“Traveling without a maid for respectability?” he said, arching a disdainful brow.
“Then I’ll have to be your wife.”
Seaton choked on whatever it was he was about to say and had a coughing fit before he could speak again. “Are you suggesting we stay in the same room? Together?”
“I trust you not to take advantage.”
“That’s big of you. Where do you propose the two of us should sleep in a room with a single bed?”
Lark pursed her lips in response to what she considered an idiotic question. “If you give me a pillow and one of the blankets, I can sleep on the floor. I’ve done it before, when Lindsey and I made a tent of our bed linens and pretended we lived in a harem in Arabia.”
Seaton rolled his eyes, then lowered his head in defeat. “I will sleep on the floor, of course.”
Lark blinked to clear her blurred eyes and pressed Seaton’s handkerchief against her runny nose. “Then we’re going to share a room?”
“Against my better judgment. Just let me do the talking.”
Lark slid her arm through Seaton’s as they entered the closest establishment to the train station, a place called the Black Swan, and tried her best to look like his wife.
“I’d like a room, please,” Seaton said when the sleepy innkeeper showed up in response to a bell that rang when he’d opened the door, adding belatedly, “for myself and my wife.”
Lark gave the innkeeper her most brilliant smile. “We’re newlyweds.”
She heard Seaton moan softly beside her.
“Then you’ll be wantin’ the bridal suite,” the innkeeper said with a grin.
“That’s not necessary,” Seaton replied in a quelling voice.
“Surely you want the best room in the house for your bride,” the innkeeper said. “It’s only a little more blunt than a regular room.”
Lark figured the bridal suite was likely larger than the run-of-the-mill room, and they would be needing the space to make a bed for Seaton on the floor. “Please, darling?” she said, fluttering her eyelashes in a way she’d seen Lady Frockman, her grandmother’s crony, do when she wanted something from her husband.
Seaton made a sound in his throat that could have been a groan or a moan, but was definitely disturbing, since it suggested he wasn’t pleased with her interference. “Very well, my dear.”
It might have been thrilling to hear Seaton call her “my dear” for the very first time, if she hadn’t also discerned the sarcasm that accompanied the cherished address. She felt so hot and so very, very tired. She just wanted to lie down on cool, dry sheets and go to sleep.
Seaton took the key the innkeeper offered, listened to his directions for how to reach the room, then pulled his arm free of hers, as he picked up both his bag and hers, and headed up the stairs.
The bridal suite turned out to be on the corner at the end of the upstairs hall. Seaton opened the door and lit the lamp, before gesturing her inside.
All she could see was the enormous bed that took up the entire room. There was barely room to walk around its edges. A small dressing table and chair had been crammed in one corner, but it was clear where the occupants of this room were expected to spend their time. Lark gulped and turned wide eyes on Seaton, whose lips had thinned to nothing.
He dropped both their bags on the floor and said, “I’ll be staying downstairs in the taproom, of course.”
“What is the innkeeper going to think when you show up downstairs again?”
“That I need a drink,” he said flatly.
She pressed Seaton’s handkerchief to her nose, which was dripping again. “We could share the bed.”
He barked a laugh that didn’t sound the least bit amused. “I will remain downstairs by the fire. I may not get any sleep, but at least I’ll be warm.”
“David, it’s silly to spend the night sitting up in a chair when you can be comfortable in bed.” She saw his eyes widen at her use of his first name and flushed. Her slip had only made the situation worse.
“Comfortable?” he snarled. “In bed with a single young lady to whom I’m not married? My best friend’s sister, in fact? Are you really so naïve, Lady Lark?”
She coughed, then took a step closer to the bed and began pulling the pillows from under the counterpane and arranging them down the center of the bed. “We can make a barrier. We’re both adults and—”
“That’s questionable,” he interjected.
She continued without acknowledging the jibe. “And I trust you to respect my person.”
