by Lisa Kleypas
But she had to admit, it was difficult not to feel something for a man who was attractive, attentive, and had also cured her of a debilitating condition. And Win thought Julian might possibly have feelings for her in return. During the past year, especially, when Win's health had rebounded into full vitality, Julian had begun to treat her as something more than a mere patient. They had gone on long walks through the impossibly romantic scenery of Provence, and he had flirted with her, and made her laugh. His attentions had soothed her wounded spirit after Merripen had so callously ignored her.
Eventually Win had accepted that the feelings she had for Merripen were not reciprocated. She had even cried on Leo's shoulder. Her brother had pointed out that she had seen very little of the world and knew next to nothing about men.
"Don't you think it's possible your attachment to Merripen was a result of proximity as much as anything else?" Leo had asked gently. "Let's look at the situation honestly, Win. You have nothing in common with him. You're a lovely, sensitive, literate woman, and he's… Merripen. He likes to chop wood for entertainment. And apparently it falls to me to point out the indelicate truth that some couples are well-suited in the bedroom but not anywhere else."
Win had been shocked out of her tears by his blunt-ness. "Leo Hathaway, are you suggesting-"
"Lord Ramsay now, thank you," he had teased.
"Lord Ramsay, are you suggesting that my feelings for Merripen arc carnal in nature?"
"They're certainly not intellectual," Leo had said, and grinned as she punched him in the shoulder.
After much reflection, however. Win had had to admit that Leo had a point. Of course, Merripen was far more intelligent, and educated, than her brother gave him credit for. As far as she remembered, Merripen had challenged Leo in many a philosophical discussion and had memorized more Greek and Latin than anyone else in the family except her father. But Merripen had only learned those things to fit in with the Hathaways, not because he had any real interest in obtaining an education.
Merripen was a man of nature; he craved the feel of earth and sky. He would never be more than half-tame. And he and Win were as different as fish from fowl.
Julian took her hand in his long, elegant one. His fingers were smooth and well tended, tapered at the tips. "Winnifred," he said gently, "now that we're away from the clinic, life won't be quite so well regulated. You must safeguard your health. Make certain you rest tonight, no matter how tempting it is to stay up all hours."
"Yes, Doctor," Win said, smiling up at him. She felt a surge of affection for him, remembering the first time she had managed to climb the exercise ladder in the clinic. Julian had been behind her every step, his encouragements soft in her ear, his chest firm against her back. A little higher, Winnifred. I won't let you fall. He hadn't done any of the work for her. Only kept her safe as she climbed.
"I'm a bit nervous," Win admitted as Leo escorted her to the Hathaways' suite on the hotel's second floor.
"Why?"
"I'm not sure. Perhaps because we've all changed."
"The essential things haven't changed." Leo gripped her elbow firmly. "You're still the delightful girl you were. And I'm still a scoundrel with a taste for spirits and lightskirts."
"Leo," she said, darting a quick frown at him. "You're not planning to go back to your old ways, are you?"
"I will avoid temptation," he replied, "unless it happens to fall directly in my path." He stopped her at the middle landing. "Do you want to pause for a moment?"
"Not at all." Win continued enthusiastically upward. "I love stair climbing. I love doing anything I couldn't do before. And from now on I'm going to live by the motto 'Life is to be lived to the fullest.'"
Leo grinned. "You should know that I've said that on many occasions in the past, and it always got me in trouble."
Win glanced at her surroundings with pleasure. After living in the austere surroundings of Harrow 's clinic for so long, she would enjoy a taste of luxury.
Elegant, modern, and supremely comfortable, the Rutledge was owned by the mysterious Harry Rutledge, about whom there were so many rumors that no one could even say definitively whether he was British or American. All that was known for certain was that he had lived for a time in America and had come to England to create a hotel that combined the opulence of Europe with the best of American innovations.
The Rutledge was the first hotel to design every single bedroom en suite with its own private bathroom. And there were delights such as food service lifts, built-in cupboards in the bedrooms, private meeting rooms with atrium glass ceilings, and gardens designed as outdoor rooms. The hotel also featured a dining room that was said to be the most beautiful in England, with so many chandeliers that the ceiling had required extra reinforcements during construction.
