When Beauty Tamed the Beast

by Eloisa James

  “Can’t,” Gavan stated. “I might lose my spot. There’s ever so many sick people who want to be here, you know.”

  “I won’t let them give away your bed,” Linnet said, seeing that Mr. Hammerhock was nodding. “You might be a little tired, so perhaps a footman could carry you outside. I know you were probably a very active boy before you came here.”

  “Couldn’t get to the privy yesterday,” Gavan said doubtfully, “not without hanging onto the nurse’s arm like she was a tree.”

  “How annoying,” Linnet said. “Come on, then.” She stood up and rang the bell. By now Piers was all the way down the room, haranguing the doctors, and he paid no attention when a nice footman named Neythen scooped up Gavan and his blanket and headed out the door.

  Linnet followed.

  “Where would you like to go, miss?” Neythen asked over his shoulder.

  “The pool,” she said.

  “What’s a pool?” Gavan asked. His eyes were shining with excitement. “Do you mean a fishpond? ’Cause I’ve seen one of those. I . . .”

  He talked all the way down the stairs and all the way down the path and only stopped when they reached the pool itself—and that was because his mouth fell open.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Linnet said, smiling. “Neythen, would you make Gavan comfortable right here on this flat stone?”

  “It’s so big,” Gavan exclaimed, and Linnet realized he was looking straight past the pool at the ocean. “I never knew it was so big. All that water . . . where’s it going?”

  “It just goes here and there,” Linnet said.

  They sat, the three of them, and watched the waves for a while.

  “How old are you, Gavan?” she asked.

  “Six and three quarters,” he said. “Do you see the way the sun makes that path over the sea?”

  There was a broad golden path stretching to the horizon.

  “That’s like a road,” Gavan said. “Likely the road to heaven that me mum told me about.”

  Neythen shifted position. “Do you have to return to your post?” Linnet asked him.

  “Mr. Prufrock will understand,” Neythen said. “He’s a decent sort.” He reached over and tucked Gavan’s blanket more tightly around his shoulders.

  “I don’t suppose I’ll be going to heaven,” Gavan said. He didn’t sound too worried about it.

  “Of course you will,” Linnet said. “But not for a good while, I hope.”

  “I expect they don’t let you in the door iffen you don’t believe in all the trappings. The clouds and harps, and such.”

  “You don’t have to believe in it,” Linnet said stoutly. “When you need it, the door will just open.” She looked at Gavan again. Could he be dying from a terrible disease? The very idea was heartbreaking.

  Gavan sighed. “Are there any dogs around here?”

  Linnet turned to Neythen.

  “There’s a dog down in the stables. But he’s a scruffy old thing who doesn’t belong to anyone.”

  “He could belong to me, then,” Gavan suggested. “My brother has a dog, but I don’t have one of my very own.” Clearly he was no longer interested in further philosophical discussion of the afterlife. “Let’s go!” he said.

  “Your nurse might be wondering where you are,” Linnet said.

  But Gavan was of the opinion that the nurse wouldn’t even notice that he was missing. And if she did, she’d apparently be ecstatic. “She says I’m a thorn in her side,” he confided. “Please, can we just take a peek at the dog?”

  So they were in the stable, trying to lure a small grayish mongrel whose only distinguishing features were bright black eyes and a general aura of dirt, when Linnet heard the clumping sound of Piers’s cane.

  “There you are,” he said, not nicely. “For God’s sake, the nurse thinks the boy’s been stolen.”

  “She’s not giving away my bed, is she?” Gavan cried. He tried to stand up and started to pitch to the side, though Neythen caught him in the nick of time.

  “She can’t give away your bed, it’s got your fleas in it,” Piers said.

  “I haven’t got fleas,” Gavan said. “Do you think—”

  “Of course I don’t think,” Piers snapped. “What are you doing with that filthy mongrel?”

  “He’s going to be mine,” Gavan said. “I’m going to tame him and he’s going to sleep on my bed.”

  They had the dog cornered in a manger, but even so, it showed no interest in coming closer, no matter how many times Gavan called “here boy, here boy.”

