by Eloisa James
“Show some backbone,” Piers said, reaching out and giving him a poke. “You’ve seen a beautiful woman before, haven’t you?”
“Very pleased to meet you,” Kibbles said, sweeping into a bow so low that he almost lost his balance.
The door opened once again and Prufrock announced, “The Duke of Windebank. The Marquis LaTour de l’Affitte.”
Piers leaned back against the sideboard and waited to see how his ostensible fiancée would handle being the only woman in the room. With one glance, he warned his father to keep his distance, and the man did, wandering over to glance through the windows overlooking the sea.
That left four men to slaver over Linnet. Even Sébastien, whom he’d judged to have more brains than he was exhibiting at the moment.
Linnet gave that throaty little laugh she had, and Sébastien moved closer, his eyes alight in a way that Piers had seen previously only in the operating chamber.
To his utter surprise, he felt a low growl rising in his throat. Jealousy, he diagnosed. Together with a nasty bit of dog-in-the-manger sensibility. I don’t want her myself, but I don’t want anyone else to have my shiny new toy either.
With that thought in mind he pushed away from the sideboard and hobbled over to see his dear father. It had to be done, after all. He could hardly house the man under his own roof and ignore him entirely.
The duke turned, but then merely stood there, as if he expected Piers to strike him. It was damned annoying.
“I thought we had an agreement,” Piers said.
He nodded. “I broke it.”
“You’re not to come near me. In return I give you tacit leave to place spies in my house—”
His father started to speak, but Piers raised his hand. “Don’t think me a fool. Prufrock didn’t find his way to the wilds of Wales on his own. I sometimes think I should reduce his wages, given what you are undoubtedly paying him.”
Silence.
Piers eyed him, but somehow there wasn’t much pleasure in being rude. He’d spent so many years hating the man that it was rather odd to discover—now that they were finally face-to-face—that he was, after all, just a man.
“I take it you’re no longer an opium addict,” he said. As a doctor, he knew. He’d learned the signs of opium addiction before that, though: at his mother’s knee, watching his father.
“It’s been twelve years. How is your mother?”
“You probably know that her husband lost his head in the Terror. She was fond of him.”
He nodded.
“Of course you do. You likely have spies in her household as well.”
“You were right to get her out of France,” the duke said, not bothering to deny it. “I don’t like the feeling of things over there.”
“That was Sébastien,” Piers said. “I didn’t give it a second thought. He whisked our mothers out of the country a month or so ago and then turned up here himself.”
“I’ll—I’ll stay here until you’re married, and then I’ll leave you alone again.” The duke gave a jerky little bow.
Piers thought about whether to tell him that the marriage was off, and decided not. It was none of his father’s business, for all he had produced the bride in question. He glanced over his shoulder to find that Linnet was smiling up at Seb.
“She’s exquisite,” the duke said, with a trace of pride.
“Even better, she’s got a royal babe in tow,” Piers said, cutting to the heart of his rhapsody. “Quite a bargain you found for me: wife and heir in one sweet package.”
“Prince Augustus would be hard for any woman to resist, let alone one as young and beautiful as Miss Thrynne. But in case you’re worried, I asked her, and she’s not in love with the prince.”
Piers almost grinned at that. No, Linnet was not in love with the prince. She actually reminded him a bit of himself. Chances were good that she would never succumb to such an embarrassing emotion. “What if she’s carrying a girl? You’re still out an heir.”
“Look how many sons the king has,” his father said. “The chances are good it will be a boy. And even if she does bear a female, your part of the estate is unentailed, and my solicitor says we could break it on mine as well. The child won’t have our title, but she’ll have the rest.”
“Well,” Piers said, knowing he was being abrupt, but unable to stand another second in the company of this old man with longing eyes, “I’d better get back to my fiancée before Sébastien snaps her up and takes her back to France.”
His father’s brows drew together. “L’Affitte is your cousin. Of course he won’t steal your fiancée.”