They reached the door of the Hathaways' suite, and Leo knocked gently.
There were a few movements within. The door opened to reveal a young fair-haired maid. The maid's gaze swept over the both of them. "May I help you, sir?" she asked Leo.
"We've come to see Mr. and Mrs. Rohan."
"Beg pardon, sir, but they have just retired for the evening."
The hour was quite late, Win thought, deflated. "We should go our rooms and let them rest," she told Leo. "We'll come back in the morning."
Leo stared at the housemaid with a slight smile, and asked in a soft, low voice, "What is your name, child?"
Her brown eyes widened, and a blush crept up her cheeks. "Abigail, sir."
"Abigail," he repeated. "Tell Mrs. Rohan that her sister is here and wishes to see her."
"Yes, sir." The maid giggled and left them at the door.
Win gave her brother a wry glance as he helped to remove her cloak. "Your way with women never fails to astonish me."
"Most women have a tragic attraction to rakes," he said regretfully. "I really shouldn't use it against them."
Someone came into the receiving room. He saw Amelia's familiar form, clad in a blue dressing robe, accompanied by Cam Rohan, who was handsomely disheveled in an open-necked shirt and trousers.
Her blue eyes as round as saucers, Amelia stopped at the sight of her brother and sister. A white hand fluttered to Amelia's throat. "Is it really you?" she asked unsteadily.
Win tried to smile, but it was impossible when her lips were trembling with emotion. She tried to imagine how she must appear to Amelia, who had seen her last as a frail invalid. "I'm home," she said, a slight break in her voice.
"Oh, Win! I dreamed-I so hoped-" Amelia stopped and rushed forward, and their arms went around each other, fast and tight.
Win closed her eyes and sighed, feeling that at last she had come home. My sister. She basked in the soft comfort of Amelia's arms.
"You're so beautiful," Amelia said, drawing back to cup Win's wet cheeks with her hands. "So healthy and strong. Oh, look at this goddess. Cam, just look at her!"
"You look well," Rohan told Win, his eyes glowing. "Better than I've ever seen you, little sister." Carefully he embraced her and kissed her forehead. "Welcome back."
"Where are Poppy and Beatrix?" Win asked, clinging to Amelia's hand.
"They're abed, but I'll go wake them."
"No, let them sleep," Win said quickly. "We shan't stay for long-we're both exhausted-but I had to see you before retiring for the night."
Amelia's gaze went to Leo, who had hung back near the door. Win heard the quiet intake of her sister's breath as she saw the changes in him.
"There's my old Leo," Amelia said softly.
Win was surprised to see a flicker of something in Leo's sardonic expression-a sort of boyish vulnerability, as if he was embarrassed by his own pleasure in the reunion. "Now you'll weep for a different cause," he told Amelia. "Because as you see, I've come back as well."
She flew to him, and was swallowed in a strong embrace. "The French wouldn't have you?" she asked, her voice muffled against his chest.
"On the contrary, they adored me. But there's no entertai
nment in staying where one is wanted."
"That's too bad," Amelia said, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Because you're very much wanted here."
Smiling, Leo reached out to shake Rohan's hand. "I look forward to seeing the improvements you wrote about. It seems the estate is thriving."
"You can ask Merripen on the morrow," Rohan replied easily. "He knows every inch of the place, and the name of every servant and tenant. And he has much to say on the subject, so be forewarned that any conversation about the estate will be a lengthy one."
"On the morrow," Leo repeated, giving Win a quick glance. "He's in London then?"
"Here at the Rutledge. He's in town to visit a placement agency to hire more servants."
"I have much to thank Merripen for," Leo said with uncharacteristic sincerity, "and you as well, Rohan. The devil knows why you've undertaken so much for my sake."
"It was for the family's sake, as well."
As the two men talked, Amelia drew Win to a settee near the hearth. "Your face is fuller," Amelia said, openly cataloging the changes in her sister. "Your eyes are brighter, and your figure is altogether splendid."
