Much as Aria had loved her father, she had not shared his belief and had protested, begging for a second Season but her father would not relent. Aria had her chance to catch some young man’s eye, her father had said, and she had failed.
Aria had wanted to point out that her overly bronzed skin and dark looks had not helped her cause much, and that if she allowed her tanned skin to fade now that she was back in England, she might fare better with the young bucks of London. She also did not know anyone in Society and by the time she did make a few friends, the Season was already ending. There were no more parties or balls to attend, no more places to meet eligible young men.
She had wanted to fight back, to argue her case, much as she would have back on the plantation. However, the early fall day she had marched into her father’s office to do just that, Aria had looked into her father’s eyes and seen something she did not like, something she could not define but that had told her without words that he would not listen to whatever she would have said. His mind was made up. Instead, she had kept quiet and allowed her father to send her back across the Atlantic for several more years, only returning home to England when she was summoned by her mother a year and a half ago.
A few months later, her parents were both dead, victims of a carriage accident and Aria had never learned why her mother had brought her home, or if there had even been a reason at all. Nor had Aria ever danced again or done any of the things she might have, had her parents allowed her to return to Society. If they had allowed her. Once, Aria had been certain that was why her mother was calling her home, to give her a second chance to find a husband. Now? She wasn’t quite as sure.
Perhaps, Aria mused, that was why the emerald gown held such an attraction for her. It reminded her of a too-brief time in her life and the dreams that had died when her parents were killed. Perhaps what she felt now was just the dying embers of a dream that was no longer hers to have.
“Or perhaps I have been given too much laudanum,” she said to the empty attic. “Perhaps one Dr. Michael Longford is playing with my mind. Damn him anyway, if he is.”
No one answered her, not that she expected anyone would. If they had, that would have been more frightening than just about anything she had experienced thus far on her journey from Millstone to Bath.
Picking up the breeches again, Aria struggled into them, only to find that, despite being the smallest pair she could find, they were still far too large for her thin frame. Once more, she cursed both Michael for not cleaning his attics and the unknown duke for not having a smaller son. They were irrational irritants, but cursing at something made Aria feel better.
After some more searching, she eventually selected a pair of sturdy men’s boots that were still too large but wearable with copious amounts of fabric stuffed into the toes, followed by several shirts that she piled on top of one another to give her extra padding, a threadbare coat that was little better than the one she had left Millstone wearing, and a thick wool cap that both itched and smelled vaguely like wet sheep but was better than nothing.
“If you hadn’t taken my clothes, Michael,” Aria muttered to herself in disgust, “I would not be rifling through your attics like this. Therefore, the situation is completely your fault.”
Though again, she knew her situation was not really his fault. It was hers and hers alone. Michael was only trying to help her, but she had to put a stop to this madness now. Before it went too far. Before his staff realized she was here – other than the ones who probably already knew of her presence, that is. She hoped that number was small. Or before those that did know she was here told someone who didn’t. Maybe even several someones.
Oh, clearly, the majority of the staff likely knew someone was about, but she doubted that they knew the uninvited guest was female. For as unorthodox as this house seemed at first, Aria had a feeling that even old military people still adhered to some sort of proprieties. She hoped.
Did any of her muddled thoughts just then make sense? Aria wasn’t quite certain because little of that had made sense to her. Still, the issue remained the same. She could not stay here. It was time to go.
Standing up, Aria did a small test walk through the cluttered attic. Though her leg still hurt, it did not throb like it once had and it seemed to be supporting her weight at present. She wished she could take some of the honey with her so that she could continue to treat the injury, but she didn’t dare. That would be stealing and Aria was no thief. That was why she was in the attic looking for clothes rather than going through Michael’s things. These trunks had belonged to the duke and his family, and therefore, he had given up his right to them when he lost the entire estate at the gaming tables. By default, they were Michael’s, true, but it wasn’t as if he had gone out to purchase them himself, thus making the “borrowing” of them an entirely different thing.
Well, that line of reasoning had seemed logical enough earlier though now she was not so certain. Just like her thoughts about Michael’s staff and what they knew or didn’t about her presence.
Perhaps she was more ill than she realized, but it still didn’t matter.
Her journey to the attic also had nothing to do with her fear of seeing Michael again and allowing him to convince her to stay. Just for a little while. No, nothing at all.
Satisfied that she could walk well enough, albeit rather slowly, Aria turned and took one last look at Thornfield Grange’s attic, taking in not just the clothes but the furniture, decorations and other pieces that had obviously once adorned the halls and rooms below. There were some lovely things up here, furniture that, if repaired or shown a bit of care, could make this place into a home again. The sort of home the house itself seemed to want to be – if that made any sense, which Aria wasn’t certain it did. But that was how she felt anyway.
With only one glance, so many ideas had sprung into her head. Imagine what she could do with a day. A week. A month. A lifetime.
So much potential. So much promise. So much love.
A promise of what could be. Much like the man who lived here.
But this was not her home and Michael was not her husband or lover or anything else for that matter – though he would be if she was not careful. And that idea was far too tempting to contemplate further.