  “I expect his name isn’t Boy,” Piers pointed out.

  He was scarcely looking at Linnet. And it was the most annoying thing, that way her heart had sped up when he entered the stables. Pretty soon she’d be listening for the sound of his cane like a lovelorn fool.

  “What is his name?” Gavan asked eagerly. “Was he yours, once?”

  “Of course he wasn’t mine. If you want him to come, you’d better offer him some beef.” He jerked his head at Neythen. “Prufrock’s looking for you. Go tell him where you are, and then come back and carry this varmint upstairs.”

  “Well, if he’s not yours, then he can be mine,” Gavan said. “Maybe I’ll name him Rufus.”

  “I suggest Peaches,” Piers said, giving Linnet a sly glance. “A name that’ll remind you of your father’s advice.”

  “That’s not a good name,” Gavan said, shaking his head. “That’s a girl’s name. He’s more like a Rufus. Come on, Rufus.”

  Linnet straightened up, since it seemed that Gavan was occupied trying to coax Rufus to play with a stick.

  “And what in the merry hell do you think you’re doing?” Piers asked her. “You missed luncheon.”

  He towered over her in a most annoying fashion. “I merely brought Gavan outside,” she said. “Unless I want to sit around your library and read medical tracts, I’ve got nothing else to do.”

  “You should do whatever it is ladies do all day long. But stay away from my patients.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because I told you to!”

  She snorted. “You’re afraid of your nurse.”

  “I am not afraid of Nurse Matilda. She’s a fine disciplinarian.”

  “Then why did you bother stamping all the way out to the stables to find us?”

  “Maybe I’m falling in love with you, just the way most of my household thinks.”

  “They don’t think that,” she pointed out. “My household thinks that.”

  “My man told me all about the bet. Your household is going to lose a lot of money,” he said with some satisfaction. “I hope you pay them well, so they can afford it.”

  Linnet grimaced at him and then glanced back down. Gavan had crawled forward and Rufus was cautiously sniffing his fingers. “You can’t leave that child to die with a tartar of a nurse and no one but sick people around him.”

  Piers gave a bark of laughter, so she glared at him. “I’m an uncaring bastard, am I?” he inquired.

  “Yes.”

  He leaned more heavily on his cane. “Are we going to stand around and have a meaningful discussion of patient care, or may I go back inside?”

  “Why don’t you sit on that nice bench over there?” Linnet said.

  “Why don’t I just go back inside—”

  “Because I want to talk about the way you have patients lying in those beds just waiting for the end to come.”

  “Why the hell would I want to talk to you about it? Your beauty hardly qualifies you as a medical professional.”

  “One needn’t be a medical professional to know that it’s not right to leave a dying boy, a child, in there with all those sick people. He’s in bed all day. The nurse won’t even let him out for a moment.”

  “I told her not to,” Piers said agreeably. “She generally obeys me because I pay her wage.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Linnet said. “You should have seen how happy he was to see the ocean. And now, with—” She g
lanced down. Rufus had sidled up and seemed to be peeing on Gavan’s bare feet.

  “Nurse Matilda is not going to like that,” Piers said, with a distinct tone of glee. “She’s going to blame you.”

  Linnet shrugged. “Neythen can dip Gavan’s feet in the horse trough just outside the door before returning him to the infirmary.”

  “So just what do you think I ought to do differently with the west wing?”

  “Make it more cheerful.”

  “This is all about dying, isn’t it?” Piers leaned a little closer to her. “You’re afraid of it yourself.”

  “This is not about dying,” Linnet snapped.

  “Good,” Piers said. “Well, this has been a fascinating conversation, but my leg can’t take the excitement any longer.” He turned to go.

  Linnet narrowed her eyes. She could feel her temper rising. “Are you just walking away from me?”

  Piers looked over his shoulder. “Am I? Am I what? Walking—away?” He snorted. “Yes, I am.”

  She darted around him and stood in front of the door. “Why won’t you listen to me?”

  “Because you’re asinine.”