"No more corsets," Win said with a grin. "Dr. Harrow says they compress the lungs, force the spine and head into an unnatural attitude, and weaken the back muscles."
"Scandalous!" Amelia exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. "No corset even on formal occasions?"
"He allows that I might wear one very rarely, but only loosely laced."
"What else does Dr. Harrow say?" Amelia was clearly entertained. "Any opinions on stockings and garters?"
"You may hear it from the source himself," Win said. "Leo and I have brought Dr. Harrow back with us."
"Lovely. Does he have business here?"
"Not that I know of."
"I suppose since he's from London, he has relations and friends to meet?"
"Yes, that's part of it, but-" Win felt herself flush a little. "Julian has expressed a personal interest in spending time with me away from the setting of the clinic."
Amelia's lips parted in surprise. "Julian," she repeated. "Does he mean to court you, Win?"
"I'm not sure. I'm not at all experienced in these matters. But I think so."
"Do you like him?"
Win nodded without hesitation. "Quite a lot."
"Then I'm certain to like him as well. And I will be glad of the chance to thank him personally for what he has done."
They grinned at each other, basking in the delight of being reunited. But after a moment Win thought of Merripen, and her pulse began to throb with uncomfortable force, and nerves jumped everywhere in her body.
"How is he, Amelia?" she finally brought herself to whisper.
There was no need for Amelia to ask who "he" was. "Merripen has changed," she said cautiously, "nearly as much as you and Leo. Cam says what Merripen has accomplished with the estate is no less than astounding. It requires a broad array of skills to direct builders, craftsmen, and groundsmen, and also to repair the tenant farms. And Merripen has done it all. When necessary, he'll strip off his coat and lend his own back to a task. He's earned the respect of the workers-they never dare to question his authority."
"I'm not surprised, of course," Win said, while a bittersweet feeling came over her. "He has always been a very capable man. But when you say he has changed, what do you mean?"
"He has become rather… hard."
"Hard-hearted? Stubborn?"
"Yes, and remote. He seems to take no satisfaction in his success, nor does he exhibit any real pleasure in life. Oh, he has learned a great deal, and he wields authority effectively, and he dresses better to befit his new position. But oddly, he seems less civilized than ever. I think…" An uncomfortable pause. "Perhaps it may help him to see you again. You were always a good influence."
Win eased her hands away and glowered down at her own lap. "I doubt that. I doubt I have any influence on Merripen whatsoever. He has made his lack of interest very clear."
"Lack of interest?" Amelia repeated, and gave a strange little laugh. "No, Win, I wouldn't say that at all. Any mention of you earns his closest attention."
"One may judge a man's feelings by his actions." Win sighed and rubbed her weary eyes. "At first I was hurt by the way he ignored my letters. Then I was angry. Now I merely feel foolish."
"Why, dear?" Amelia asked, her blue eyes filled with concern.
For loving, and having that love tossed back in her face. For wasting an ocean's worth of tears on a big, hard-hearted brute.
And for still wanting to see him despite all that.
Win shook her head. The talk of Merripen had made her agitated and melancholy. "I'm weary after the long journey, Amelia," she said with a half smile. "Would you mind if I-"
"No, no, go at once," her sister said, drawing Win up from the settee and putting a protective arm around her. "Leo, do take Win to her room. You're both exhausted. We'll have time for talking tomorrow."
"Ah, that lovely tone of command," Leo reminisced. "I'd hoped that by now you would have rid her of the habit of barking out orders like a drill sergeant, Rohan."
"I enjoy all her habits," Rohan replied, smiling at his wife.
"What room is Merripen in?" Win whispered to Amelia.
"Third floor, number twenty-one," Amelia whispered back. "But you mustn't go tonight, dear."
"Of course." Win smiled at her. "The only thing I intend to do tonight is go to bed without delay."
Chapter Seven
Third floor, number twenty-one. Win pulled the hood of her cloak farther over her head, concealing her face as she walked along the quiet hallway.