No, it was time to go before the situation became any worse. And before she developed any more desire to stay.
And before Michael gave her any more laudanum in her tea and addled her mind with the temptation of what could be. Or before Aria convinced herself that was what he was doing as a way to excuse her sudden and inexplicable desire to stay.
Chapter Five
By eleven o’clock in the morning, it became clear to Michael that Aria was probably more likely to wake for dinner than lunch. Not that he was all that surprised. She had been half-dead when she turned up in his stables now seven nights past. Or was it eight nights? God help him, but he was losing track of time again, just as he had in Spain. Was he falling into the habits of his past? He hoped and prayed not, but who could say?
Giving himself a firm mental shake, he did his best to concentrate on Aria and what she needed. What she was likely to need as she recovered. Though what she needed at present was rest. Lots of it. Now that she was finally conscious, he had no doubt that she would enjoy good, healing sleep.
Though he did rather wish that she would join him for at least one meal today. He hated to admit that he enjoyed her company, for that was a dangerous path to tread. But he did enjoy her. Very much. More than he should. Even after only a single conversation. Perhaps he was the candidate for Bedlam and not her.
Settling down in his study to go over estate matters and consider Lord Berkshire’s request to purchase one of his race horses this coming spring, Michael had only been at the books for a short time when there was a crash from the back of the house. Had he been elsewhere, he might not have even heard the noise. Given his need for privacy most times, the room he had chosen for his study abutted an old servants�
� hallway that was not often used these days.
With a frown, Michael placed his spectacles on his desk and shrugged into his coat. He had hoped to distract himself from thoughts of Aria by immersing himself in dry, boring numbers and seemingly endless requests to purchase horseflesh. Now the possibility of another intruder about Thornfield Grange made his thoughts immediately stray back to the delicious woman upstairs in the old duchess’ chambers. Damn it all, anyway.
As he opened the door that led to the chilly hallway, he heard yet another crash, this one from above him and he glanced up, not really surprised to see a flash of auburn tresses and deathly pale white skin. It was as if thinking of her could somehow make her materialize right before his eyes.
As silently as possible, he moved down the short hallway and then crept quietly up the steps to the second-floor landing. On the stairs just above him, Aria was doing her best to make her way down the narrow old steps. However, she was being hampered both by the mound of oversized – and clearly outdated – clothing she wore and the fact that her body was still extremely weak from her ordeal. The crashing he had heard was her slipping down the steps when she attempted to step down and discovered that her legs would not always support her body’s weight.
A reprimand was quick to his lips, but thankfully Michael stilled his mouth in time. Aria was running from a great many things, not just her wretched cousin. His medical training had included some insight into the human mind, but even if it hadn’t, it did not take an ancient Roman soothsayer to know that she was troubled.
He couldn’t fix her mind or her heart as easily as he could her leg or her body. Nor was he qualified even to try. However, if he allowed her to leave Thornfield Grange at this moment, she would die. Her body was not strong enough to endure a trek to Bath. He doubted it would have been even if she was in perfect health.
More to the point, Aria was still his patient, and her well-being had to be his primary concern. He could also admit that he didn’t want her to go, leaving him alone again, even though he could not articulate why he felt that way, even though they’d only shared the briefest of conversations.
Yet that time together in the duchess’ chambers had awoken something within him, something he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Since before his time in Spain. He wanted more time to decipher just what she had done to him after only a single encounter. Thus, he needed to keep her here for as long as possible and damn the consequences. Not to mention convince her that was the wisest course of action as well.
Taking a deep breath, Michael planted himself in the middle of the landing, prepared to catch Aria if she fell the rest of the way down to him – and not at all liking the way his body responded to the mere thought of holding her again.
“Been rummaging through my attics, have you?” Michael was absurdly pleased when Aria gasped in shock at being discovered but did not scream as another lady might have.
“Michael! You scared me!” Damn it all, he rather liked the way she said his name. “What are you doing here?”
Leaning back against the wall – for he wasn’t certain the ancient railing would support him – he grinned at her again. He refused to note that he had grinned more in her presence than he had grinned at anyone in years. This was about her, not him. “I think the better question is what are you doing, Aria? And why are you dressed like a refugee from the eighteenth century?”
She plucked absently at the topcoat she wore. “I was just…well, you see I was…”
“You were going to run away again.” His words were not a question.
“You know I cannot remain here. I need to reach Bath! I am certain my Aunt Tilly is already worried about me, for I have no doubt Felton informed her that I was missing.” There was a bit of fire in her eyes, which cheered him. She was still recovering but the glassy-eyed stare of the past few days was gone. “Not to mention that you will be ruined.”
Michael twirled a finger in the air. “Don’t you have that backward, pet? It is not I who will be ruined if you are discovered in my home.” Then he crossed his arms over his chest. “And who said anything about ruin anyway? I told you my staff is loyal. Oh, and before you can ask, they know you’re here.” He inclined his head. “And you are not well enough to go back out into the cold. You are barely able to get out of bed, let alone trek the many miles to Bath.”
