced her concerns about being responsible for his care because of the added interaction this would require. She had, however, hoped to avoid discussing him further. But apparently that wasn’t possible.
“I quarreled with him this evening.” She took the dish with the roast from Diana and selected a piece of meat for herself before offering it to Harriet. When neither woman commented, she said, “He refused to heed my advice on bathing and later suggested that some might think me a loose woman when he discovered I’d once lived completely alone.” Grabbing the bowl with potatoes and carrots, she spooned several onto her plate while recalling Lowell’s horrified expression. His reaction had struck a sensitive nerve.
“You shared such personal detail with him?” Diana was staring at her with a quizzical expression while Harriet looked equally stumped. “How unlike you, Viola.”
“He said my husband was lucky to have me and when I told him I didn’t have a husband, one comment led to another until I eventually told him he had no right to judge me considering his reputation.”
Harriet smiled. “Bravo, Viola.”
“Indeed,” Diana murmured. “But in spite of the set-down you gave him, I must urge you to be careful where Mr. Lowell is concerned. Men like him do not bring up a woman’s husband unless they hope to discover whether or not she has one.”
Viola nodded. “I am aware but I also despise lying, so when he told me my husband was fortunate to have me, I could not allow myself to deceive him.”
Harriet leaned forward and peered at Viola. “You like him.”
“I most certainly do not.” To suppose such a thing was silly in light of what she knew about him.
“Your cheeks are turning pink,” Diana remarked. “For someone who claims to despise lying, you really ought to make more of an effort at being honest with us and with yourself.”
Frowning, Viola stabbed a piece of meat with her fork. “Very well. I will admit that I find him charming and that I enjoy sparring with him. I mean, you know how well I enjoy a good ch
allenge and—”
“Oh dear,” Harriet murmured.
Diana shook her head slowly.
“What?” Viola asked. She ate the piece of meat on her fork.
Harriet and Diana exchanged a look before Diana took a deep breath and said, “You have accepted his invitation to flirt with you, Viola, which essentially means you’ve admitted an interest.”
Viola stared at her friend and suddenly laughed. “That is ridiculous. I talk to all my patients, Diana. You know that. Everyone does. So for Mr. Lowell to presume there might be more to it than professional courtesy would be utterly mad.”
“Except for the fact that you readily took his bait regarding the husband remark, gave him the answer he needed and chose to attack his reputation when he said something offensive to you.” Harriet took a sip of her wine before adding, “Essentially, this proves you care, even if only a little, about all of his past indiscretions. A woman without any interest at all would not do so, Viola.”
Concern pricked at Viola’s skin. She reached for her wine and took a long sip. “How can you be so certain about this?”
Both women raised their eyebrows. “We have some experience with men,” Diana said while Harriet returned her attention to her food. “Trust us when we tell you, Mr. Lowell has designs on you, Viola, which is hardly surprising, given what we know about him. As your friend, I advise you to be cautious where he is concerned.”
“Of course,” Viola assured her. “That goes without saying since I have no interest in encouraging any man’s attention.”
“Perhaps not,” Harriet agreed. She’d set her fork aside and was giving Viola her full attention. “But a rake of Mr. Lowell’s renown is more dangerous than you can imagine. He will know precisely what to say in order to seduce the most defiant woman straight into his bed.”
Chapter 3
When Emily stopped by Viola’s office the following day to inform her that Mr. Lowell would allow only her to tend to his wound, she bristled. After her conversation with Harriet and Diana the previous evening, she’d gone about her day with the intention of letting others check up on his well-being and then report back to her. This had worked until now, but could go on no longer. Which was rather unsettling since it would mean having to see him again. The mere idea of it released a swarm of butterflies in her belly. Because if his comments and smiles had proved anything to her thus far, it was that in spite of her very best efforts, she wasn’t immune to his good looks or charm.
The Infamous Duchess Page 3