She had to find Merripen, of course. She had come too far. She had crossed miles of earth, an ocean, and come to think of it, she had climbed the equivalent of a thousand ladders in the clinic gymnasium, all to reach him. Now that they were in the same building, she was hardly going to end her journey prematurely.
The hotel hallways were bracketed at each end with colonnaded light wells to admit the sun in the daytime hours. Win could hear strains of music from deep within the hotel. There must be a private party in the ballroom, or an event in the famous dining room. Harry Rutledge was called the hotelier to royalty, welcoming the famous, the powerful, and the fashionable to his establishment.
Glancing at the gilded numbers on each door, Win finally found 21. Her stomach plunged, and every muscle clenched with anxiety. She felt a light sweat break out on her forehead. Fumbling a little with her gloves, she managed to pull them off and tuck them into the pockets of her cloak.
A tremulous knock at the door with her knuckles. And she waited in frozen stillness, head downbent, hardly able to breathe for nerves. She gripped her arms around herself beneath the concealing cloak.
She was not certain how much time passed, only that it seemed an eternity before the door was unlocked and opened.
Before she could bring herself to look up, she heard Merripen's voice. She had forgotten how deep and dark it was, how it seemed to reach down to the center of her.
"I didn't send for a woman tonight."
That last word forestalled Win's reply.
"Tonight" implied that there had been other nights when he had indeed sent for a woman. And although Win was unworldly, she certainly understood what happened when a woman was sent for and received by a man at a hotel.
Her brain swarmed with thoughts. She had no right to object if Merripen wanted a woman to service him. She did not own him. They had made no promises or agreements. He did not owe her fidelity.
But she couldn't help wondering… How many women? How many nights?
"No matter," he said brusquely. "I can use you. Come in." A large hand reached out and gripped Win's shoulder, hauling her past the threshold without giving her the opportunity to object.
I can use you?
Anger and consternation tumbled through her. She had no idea what to do or say. Somehow it didn't seem appropriate simply to throw back her hood and cr
y, Surprise!
Merripen had mistaken her for a prostitute, and now the reunion she had dreamed of for so long was turning into a farce.
"I assume you were told that I'm a Rom," he said.
Her face still concealed by the hood, Win nodded.
"And that doesn't matter to you?"
Win managed a single shake of her head.
There was a soft, humorless laugh that didn't sound at all like Merripen. "Of course not. As long as the money is good."
He left her momentarily, striding to the window to close the heavy velvet curtains against the smoke-hazed lights of London. A single lamp strained to illuminate the dimness of the room.
Win glanced at him quickly. It was Merripen… but as Amelia had said, he was altered. He had lost weight, perhaps a stone. He was huge, lean, almost rawboned. The neck of his shirt hung open, revealing the brown, hairless chest, the gleaming curve of powerful muscle. She thought at first it was a trick of the light, the immense bulwark of his shoulders and upper arms. Good Lord, how strong he'd become.
But none of that intrigued or startled her as much as his face. He was still as handsome as the devil, with those black eyes and that wicked mouth, the austere angles of nose and jaw, the high planes of his cheekbones. There were new lines, however, deep, bitter grooves that ran from nose to mouth, and the trace of a permanent frown between his thick brows. And most disturbing of all, a hint of cruelty in his expression. He looked capable of things that her Merripen never could have done.
Kev, she thought in despair and wonder, what's happened to you?
He came to her. Win had forgotten the fluid way he moved, the breathtaking vitality that seemed to charge the air. Hastily she lowered her head.
Merripen reached out for her, and felt her flinch. He must have also detected the tremors that ran through her frame, for he said in a pitiless tone, "You're new at this."
She managed a hoarse whisper: "Yes."
"I won't hurt you." Merripen guided her to a nearby table. As she stood facing away from him, he reached around to the fastenings of her cloak. The heavy garment fell away, revealing her straight blond hair, which was falling from its combs. She heard his breath catch. A moment of stillness. Win closed her eyes as Merripen's hands skimmed her sides. Her body was fuller, more curved, strong in the places where she had once been frail. She wore no corset, in spite of the fact that a decent woman always wore a corset. There was only one conclusion a man could have drawn from that.