“It isn’t done. Traveling alone was bad enough, but this will put you beyond the pale. Your grandmother—and your brother—will want to know where you spent the night. They’re sure to discover I’ve hired a single room, after telling the innkeeper we’re man and wife. What you’re suggesting simply won’t do. If I stay in the taproom, I won’t have to lie to your brother about sleeping in the same bed with you.”
“Marcus won’t think the worse of you,” she argued.
“Your brother knows me rather too well,” Seaton said. “He’s seen me with enough young women to know my tastes.”
Lark was suddenly alert, staring intently into his warm green eyes which, she admitted, looked troubled. “And I match the sort of woman to whom you’re attracted? Is that what you’re saying?”
She was surprised to see him flush. Which was when she noticed the dark beard growing on his cheeks and chin. And that his suit was rumpled and his hair in disarray. She’d never seen him look quite so disheveled. Or quite so alluring.
Lark took a step closer without realizing what she was doing and saw his gaze focus on her mouth for a moment, before it shifted back to her eyes. She hoped they didn’t look as red and swollen as they felt. He gazed into them as though he couldn’t get enough of looking at her, as though he would be happy to continue what he was doing for the rest of his life. So she was taken aback by the words he spoke, in a voice that was harsh and cross.
“I have no desire to be married, Lady Lark. Not now, and not for a very long time, if ever. So the sort of young lady to whom I’m attracted, while she might be a joy to look at, like you, and have black silky hair and sapphire eyes, like you, does not expect a ring on her finger, like you. She’s satisfied with a few pounds or a few baubles.”
Lark had been protected from the world beyond her grandmother’s parlor, and it took her a moment to register what Seaton had said. She couldn’t believe he’d spoken to her about something that was no part of her world. She wasn’t sure how to reply. She wasn’t sure how to react. The only thing she could think to say was “Oh.”
He must have seen her shock, because he continued, “I never intended to speak so frankly, but it’s better that you understand why it’s imperative that I keep my distance.”
Lark saw the chagrin on his face, as he realized what he’d admitted. “So you are attracted to me.”
“Whether I am or whether I’m not should mean nothing to you, since I’m not a prospective bridegroom.”
“Won’t you need an heir someday?” she asked. “Won’t that require a wife?”
“Maybe. Someday. But you’ll already be an old married lady with a half dozen children sitting at your knee when that day comes.”
Lark frowned. She’d had no idea Seaton was so opposed to marriage. She couldn’t resist asking, “Why?”
“What?”
“Why don’t you want to get married?”
“You saw what your brother went through with Fanny. He barely survived the pain of it. I don’t think I could bear to lose a wife and child.”
“Not every wife dies. Or every newborn, for that matter.”
“Enough do die to make loving a wife—and having her bear your children—a risky business. I refuse to do it.” He heaved a sigh. “How did you get me started on this?”
“I asked you to share my bed.”
He pursed his lips. “Yes. An invitation not to be refused, if I were a dishonorable cad. Or if I had
aspirations of becoming a married man. Which I don’t. So I’ll be spending the night downstairs. Have a good sleep, Lady Lark. I’ll see you for breakfast in the taproom in the morning.”
A moment later he was gone, and Lark was left alone in the bridal suite. What had she expected? Of course he hadn’t stayed in the room with her, when there was no room for either one of them to sleep on the floor. He was a gentleman. Not to mention a good friend to her brother. He wasn’t going to take the chance of ruining her and forcing the two of them into marriage, especially when he had such a fear of the institution.
So where did that leave her? Should she give up and spend the rest of the week with the Courts’ servants? Or should she fight for the man she loved?
With the very last of her energy, Lark prepared herself for bed, pondering the task ahead of her. How did you convince a man that loving a woman was worth it, despite the chance of losing your loved one at some point in the future? How did you convince a man that the risk of a wife dying in childbirth was worth it for the joy of holding your child in your arms?