  “You should have seen Gavan’s face when he talked about heaven,” she said fiercely. “He said the sun on the ocean looked just—”

  “He may have looked like a dying cow,” Piers said, interrupting. “But I don’t see how it’s relevant.”

  “Because he’s dying, you fool,” Linnet snapped.

  “We’re all dying.”

  “Not the way Gavan will. Or, at least not as soon, or as young.”

  “Who knows when Gavan will die?” He shrugged. “I have to tell you that the chances are pretty good you’ll die before him. Even given women’s longevity, he’s only six, and you have to be twenty-five.”

  “I’m twenty-three,” Linnet said, frowning.

  “Given what I saw of his mother, I would guess that he’ll live to a ripe old age. She’s a tough woman, and she was smart enough to bring him here when he fell off the hayrick and sustained a compound fracture.”

  “Compound—”

  “Fracture. A break,” Piers said helpfully. “Now would you mind very much if I limp my way back to the house and report that the patient has been discovered, albeit covered with pee and no doubt flea ridden? Nurse Matilda is not going to like that.”

  “I thought he was dying. He said you made him stay in bed.”

  “More the fool you,” Piers said unkindly. “I did make him stay in bed. We tried a rather innovative method of mending his bone by immobilizing it with a plaster cast, and it worked like a charm, if I say so myself. Now do I need to tell you again that my leg is hurting like a son of a bitch?”

  “Is there any need to be so—”

  “Rude? You came into my infirmary. You took a boy out of bed who’s only been out of a cast for three days. You had him carried down to the water and then to the stables, and now he’s crawling on the ground. That boy can’t even stand alone. He couldn’t walk if you—”

  “Look!” Gavan shouted from behind them. “Look at me!”

  They turned around.

  He had Rufus in his arms and he was standing up. The dog was licking his chin. “He likes me!”

  Chapter Eleven

  Linnet dressed for supper in a rather somber mood. So the west wing wasn’t entirely full of dying people. She felt like a fool—and she felt belligerent at the same time. Piers was taking care of his patients’ bodies, obviously. But he didn’t care about how tedious it was to lie in those beds, day after day.

  Still, it was hardly her business. They were ill suited, and the idea that he might fall in love with her ever, let alone in two weeks, was laughable. Marriage was out of the question.

  So she had written a note to the duke, requesting that they leave the next day. She had to decide what to do with her life, and that meant going back to her father’s house, first of all. Then . . . perhaps a trip. Perhaps the Continent.

  It sounded rather lonely—but then she’d been lonely ever since her mother died.

  Annoyed with herself for whining like a self-absorbed child, she picked up her book but was incapable of losing herself in descriptions of cures for toothache. She had a feeling that the duke would be unwilling to leave immediately.

  She had no idea why Piers and his father hadn’t spoken for years, but the look on the duke’s face was unmistakable. He was deeply happy to be in his son’s presence, even if that son behaved like a complete ass most of the time.

  She was sitting at her dressing table reading aloud bits of the medical tract to Eliza, who was nimbly pulling her hair into an elaborate arrangement on top of her head, when a flare of noise rose from the courtyard.

  “What on earth is that?” Linnet said.

  Eliza put down a jeweled comb and darted over to the window. “It’s a carriage,” she said. “Just like a pumpkin, all yellow and shiny.”

  Linnet came over in time to see a dainty ankle wearing an exquisite high-heeled slipper emerge from the carriage. It belonged to a lady wearing a plum-colored traveling costume topped by a jaunty little hat from which curled not one, not two, but three soft plumes.

  “Lovely,” Eliza sighed. “That hat has to have come from La Belle Assemblée. There’s just something about it. You can tell.”

  Linnet went back and sat down again. “Perhaps a rival for Lord Marchant’s hand has arrived.”

  “More likely, she’s sick,” Eliza said, picking up her comb again. “The servants say that people come from all over Britain to see him. All over England, and maybe even abroad too. Maybe all the way from Scotland.”

  Linnet didn’t want to think about whether Piers was a good physician, not given the way he laughed at her. His eyes were evil, just evil. He knew perfectly well that she had believed Gavan was dying, and he had let her go on making a fool of herself.