“He is indeed my cousin. But look at the woman you bought for me, Father.” He gave the label a mocking twist. “There aren’t many like her in all of France, nor England either.”
“No,” his father agreed. “And not just because of her beauty either.”
Piers took a leisurely look at Linnet. There was the beauty, sure enough. But it didn’t detract from the intelligence in her eyes. And in his opinion the slightly cynical lilt in her voice just made her all the more beautiful, as if Aphrodite had been crossed with Athena.
“Go,” his father said, making an abrupt gesture. “You can pretend I’m not in the room. No need to do the pretty with me.”
Piers got back across the room and cut in on the conversation between Linnet and his cousin. “My fiancée,” he growled, giving Sébastien a look.
The Frenchman smiled at Linnet with all that Gallic charm he flaunted so shamelessly. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather marry me? Piers is the very devil to live with. I’ve had years of him, and I know.”
Linnet’s eyes danced over Sébastien as if she were seriously considering his proposition, and Piers had the sudden wish to pound his cousin in the face.
What the hell was going on? He’d decided long ago that he was better off alone. He didn’t need anyone else to worry about.
“You should take him,” he made himself say. “He’s nicer. I’m richer, though.”
Sébastien shrugged. “My lands were confiscated. But I have enough.”
“You have enough to dress yourself like a popinjay,” Piers said. “Didn’t you say that you were going to check on that amputation from this afternoon?”
“I already have.”
“So what sorts of things do you cut up?” Linnet asked.
“Legs and arms,” Sébastien answered.
“He could be chopping wood, but he took the easier route,” Piers said.
“I thought you cut people open from top to bottom,” Linnet said. She didn’t sound in the least frightened or squeamish, which was unusual in Piers’s experience of young ladies.
“There’s too much risk of infection,” Sébastien told her.
He was opening his mouth, probably planning to regale her with gory details of their dead patients, when Prufrock summoned them to the dining room. At the table, Piers had Linnet at his right hand and Sébastien, thank God, was banished to the other end to talk to the duke.
“Lucky for you the bell rang just then,” he told Linnet. “My cousin was about to bore you silly with tales of infection and death.”
“It’s very kind of you to provide me with a resident marquis to flirt with, insofar as the Continent is likely my next home.”
“Do you mean you have to leave the country? Because of that baby that doesn’t exist?”
She shrugged. “Marrying you was my aunt’s idea of a brilliant recovery from impending catastrophe.”
A gentleman would probably follow this revelation with a quick proposal of marriage. Piers, however, had no problem maintaining his silence.
“May I offer you some wine?” Prufrock bent over Linnet in such a way that he was probably looking straight down her bodice.
“Go away,” Piers growled. “We’re having a private conversation. You’re going to have to learn to be more butler-like once I marry Linnet, you know. Can’t have you barging in on the marital bedchamber, let alone marita
l confidences.”
“As you wish,” Prufrock said, gliding away without a backward glance.
“I think you hurt his feelings,” Linnet said. “What an odd butler you have.”
“Spy for my father,” Piers said. “Prufrock can’t afford to have hurt feelings, since he’s being paid by two households. Listen, I’ll take you swimming tomorrow morning.”
She opened her mouth, but he spoke first. “If you dive in and drown, people will talk. They’ll say I did it just for the pleasure of dissecting you.”
Linnet wrinkled her nose.
“And who’s to teach you to swim if I don’t? Not that I really believe you’ll make it in the water. The minute you feel it, you’ll be squealing and trotting back up the path.”
“It’s not proper.”
Piers rolled his eyes. “For a young lady who was recently tussling with royalty, you are remarkably prudish. I’m no danger to your chastity. Besides, we can go early in the morning while your chaperone is still snoring. Oh, wait! You don’t have a chaperone.”
She smiled, not that full-blown dimpled miracle that she used to manipulate the poor sods who fell under her spell, but a small, almost secret, smile. Just a curl of her lips and a smile deep in her eyes.