Lark didn’t get a great deal of sleep over the next several hours. She was miserably hot and, for some reason, itchy, and got up to open the window. Then she was thirsty and got up to pour herself a glass of water from the pitcher, which turned out to be empty. She was too tired to call someone to bring her water, so she went back to bed thirsty, and more tired than she could ever remember being.
She tossed and turned under the covers, as her troubled mind tried to figure out a way she could possibly convince the man she loved—a man who had no intention of ever getting married—that she was the one woman he had to have in his life.
SEATON HAD SPENT a miserable night trying to sleep in a ladder-back chair near the fire in the taproom. His discomfort at sitting upright was nothing compared to the misery he felt at the thought of being obliged to marry his best friend’s little sister. But he didn’t see any honorable way to avoid a leg-shackle, not once Blackthorne heard about the events of the past twenty-four hours.
The situation was made far worse by the fact that Lady Lark was exactly the sort of woman he found most attractive. She possessed physical beauty, of course, but she also happened to be charming and determined and smart enough to beguile him into the situation in which he found himself. He could easily fall in love with her.
He knew better. That way lay madness or, at the very least, the prospect of a great deal of pain. He would simply have to keep himself from loving her. That was all there was to it. Even if he was eventually forced into marriage with her, he would guard his heart with ax and sword and a very strong shield.
Early the next morning, Seaton rented a private parlor where he could change his clothes and shave, then waited for Lady Lark to appear downstairs until long past the time he thought she should have been up and dressed. “Spoiled brat,” he muttered. Several patrons had already come downstairs and were eating breakfast. The innkeeper offered him food and drink, but he waved him off. “I’m waiting for—” He caught himself in time and finished, “My wife.”
“Isn’t that always the way of it,” the man commiserated.
An hour later, Seaton’s mood had passed from annoyance to concern. He headed up the stairs and knocked on the door to the bridal suite. He kept the aggravation he felt out of his voice, thinking that, if she was playing games, he didn’t want her to know that she’d managed to win. “Lady Lark? Are you awake?”
His alarm increased when there was no answer. “Lark? Are you in there?”
He tried the door and discovered it was locked. He was tempted to break it open, but he wasn’t sure what sort of dishabille she might be in, and he wanted to be able to shut the door again, in case she wasn’t decently dressed. He took the stairs down two at a time and caught the innkeeper by the shoulder, as he was setting down a plate of kidneys and eggs.
“Is there a problem, milord?”
“Do you have an extra key to the bridal suite?”
The innkeeper chuckled. “Locked you out, did she? Can’t say it hasn’t happened before.” He left the taproom and located a key behind the front desk. As he handed it to Seaton he said softly, “Mayhap a mite more gentleness is called for.”
Seaton didn’t stop to defend himself, simply took the steps back up three at a time. He stopped for a moment to catch his breath, knocked one more time, and said, “Lark, I’m coming in. Cover yourself.”
Then he unlocked the door and stepped into the room. The curtains were being blown around by the cold wind coming in through the open window. He could see the outline of a figure snuggled under the covers. The chit was still sleeping! He closed the window and turned back to the bed. Lady Lark hadn’t moved. If it was Lark. He wasn’t quite sure.
Seaton crossed to the bed and carefully drew the covers back to reveal a head of black hair and the recognizable profile of Lady Lark Wharton. Her skin looked flushed and dewy, as though she were too warm. She tossed and moaned but didn’t open her eyes.
His concern mushroomed to something more akin to fear. He sat down beside her on the bed and lifted her up so his arm could circle her shoulders. He brushed a damp strand of hair from her cheek and realized her skin was fiery hot. “Lark?”
Her eyes fluttered open. “David?”
“How do you feel, little one?”
She pouted her lips and said in a throaty voice that sent shivers down his spine, “I’m not a child. I’m a woman.”
“A very young woman. Who seems to be ill. What’s wrong, my dear? Can you tell me?”
She brushed her nose with her hand, before her eyes slid closed again. “Don’t know. So hot. So thirsty.”