  “I hope it’s another candidate to be the future duchess,” she said. “I shall enjoy watching her consider the prospect of living with that man for an entire lifetime.”

  “There,” Eliza said, tucking the comb into Linnet’s curls. “You’re all set.”

  Linnet stood up and drifted toward the door, but she didn’t feel like going downstairs. Not after Piers had laughed at her, and made her feel such a big booby. “Perhaps—”

  “No,” Eliza said firmly. “He may well be the devil’s cub, the way they say he is. You’ll not be hiding in your bedchamber. Go out there and make him fall in love with you.”

  Linnet groaned.

  “We’re all counting on you,” Eliza said, pushing her out the door.

  Linnet walked slowly down the stairs, morosely counting each step. She thought she’d been humiliated when a whole ballroom turned its back on her. Who would have thought that the humiliation would be even keener when an ass of a doctor laughed in her face?

  There was a swell of excited voices coming from the drawing room, and Prufrock was standing just outside the open door, not even pretending to look like a butler.

  “Do tell,” she said, reaching the bottom of the stairs.

  “The duchess has arrived to visit her son,” Prufrock said. “That is, the former duchess has arrived.”

  “You mean Lord Marchant’s mother? Doesn’t she live abroad?” Linnet felt a prickle of interest.

  “Apparently she’s been in Andalusia for a few months, but got tired of that and decided to travel to Wales and surprise her son.”

  “Only to find the duke in residence,” Linnet said. “Fascinating!”

  “The duke has not yet arrived downstairs. So that joy is presumably yet in store for her,” Prufrock said. He pushed the door open wide, stepped inside and announced, “Miss Thrynne.”

  Everyone in the room paused in their conversation and turned toward the door. In a blatant imitation of Zenobia, Linnet posed briefly under the doorframe before entering the room.

  There was a small surge toward her: the Marquis Latour de l’Affitte, the three doctors . . . n
ot Piers.

  She held her hand out to Piers’s cousin Sébastien, who bowed over her fingers like the French nobleman he was. But her eyes slid sideways. There he was. Piers was leaning against the pianoforte, his eyes hooded, as if he was ignoring everything happening in the room.

  Of course he looked up. He was about as sleepy as a stalking lion waiting for a gazelle to stumble by. There was mockery in those eyes . . . and something else.

  That “something else” stiffened Linnet’s backbone. She turned back to the marquis and gave him a melting smile. “Do tell me about your day. Did Lord Marchant tell you that I enraged him by taking one of his patients into the open air?”

  Sébastien was truly adorable in a French sort of way. His eyes crinkled with ready laughter. “I enrage Piers so regularly that I can hardly distinguish the state. But come, since he is too ill-mannered to do the task himself, I must introduce you to his Maman, my aunt. She arrived a mere hour ago.”

  A moment later Linnet was curtsying before the petite, utterly elegant lady.

  “Lady Bernaise,” Sébastien said. “May I present Miss Thrynne? She journeyed to Wales to meet your son, as you’ve heard.”

  Piers’s mother showed no signs of fatigue from her journey; in fact she was beautiful, with glowing skin and shining hair that belied her age.

  “Enchantée,” she said with a lazy little smile that reminded Linnet of her son. It said everything—and nothing at the same time. “I understand from darling Sébastien that you are my son’s destined wife.”

  “Not destined,” Linnet said. “Possible.”

  “I have not been in England in so many years,” Lady Bernaise said, waving her hand. “You must forgive my errors. Do you wish to marry my son?”

  “If you don’t, I’d be happy to extend my hand,” Sébastien said. He was laughing, of course, but there was a thread of seriousness in his voice.

  Linnet gave him a smile from under her lashes. He was everything that Piers wasn’t: kind, well-spoken, considerate. And he dressed beautifully. “I’m afraid that your son and I don’t suit,” she said to Lady Bernaise.

  The lady snapped open her fan and regarded Linnet over the top of it. “And how did you reach this conclusion?”