“We aren’t that far from Bath!” Then she hesitated and Michael could see the fear in her eyes. “Are we?”
Peeling himself away from the wall, Michael easily loped up the last three steps Aria had yet to fall down and offered her his arm. “Well, we are in Somerset, so you are not that far, but it is still far too distant for you to walk in your condition.” He felt her tremble as she descended the last few steps, her legs nearly giving way. “Not that I would let you go alone anyway with your cousin out there waiting to snatch you.”
She peered up at him. “You wouldn’t?” She seemed rather uncertain about that.
“Are you daft, pet? Has the chill affected your brain?” Michael was incredulous now, though he kept his temper under control. “Of course, I wouldn’t! What do you take me for, a heathen? I might not be of the peerage, though a knighthood is in the offing if you must know, but I am a gentleman at heart. And no man would allow a woman to traipse about the Cotswolds alone, be she in perfect health or not!”
Before he could catch her, Aria’s legs seemed to give out and she slumped to the floor in a mass of oversized coats, pants and all other manner of men’s clothing. “I’m sorry, Michael. I just…I thought…oh, botheration!” A single tear glistened at the corner of her eye, but she wiped it away viciously before another could fall.
Sitting there, Aria looked so pitiful that Michael wanted nothing more than to scoop her into his arms and carry her off somewhere safe. Except that he didn’t. He couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right, no matter how much his brain whispered that it would be what they both needed, perhaps even what they both wanted. Instead, he dropped down beside her and pulled her close. She was chilled from her time in the attic and at risk for more ill health. He needed to get her warm again. He knew it, even if she didn’t.
“Tell me, pet,” he whispered as she huddled into the crook of his arm, obviously seeking the warmth of his body again, unsurprising given that she had been rummaging about in an unheated attic. The shivers also indicated she was not as well as she wanted him to believe. As if she could fool the man the French had dubbed “Satan’s Physician.” The man who was rumored to be able to raise the dead. Not bloody likely. “Tell me what troubles you.”
Aria sniffed once, but did not cry. “I told you. I am a wanted woman. I will be a ruined one as well if I do not leave.”
“Yes. I know that.” Michael pulled her a little tighter to him, praying his body would not betray him with its obvious desire. He had only meant to offer her heat. “And I told you that I am not afraid of your cousin. Or whatever men he sends after you. Nor am I afraid of a little rumor and innuendo.” He laughed a little. “Do you know that during the Peninsular War, they referred to me as ‘Satan’s Physician,’ and not in a good way?”
She gave a little gasp. “That was you? I read the newspaper accounts, even though Mama told me not to do so. You were accounted a magician in field medicine and saved the lives of many of our soldiers.”
“I did indeed and I say that without bragging. My survival rate was higher than any other physician’s.” Michael made certain not to let his voice catch. Aria was frightened enough. She did not need to know the horrors of his past. “And the story about me putting a bullet in a saber-wielding Frenchie while I was tending to an injured man? The one where I received this scar?” He pointed to the corner of his lip as he pasted a stern expression on his face. “All true, I assure you. In fact, remind me to tell you some of the tales that did not make the papers. There is little doubt in my mind that you would enjoy them.” He smiled then and nudged her in the side. “You seem a bit of a blood-thirsty sort.”
A
ria paused at that, seemingly considering his words. Her body had relaxed again, which he took as a good sign. “But I will ruin you if I remain.”
“Again, do you not think that is the other way around?” Though really, Michael was quickly coming to the conclusion that her remaining with him for a time might not be such a bad idea at all – even if she had been well enough to travel. Which, of course, she wasn’t.
“You would be forced to wed me if we were discovered together.” Aria’s voice was quiet and soft, so Michael could not determine if she viewed that as a good option or not. “I would also have to hide from your staff for however long I am here. I am not very good at remaining in my chambers, I fear. I grow bored easily.”
Yes, he could very easily see how that would be the case. It had taken her less than a day to wish to be free of her bed, even though remaining there was to her benefit. “Or we could simply announce your presence in my home to the few staff who do not already know you are here and allow the consequences to fall where they may.” Slowly, Michael helped Aria to her feet, concerned that she was becoming too chilled in this drafty corridor for even he found it drafty.
“We what?” Aria was clearly dumbfounded because she allowed Michael to lead her back to his study without protest. “Announce that I am here? Are you mad?”
Instead of replying, he held up a single finger to his lips and began guiding her down the remainder of the stairs without saying a word. She was clearly infuriated but, as requested, she did not utter a peep, much to his surprise.
Leading her back to his study, Michael was gratified when he saw Aria’s body relax completely when she entered the much warmer room. She had been chilled but had also refused to admit it. Stubborn chit. If she was cold now, what did she think would happen when she went outside?
Noticing that she was still unsteady on her feet, Michael moved a chair near the hearth and slowly guided her into it. Then he rang for a maid, giving her direction to have his cook, Mrs. Adams, prepare a tray for them, one that included a large mug of broth along with something a bit more substantial than tea biscuits.
Christmas With a Scoundrel Page 6