Seaton settled her head back on the pillow and headed for the ceramic pitcher in the corner. It was empty. He raced back down the stairs and back up again a few moments later with the pitcher full of water. He poured a cup for her and brought it to the bed, lifted her shoulders again, and held the cup so she could drink from it.
She gulped thirstily, grabbing the cup out of his hands. But she was too weak to hold it, and water spilled onto the sheet. To his surprise, as he rescued the cup from her, she grabbed the wet sheet and held it to her cheeks.
“So hot.”
It was clear that she was ill and needed a doctor, but Seaton didn’t want to leave her alone. He felt dreadful for thinking Lark had been acting like a spoiled child, sleeping in and making him wait on her, when she’d actually been indisposed.
He pulled the wet sheet off the bed, revealing a pair of trim calves and ankles peeking out from a modest nightgown, then quickly covered Lark with a dry blanket, which he tucked around her. “Rest,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
He ran pell-mell down the stairs for the second time and inquired of the innkeeper where he could find the closest doctor. He returned a half hour later with a quack who’d told him it was likely his wife would get over whatever it was, if she was simply allowed to rest. Seaton hadn’t been satisfied with that explanation. “She’s young and healthy. There’s no reason for her to have a fever unless she’s ill with some disease. I expect you to examine her and figure out what’s wrong. And fix it!”
Seaton hadn’t planned to stay in the room while the doctor examined Lark, except he didn’t quite trust the man. He barely stopped himself from pummeling the physician when he began unbuttoning the front of Lark’s nightgown. “What are you doing?”
“Examining the patient,” the doctor retorted.
“Is that necessary?” Seaton demanded.
“Ahh,” the man said as he spread the two sides of the nightgown to reveal Lark’s chest, so that her breasts were exposed almost to the nipple. “I should have guessed.”
Seaton took one look and turned his head away, but he was unable to keep his body from reacting to that brief glimpse of female flesh. Lark had been right. The doctor’s examination was leaving no doubt that she was a woman. Seaton kept his gaze averted as the doctor continued his examination. “You should have guessed w
hat?” he asked the man through tight jaws.
“Measles.”
Seaton’s heart sank. It took him a moment, when he turned back around, to realize that the doctor had bared Lark’s entire chest, all the way to her belly. He felt ashamed, because he was looking at Lark’s person without her permission or awareness. But he was also choked with desire, despite the fact that she was covered with bright red spots. He croaked, “Measles?”
“I wanted to check her belly for the rash, and you can see for yourself, she’s got measles, sure enough. We’ve been having an outbreak here in the north.”
“But we’ve just come from London,” he protested. Although, when he considered the matter, he realized it was entirely likely that one of her friends, visiting London from the North, had given Lady Lark the measles. “Will she be all right?” Seaton asked, keeping his back turned, but peering over the doctor’s shoulder, as the man rebuttoned Lark’s nightgown.
“Should be. She’ll need rest and whatever liquids you can get down her throat.”
“How long till she’s well?” Seaton had visions of Blackthorne arriving in Berwick-upon-Tweed, when Lady Lark didn’t return home after the week she was supposed to have spent visiting with the Court family, and finding Seaton staying with her at the Black Swan as man and wife.
“Ten days ought to do it,” the doctor said.
“Ten days!”
“Could be longer,” the doctor said. “Depends on how strong your wife is and how bad a case of measles she’s caught.”
Seaton sank onto the end of the bed. “Good lord.”
“She’ll need someone to nurse her, to wash her body down with cold cloths to keep the fever at bay, and to make sure she takes nourishment,” the doctor said. “Have you had measles, milord?”
Seaton stared at the doctor in bewilderment. “What?”
“Complications of measles for a gentleman your age can be quite serious.”
“I had the measles when I was a boy,” Seaton said, still stunned at the turn of events.
“You can hire a nurse to care for your wife, if you don’t think you can manage it yourself,” the doctor assured him.
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