The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2

by MacMurrough, Sorcha

  She stared. "You say that with such certainty."

  "I'm committed to my work," he said, his tone clipped.

  "Then what do you do for er, coupling, if you do not normally prey upon women in this fashion?" she asked with a lift of her chin.

  He smiled tightly. "I have an old friend, a childless widow who is well past childbearing years who occasionally likes to have a special visitor. We talk. It's an outlet. It's not something I'm proud of, and I visit her seldom these days, but I'm still a weak man."

  "Not nearly as weak as I am, apparently." She sighed and wiped her tears away with the backs of her wrists. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to cry. I didn't mean to do this- " She swept her hand down the bed.

  "I hope this experience will frighten you enough to keep you safe," he said sternly as he refastened his shirt and began to put on the rest of his clothes. He needed whatever shielding he could get from the young beauty.

  "Frighten… Yes," she said submissively.

  Inwardly, though, she had to admit that the only thing which terrified her was never experiencing such wonderful bliss again.

  "Good, I'm glad to hear it." He donned his jacket and fixed his cuffs, his demeanour that of a professional doctor once more, as if the last ten minutes had never happened.

  "I shall leave you the cream. Reapply it once a day, and have one of the maidservants assist you with the wrapping."

  He began to gather up all of his items from the room.

  She stared. "Where are you going?"

  "An error was made last night. For both our sakes we cannot allow it to remain uncorrected."

  "But there are no more rooms here."

  "I can share with John. I am not troubled by such things as considerations of class, and ought to be keeping an eye on him anyway. That is if you can dispense with my services now?" he said politely.

  The unwitting double entendre caused them both to blush.

  "You've been more than helpful, thank you. I-I-I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. Please don't be mad at me."

  "Not angry with you, but myself. You are young and naïve. There was no harm done. But there could have been, for both of us, and for that I reproach myself most bitterly."

  He began to stride to the door.

  Belle gasped. "Wait, Doctor! Will you not at least say goodbye? Shake hands? Let me say thank you for everything you did to save us all?"

  "Your thanks are not necessary, Miss. Anyone would have done the same thing. I must thank you for your help and generosity. You are a most lovely, warm and affectionate woman. I hope you will find a man worthy of all you have to offer." He bowed curtly.

  "And you are not?" she asked despite herself. "You are not deserving of love?"

  He shook his head impatiently, eager to be away before he leapt right back into bed with her.

  "There is no such thing. Only a mutual satisfaction of needs. Not always the same needs either. Where a man might lust, a woman might simply seek money, status, power," he said, thinking of Rosalie.

  "Where another man might seek a wife and family, a woman might wish to merely cover up her lustful indiscretions under the guise of respectability. They are all needs, wants and desires. They seldom match, and they should not be dressed up with the term love to dignify them."

  She stared at him in horror. "What, no love at all? Brother to sister? Parent to child? I don't believe that! My mother and step-father loved--"

  He smiled tightly. "I truly hope you shall find it, then. I wish you well, my dear. No doubt I shall see you again later, at supper, or breakfast tomorrow. Please do let me know if you're feeling any more ill effects from your terrible ordeal and I shall be pleased to tend you. But otherwise, I shall bid you adieu."

  He stepped out in the hallway, berating himself for his callousness and cowardice. How could he have spoken to, treated the poor girl so? He almost went back in the room to beg her forgiveness, to kiss away the tears which had started to fall down her cheeks.

  But no, it was not fair. He was the last thing she needed in her young life.

  What of your needs? a tempting little voice inside his head prompted. That wife and family you wanted to settle for? It was enticing, to say the least.

  But he could never keep anyone as alluring as Belle, and would be a fool to even try. Women did not know the meaning of the word fidelity. She would leave one day for certain.

  He might try to settle for a convenient marriage, but with a woman as passionate as she? There was no chance. The fact that his head swam every time he looked at her escaped him utterly. If she was passionate, what was he when they were together?

  He marched down the hall to John's room, rapped on the door, and entered. He looked him over again carefully to check for signs of gangrene.

  Once he was finished he began to settle into the room. It appeared they were going to have to remain there for a few days until John was fit to travel. He unpacked his clothes, shaking them out and placing them in the wardrobe or drawers.

  John had scooted over to one side to make room for him, and Blake stretched out on the bed, almost beyond exhaustion. Blake looked around the small, dingy room and sighed. He closed his eyes and tried to tell himself he couldn't possibly miss Belle already. But miss her he did…

  CHAPTER TEN

  Blake dragged his aching body out of bed a few hours later to get some supper for himself and John, and to look in on James and Mr. Greengage.

  Mr. Greengage, who introduced himself as Robert, was feeling a great deal better, and thanked him for all his help.