“Right,” he said, pushing back from the table.
“We haven’t had our second course yet—”
“Patients dying upstairs, you know.” And with that he took himself off.
He was losing his head, sitting there looking at her eyes.
A strategic retreat was called for. After all, he had no intention of marrying. Ever.
Chapter Nine
Linnet went to bed thinking about the deep crevice between Piers’s brows. Was it there because he was in constant pain, or was it just because he had a wretched temper? Despite her better judgment, there was something about the ferocity in his eyes and the lines of pain around his mouth that made her want to taunt him, to make him laugh, to force him to listen to her.
Which was absurd. He was a man who clearly had made the decision to spend his life alone, and from all indications had never thought twice about it.
Still, she kept thinking about his brow, and fell asleep imagining a Piers whose face had smoothed into laughter, a Piers who wasn’t Piers.
She woke to find that particular brow frowning down at her. “You didn’t even turn over when I clumped my way into your bedchamber, cane and all. I’ve spoken to you twice and you just keep lying there with that odd little smile on your face.”
“What hour is it?” she mumbled groggily, pushing her hair off her face.
“Dawn.” He sat down on the edge of her bed as if they were the oldest of friends. “My leg hurts like a son of a bitch, so could you please get yourself ready to go swimming? It’s the only thing that kicks back the pain.”
“Swimming,” she said, rolling over on her side, a hand under her cheek. She was still half asleep, and felt as if he had walked straight out of her dream. “You think I’m going swimming with you?”
He dug his fingers into his thigh. “Hurry up. The sun’s coming up.”
“Does it hurt that much?”
“Massage helps.” He sounded as if he were speaking through clenched teeth. “You smell good.”
“Honeysuckle,” she said, pleased at the compliment. She was starting to wake up. “You know, you really shouldn’t be in my bedroom.”
“Why not? If we’re discovered, the worst that could happen is that we’ll have to get married, and we’re already supposed to get married. Under the circumstances . . .” He shrugged.
She thought the “circumstances” were probably his lack of manhood. And he was right in that no one could presume her ruined if the man in question was unable to do the ruining. She turned on her back and stretched luxuriously. “Actually, this is sort of fun.”
“What? Having a man in your bedchamber? With your reputation, I thought that would be second nature.”
“Your reputation led me to think you’d be witty, so we’re both surprised.” She sat up and swung her feet over the bed so they were sitting side by side.
“Have you had many men in your room?” he said, sounding curious.
“None. Not even the putative father of my alleged child. To be honest, I don’t care to find myself alone with a man. Just when you relax enough to feel the least bit friendly, he’s sure to leap on you.”
“I’ve never had the experience,” he said dryly. “Would you please get yourself dressed? I promise not to leap on you.”
“What’s the rush?”
“The tide is in. The pool is full and the sun’s just up. Trust me, this is the best time to swim.”
“I’m not taking all my clothes off.”
He shrugged again. “As you like. Though if you wear full skirts, I’m not diving down to rescue you from the bottom of the pool.”
“I’ll wear my chemise,” Linnet said, suddenly feeling excited. “And you wear—well, you have to wear something too.”
“I can wear smalls if you want,” he said, sounding completely uninterested in the question.
Linnet darted behind the little screen in the corner of her bedroom, entranced to find out how easy it was to be with Piers. Knowing that he wasn’t about to try to kiss her, or throw himself on his knees, or worst of all, lose control and launch into a kind of wrestling match, made it a pleasure to be with him.
“You know,” she called over the screen, as she was pulling a morning gown over her head, “I don’t want to frighten you, but you’re just the sort of man I would like to marry.”
He grunted.
“I don’t feel as if you’re salivating all over me,” she said, wanting to explain. “I know that you won’t start licking your chops and doing a Little Red Riding Hood imitation.”
“Wouldn’t I be the wolf, not the little girl?”
