“I do not mean to be an imposition.” He thrust his lower lip and set his chin firm in an affectation she had never been able to resist. “If I could get it myself, I would.”
“Have you any idea where it might be?” she asked tentatively.
“Perhaps, my study.” He wrinkled his nose. “I had Damian set some correspondence on my desk.”
“All right.” Cara huffed, took two steps, and then came to an abrupt halt. “Is there anything else you require?”
Lance pretended to give due consideration to her question, before responding, “No.” Of course, he would conjure another errand of dire importance before she returned.
“I shall be right back.” Cara stomped to the door.
Was it his imagination, or were her footfalls decidedly heavy? For a woman who prided herself on poised perfection, her innate feminine deportment had all but abandoned her. Inwardly, he laughed.
Shortly thereafter, an out of breath Miss Douglas appeared, huffing and puffing like a mare that had just completed a race.
“Found it.” In a repeat performance of her previous inane routine, Cara gave the journal to Alex, who handed it to him. “It was on your desk.”
Lance clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth. He’d had just about enough of her evasive maneuvers. As his mind raced, he tapped his fingers in an impatient rhythm on the edge of the tray.
“May I have some tea?”
Cara sighed audibly, and he barely managed to swallow a snort.
“My lord, I asked if there was anything else you required when I went in search of the journal.” She marched to the foot of the bed. “You indicated you wanted nothing.”
Craning his neck, he lifted his head and for the first time caught her eye. “I thought you meant from the study.”
“I meant in general.” Cara quickly averted her stare and bit her lip, choking on a rapier retort, no doubt.
“I am sorry.” Lance shrugged and smiled, as it was nice to catch a glimpse, however brief, of his Cara. “It was an honest mistake.”
“I thought you preferred coffee,” she murmured.
“Normally, I do.” In vain he studied her, desperately trying to snare her attention, but she stood distant and aloof. It bothered him that she would not meet his gaze. “But today I feel like tea. If it is too much trouble, perhaps Alex--”
“Oh, no,” Cara interrupted. “It is no trouble. I will see to it, at once.”
She scurried in pursuit of the tea he did not want.
Lance turned his thoughts to Alex, who currently favored him with a cherubic smile. She was a dear friend. Like Cara, he had known her all her life. He adored her, truly he did. But if he had to suffer one more discourse on the heroics of one Captain Jason Collingwood, he would hang himself from the canopy of his bed.
Minutes later, a withering Cara shuffled ungracefully to the fore, and he bit his tongue to keep from laughing. Balancing a small tray, bearing a single cup and saucer and a small pot, she approached and handed the tray to Alex. Cara pressed a hand to her cheek, and it was then he spied a faint sheen of perspiration on her brow.
While Cara returned to her chair on the opposite side of the room, Alex poured the steaming brew and then handed him the tiny porcelain cup.
For a hairsbreadth of a second, he moved to accept her offering but stopped short. With a grimace of distaste he asked, “But where is my cinnamon stick?”
A plaintive cry reverberated from Cara’s direction.
Alex blinked. “Cinnamon?”
“Yes.” He pouted. “I much prefer it to lemon.”
“I see.” Alex frowned and stared at Cara.
“Would you be so kind, Alex?” Lance grinned the grin of the innocent. “Poor Cara has worked herself to the bone.”
Just when he thought Alex would finally relent and give them a moment’s peace, she refused to budge from his side. He seriously wondered if she had taken root.
“No, I have not,” Cara chimed.
“Are you sure?” Lance swallowed a curse.
“Of course.” She stood, avoiding him entirely.
“Come now, Cara. You must be exhausted.” To his amazement, and begrudging admiration, she exited his company, with nary a complaint, and made for the kitchen.
Frustrated beyond belief, Lance decided that, barring insanity, he would enjoy a private audience with Cara. They could do it his way or the hard way. If she continued to be stubborn, so be it. It was time to take off the gloves.
#
“Lance is trying to kill me.”
Cara kicked her slippers to the floor in a manner that could be described as anything but ladylike, dragged herself to the chaise in her bedchamber, and collapsed, face down, into the cushions.
“He is doing no such thing. He is just very needy right now.” Alex giggled and sat beside her. “Our plan is working perfectly.”
“You must be joking.” Cara rolled over and snorted. “Our plan is a disaster.” She stared at her toes and groaned. “My feet ache, my back hurts, and my legs are sore from running up and down the stairs. From where I stand, I would say our plan is a miserable failure. Lance is on to us.”
“How could he possibly know?” Her brow a mass of furrows, Alex frowned. “You are imagining things.”