  "Have you eaten?"

  "We have, thank you. Mr. Samuels has been most attentive."

  He went down to the common room and also looked in the parlor. There was no sign of the apothecary or Belle.

  He sighed. Well, she would hardly want to face him after everything that had happened, all he had said to her after they had come so close to making love.

  He sat in the parlor alone. Soon the maid brought him a hearty stew with chunky pieces of lamb and vegetables. He moved the food around the plate more than he ate it, until it finally congealed into an unpalatable mess which he put aside.

  "Somethin' wrong wi' it?" the maid asked worriedly.

  "No, not at all. It was very good. Can you bring me some brandy, though? I fear I'm not myself at the minute." And wouldn't be if he drank the brandy.

  For he had all but decided to knock on Belle's door, to see if she would speak with him, if perhaps there was some way to admit that he had been harsh and hasty with her.

  But by the time he headed up the stairs and pressed his ear to the door, all was silent within. He could detect no trace of candlelight escaping from under the door.

  Let the poor girl sleep. There would be plenty of time to talk in the morning…

  As soon as Blake had left the room after they had so nearly made love, Belle had darted out of bed and got dressed. All her petticoats on underneath her heaviest burgundy wool gown were not enough to keep her warm. She put on two pairs of stockings and her boots, and lay back down on the bed under the covers fully dressed, yet still she could not get warm.

  Finally she got up and went to see the apothecary, who was attending James and Mr. Greengage in the room next door.

  "I think I have a slight fever," she admitted when the kindly older man asked what the trouble was.

  "I'm sure the doctor- "

  "Oh, he's already done so much for me," she said, quickly shaking her head. "I don't want to trouble him about something so minor as a sore throat and chills when he has three others to look after.

  "In any event, I also wanted to ask you a favor. Would you have any objection to escorting me to my brother in London? I need to get there for Christmas you see, and he'll be awfully worried if I'm not there in time," she fibbed.

  The older man nodded. "I would be delighted to have your company. But as I believe I mentioned before, I'm leaving very early in the morning tomorrow. I too have to be with my family by Christma
s Day, and will be riding post. Can you withstand the pace after the terrible accident which you've just been involved in?"

  "I'll be fine. I do thank you. Leave word with the maid to give me a half an hour before you are to depart to break my fast, and I shall await your convenience."

  "All right, if you're sure?" He wondered precisely what the relationship was between the gorgeous young woman and the tall, handsome doctor, but he was too delicate to pry. Another poor ruined girl, he thought with regret.

  She nodded. "I'm sure."

  Her face seemed unclouded by worry, or anything to hide, so he said, "Six o'clock then. We shall leave at half past six. We shall meet in the small parlor for a hearty breakfast and then go."

  "Thank you. Good night."

  "What about your fever?" he reminded her.

  She started guiltily. "Yes, any medicine for it?"

  "Drink this cordial now and go to bed."

  "Thank you. I'll see you in the morning."

  "I'll go give the orders to the maidservant now."

  He went below to make arrangements for their departure.

  When he had finished, he brought up some food to James and Mr. Greengage. He poked his head around the door to see John and found the carriage driver and his employer both sound asleep. So he went off to his own little corner where he had settled for his stay, and began to pack for the morning.

  Arabella tossed and turned all night, hardly able to settle for an instant due to her flaming skin, her suffused flesh below her waist. What on earth had he done to her? She dared touch herself to see if anything felt amiss and nearly rocketed off the bed. He said he had not harmed her. He was a doctor. Surely he would not have…

  No, he had tried to warn her against all sorts of things. He had helped her, protected her. He could not possibly have given her an illness. He had only given her an awareness of herself which she had never possessed before. It was both exhilarating and terrifying. These overwhelming needs-where had they come from and why had she never felt them before? Was it for all men, or just Dr. Sanderson?

  But the worst question of all was, what was she to do now that he never wanted to see her again? Was she simply to pine away for the sake of an unrequited love? Were these sensations always going to be there as a reminder of what she had nearly had? Would they subside, never to be felt again?

  The rap on her door at six was a welcome end to her fevered thrashings. She barely touched breakfast, managing only a mouthful of coffee and some toast. Mr. Samuels had ordered bacon, eggs, sausage, black pudding, and a small beefsteak each, with mountains of bread and hot buttered toast. She had all to do not to be sick looking at it.

  "I tell you what. We'll wrap it up for the journey," he suggested kindly when he saw her pick at the food.

  "All right."

  "I can see you're still a bit feverish. It'll be all right, lass, you'll see."

  He piled her into the carriage with hot water bottle, foot warmers, and a profusion of travelling rugs.

  Belle sat in the forward facing seat, and took one last look at the inn. She restrained herself with all her might from running back upstairs to find the doctor and throw herself into his arms.