“You know what I mean.” She popped out from behind the screen. “Could you do up the rest of my gown? It’s harder to dress without my maid than I would have thought.”
She turned her back and he buttoned her up. Again she reveled in an unfamiliar sense of freedom. “No one ever said that being ruined was so much fun,” she said happily. “I don’t have the slightest fear that you’re going to rip off my buttons.”
“I have the impression that being ruined is generally a good deal more fun than this. Do you always talk this much?” he growled. “For God’s sake, let’s go.”
They turned the last bend of the path; Piers flipped the red sign to vertical, and there it was.
The sea was a deeper blue today. And the pool looked as placid as a manicured lawn, except that rather than being green, the sea reflected back turquoise blue to the sky. The sun slanted across the water, gilding the tiny waves that sloshed the barrier between the pool and the sea.
“It’s so beautiful,” Linnet exclaimed.
“Cold as a witch’s teat at this hour,” Piers said. He was pulling off his coat. Linnet made her eyes slide back to the pool. It wouldn’t be right of her to—to ogle him, when he, of course, wouldn’t be ogling her. But a moment later she couldn’t help looking over again.
He had his shirt off. Shirt. Off. She was in the presence of a nearly naked man. All right, so it wasn’t exactly the way that sounded but . . . he was beautiful. For the first time in her entire life, on this issue at least, she had to admit that perhaps her mother was right. Those muscles—
He had his back to her, and the way his shoulders moved, and then the way his upper body slimmed down to his waist and—
He was taking off his boots!
Linnet couldn’t wrench her eyes away. Stupidly, a high little voice in her mind had started narrating the whole scene. He’s bending down . . . Yes! He is going to pull off his breeches. He’s pulling them over his hips. Hmmmmm . . . His—his buttocks are—the voice seemed to be somewhat strangled. Different. Different from mine. Muscled, too. It . . . the voice choked again. Is he going to turn around?
“Bol
locks, I told you I’d keep my smalls on, didn’t I?”
At Piers’s growl, Linnet startled as if a gun had gone off. She had to pull herself together. He was incapable, for goodness’ sake. And she was ogling him in the most outrageous way . . . as if she were at that brothel her aunt had talked about.
She was a horrible person. Perverted, really.
She kicked off her slippers without untying the bows, wrenching down her stockings. She had to think of it as if she were bathing with—with a sibling. That’s all he was. Besides, she was keeping on her chemise and he had put his smalls back on. She stole a glance. They were white and seemed to cover the pertinent area.
“Could you help me with my buttons again?” she called.
He came up behind her and it felt as if her skin went aflame at his touch. If he guessed, she would expire from pure embarrassment.
“So, how does one swim?” she managed. “Do I just jump in and I’ll know what to do?”
“I’ll show you,” he said. “It’s going to be cold. You’ll have one toe in and then you’ll be dashing back up that path.”
No, she wouldn’t. At this point, anything cold was a good idea. Something had happened to her internal temperature, and she felt as if she were as red as a beet. But she was shivering. “I’ll just jump right in, shall I?”
He started to say something, but she hopped right up onto the flat rock that he had indicated the day before and leaped off. For a second there was a dizzying rush of air. Her chemise flew up and then—oh my God—she’d never felt such cold in her life. It rushed past her as she sank, as if ice were stroking her all over, as if her very bones had frozen.
A moment later a strong arm curved around her waist and the water rushed past her the other way. She broke the surface of the water, stunned, and took a huge gulp of air, hardly believing she was still alive.
“You bloody fool!” Piers was shouting. She was alive. No . . . she was only partly alive, because she’d never been colder in her life. The only thing warm in the whole world was the body next to her.
“I’m fr-freezing,” she stammered, winding her arms around his neck and plastering her body against his. It felt good. He was shouting again, but there was water in her ears and she couldn’t hear very well. It felt better like this, her arms and legs wrapped around him. And he still had an arm around her as well.