“Am I? Yesterday, Cook served him coffee, and he wanted tea--with cinnamon, at that. Today, I ordered tea, and he asked for coffee--with cream. Lance never takes cream. Not only that, but when I anticipated a request for sugar, and brought the bowl, he asked for honey. Whoever heard of putting honey in coffee?” Cara flung a pillow across the room. “Oh, I can’t take it any longer. I am not going back.”
“Do not quit, Cara.” Alex grasped her forearms. “Can you not see what is happening?” She shook her gently. “Lance desperately wants to be alone with you.”
Cara narrowed her stare. “You know no such thing.”
Alex lifted her chin. “I do, too.”
“How?” She arched a brow in question. “Did you read his mind?”
“I did not have to resort to such inferior tactics.” Alex smiled smugly. “Because he told me so.”
Surprise shivered down her spine, and hope welled anew, as Cara bit back a joyful cry. “He did?”
“Yes,” Alex replied with a definite nod.
“When?”
“Today, when you went for honey.”
With grim skepticism, Cara mulled the development. “What exactly did he say?”
“That he needed to speak with you in private.” Alex clucked her tongue and rocked on her heels. “He said he had treated you abominably, early in his recovery, and owed you an apology. He begged me to give him an audience with you, alone.”
It seemed too good to be true, and Cara shook her head in disbelief. Still, she doubted her friend, because, like her, Alex was an eternal optimist.
“I am certain he did not beg.”
“‘I beg you, Alex. Please, let me speak with Cara’.” The younger Seymour humphed. “Now do you believe me?”
She snapped to attention. “Is that what he said?”
Alex nodded. “His exact words.”
Cara bit her lip. “Oh, dear.”
“Give him a chance, Cara. This could be it, the moment for which you have been waiting.”
She studied the damask pattern on the chaise. “I rather doubt it.”
Alex cupped her chin, trapping her stare. “But how will you know if you do not talk to him?”
Cara shrugged and bemoaned her precarious position. “Perhaps I do not want to know.”
“You have been taking the stairs like a fox with a hound on its tail, and you want me to believe you indifferent?” Alex emitted a snort of disbelief. “Forgive me, dear friend, but as you once said to me, pull my other leg.”
“I am serious.” Cara pressed a clenched fist to her bosom, considered the embroidered kerchief tucked in her bodice, and tried to remain calm. “I am not convinced Lance intends to profess an undying devotion for me.”
“I think he sincerely wants to apologize and return to the way things were between us.”
“Indeed.” Alex appeared perplexed. “Would that be so bad?”
Her insides twisted and turned with tension, and Cara compressed her lips. “It would not be, if I thought it possible.”
“I do not understand.”
“I am not certain I can revert to the way we were.”
#
The following morning, Cara sat in the chair opposite the massive bed belonging to the master of Raynesford House, pretending to read a book. Thankfully, Dr. Handley and Captain Collingwood, with Alex hanging on his every word, kept His Lordship occupied. At that moment, she would welcome Napoleon, himself, if he would hold Lance’s attention and, thus, spare her toes at least one round-trip on the stairs.
“Well now, let us get you on your feet, Lord Raynesford.” Dr. Handley glanced at her. “Miss Douglas, if you would be so kind as to fetch us a robe.”
“Right away, Doctor.” Marking her page, Cara closed the volume and set it aside. She stepped into the dressing room and retrieved the black silk gown Lance wore the day she found him trying to walk on his own. As she pulled it from the peg on the wall, she smiled. That afternoon had been the one time, as a grown woman, that Cara ever pretended to be his wife. And, if memory served, she had handled him quite well.
Returning to the bedchamber, she quickly crossed the room and handed the garment to Dr. Handley. “Lady Seymour and I will wait in the hall while his lordship dresses.”
“Very good, Miss Douglas.” The physician bowed. “But as you are charged with his care, I should like you to practice supporting him while I am here.”
“Please, allow me to assist you, Dr. Handley,” Captain Collingwood offered. “I daresay I am a bit stronger than our Miss Douglas.” The last was said with a wink.
“That may be, young man, but you are not here every day, as is Miss Douglas. I need someone I can rely upon to supervise his recovery in my absence.” The grey-haired physician wrinkled his nose and eyed Cara. “Is there a problem?”
“Of course not.” Resisting the urge to argue, she shook her head. “I am at your service, Doctor.”
After a brief respite in the hall, Cara found herself standing aside Lance, tucked in the crook of his arm, as he grasped her shoulder. For added stability, she held him at his waist, as the crusty old physician directed.