  It was too late. Finished before it had even begun. He had made his feelings perfectly clear. There was no going back. She had had her glimpse of paradise and lost it. She would simply have to forget she had ever met the handsome Dr. Sanderson.

  Blake lay silently the whole night, without even the relief of tossing and turning to and fro because he didn't want to disturb John's rest. He was so sorry, had been an idiot... He had been right, she could never care for him...

  He tormented himself with 'what ifs' and regrets until he had all to do to stop himself from barging down the hall and storming into Belle's room to beg for her forgiveness.

  At last, at about four, he took a sleeping draught from his bag and downed it in one gulp. He poured out a second portion just for good measure, and after about ten minutes, he finally slept, only to dream about the alluring young woman anew.

  Blake struggled out of bed bleary-eyed as the mantel clock struck noon. John was still resting peacefully, wrapped in the quilts, his hair just peeping out from the covers.

  Blake started his toilette. The mirror over the washbasin told him he looked like the ragged end of nowhere. He wanted to be slightly more attractive for Belle when he saw her again.

  He shaved carefully and then put on clean linen and his charcoal grey pin-striped flannel waistcoat and charcoal wool jacket, then donned his favourite wine-coloured cravat.

  He went down to the public room and parlor, but there was no sign of Belle anywhere. He forced himself to eat the food being put in front of him, though the food like like sawdust in his nervously dry mouth and most of the time he could barely swallow.

  What was wrong with him? He was worse than an adolescent schoolboy. Even Rosalie, lovely though she had been, with her crown of gold hair and flashing green eyes, had never set him off the way the raven-haired Belle did.

  One look from her remarkable blue-violet eyes was enough to make him forget his good resolutions and kiss her senseless.

  As for personalities, they were like night and day. Blake cringed to think what Rosalie would have done in the same situation that Belle had found herself in when the coach had been wrecked. Rosalie wielding an axe or shovel? Nursing the sick? Not a chance in this lifetime. Not even to save her own skin, let alone anyone else's.

  As for passion… Rosalie was lovely, there was no denying it, but there had been a hard edge to her passion. As if…as if it had not been genuine, but for some sort of ulterior motive which he had hardly been able to fathom.

  Now that Blake was older and he had seen her true character and deportment a couple of times in London at balls and soirees, he knew what it was. Anything she had ever given, she had given with the express goal of getting something back for herself.

  Belle, on the other hand, had been generous to a fault. Not even willing to protect herself, only to give her tenderness and warmth. To any man, or just him? The trouble was he could never be sure. But then no one could ever be sure of anyone, could they? He could never keep a woman under watch twenty-four hours a day. That might even be sure-fire way to provoke her to infidelity. His poor f-

  Poor old Stanton, he amended quickly. For he had put up with Rosalie for nearly eight years, and she had by all accounts had led him a merry dance. Surely the story about the garden temple and the six young men could not possibly be true…

  Stanton was by no means lacking as a man. He was a decent sort, handsome, and so far as anyone had ever know before the recent scandal, morally upright. He had know what his wife was, yet had never been linked with any woman himself until the storm had broken over his head.

  How ironic that his own single indiscretion so far as anyone knew had been turned against him to secure their separation at last, with a handsome settlement for Rosalie even though there had been no children from the match.

  Stanton had been duped, he was sure of it, just as he had been himself by Rosalie's angelic-looking face. Yet Stanton was now paying the price, not her. It was just too bad. Poor Stanton. His whole life had been ruined by Rosalie one way or the other.

  Blake had heard the news before he left London, and he was still reeling from it. What a lucky escape he'd had, to be sure.

  Had he really learned his lesson, though? Or was he just setting himself up for another fall with the lovely but mysterious Belle?

  After all, he knew nothing about her except her first name, and something of her upbringing and character from her deportment toward himself and others.

  He threw down his napkin with a sigh. Sitting down here brooding was not going to help him get to know her any better, now was it?

  He rose and stepped out of the inn for a breath of fresh air. All of the snow they had had was now nearly gone, as though the huge storm had been nothing more than a bad dream.

  The London mail coach stopped
and discharged passengers, and picked up a few who were resuming their journeys. The inside was packed, the box too. He watched for a time as they loaded the luggage, but without his greatcoat on he found the outdoor air a bit too brisk.

  Blake hugged his arms to his chest, and turned to go back inside. He smoothed down his hair and then headed back up the stairs to see Belle and get matters settled between them once and for all.

  He would suggest them seeing more of each other in London, with a view to some sort of future…

  Marriage? The very thought winded him, but if that was what it took--

  He drew up abruptly as he saw the door to her room was open. He adjusted his cravat nervously one last time, and raised his hand to rap politely.