“Excellent.” Dr. Handley beamed at his patient. “Now, gently, take a step.”
Lance thrust his good leg forward, letting his injured, splinted limb bear his weight. Immediately, he winced, and his body tensed as he leaned on Cara. Instinctively, she squeezed his fingers in silent reassurance, and Lance clung to her. Still, she resisted the urge to look at him, until he inched out his injured leg and moaned.
Without thought, she peered at him--and barely stifled a sob. Pain invested his unnaturally pale face. He gritted his teeth, the muscles in his neck stretched taut, and unshed tears welled in his emerald eyes. Lance stared at her, agony mixed with fear. While her initial thought had been to guard her heart by maintaining a comfortable distance, Cara could not ignore the fact that, at that moment, he needed her.
Releasing her grip on his hand, she twined her fingers with his in a more intimate hold and mustered a smile. “Come now, my hero, it is a walk in the park,” she whispered.
Searching her gaze, Lance inhaled a shaky breath and appeared to relax. After a few tenuous seconds, he nodded. “All right. Let us have a go, my girl.”
With Dr. Handley offering instruction, Lance and Cara traversed the length of the cavernous bedchamber, step by interminable step. Though he endured admirably, grunting and groaning at a snail’s pace, Cara suffered every gut-wrenching grumble as a dagger to her heart. How she wished she could absorb some measure of his anguish.
After they completed one lap, the physician removed his spectacles and wiped his lenses. “Excellent effort, your lordship. Make two more rounds and rest.” He set a piece of paper on the bedside table. “Here is my prescribed course of exercise. See to it he completes the suggested activity for each day, Miss Douglas.”
“Are you leaving?” Alex inquired from the corner she occupied with Captain Collingwood.
“Must be off.” Dr. Handley settled his hat on his noggin and picked up his physician’s bag. “Other calls to make, you know.”
“And I am afraid I must away, as well,” Captain Collingwood added.
“So soon?” Alex pouted.
“But I am due at the docks.” Captain Collingwood offered his arm in escort. “Though it pains me to depart your company, Lady Seymour.”
“I share your sentiment, Captain.” Alex placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Allow me to show you to the door.” With a side-glance for her wary friend, she shuttled the physician and navy man into the hall.
Leaving Cara alone with Lance.
For a few minutes, they stood there in uncomfortable and uncharacteristic silence.
Cara stared at her slippered feet and searched for something to say.
“Cara.”
She bit her lip. “Yes?”
“You have my solemn vow, there is nothing untoward between myself and Lady Moreton. Despite what you may or may not have seen, I rebuffed her advances.”
“I am sure it is none of my business.” She shrugged and carefully considered her words. “Daresay it is long past the time for you to consider marriage. There is the marquessate to consider, you know.”
“Perish the thought.” Lance heaved a sigh. “And you mean more to me than she ever could, as does your good opinion. It is important you know the truth, because I would not have you mistake what you witnessed the day you interrupted us.”
Cara paused to compose a suitable response, because she could ill afford to court more trouble. She took a minute to calm herself, determined to betray no hint of panic--or pain--in her voice.
“Worry not, my friend, for I never gave it another thought. I was simply embarrassed by my breach of decorum, for which I owe you an apology. Let me assure you, such an egregious infraction of etiquette will not happen again. In future, I will always knock before entering your suite.”
“I preferred it when you did not.” Lance placed a brotherly kiss atop her head. “You are always welcome in my bedchamber.”
Cara gasped. Without conscious thought, she snapped to attention. With mouth agape, she rued the telltale heat of a blush burning her cheeks.
Wide-eyed, Lance sputtered. “I meant...that is to say...that did not come out as I had intended.”
“Say no more,” Cara cautioned. “I get your meaning, and it is sufficient. Now, shall we continue your exercise?”
She tried to step forward, but Lance stayed her.
“Wait. I want you to know how special your friendship is to me. Please, you must believe me when I say that I would never purposefully do anything to jeopardize what we have.” He cast her a lopsided grin. “Do you understand?”
She knew only too well.
In his own words, Lance was telling her he wanted to go back to the way things were--before the kiss. When they were nothing more than friends.
Though inside her heart shattered beneath his embroidered kerchief, she summoned all her years of training, all her skills, and shielded herself in polite gentility.
He would never know how much he hurt her.
“Nothing more need be said, my hero.” With a forced smile, Cara squeezed his hand. “Now, stop dallying.”
She took a tentative step, and this time, Lance was with her.
#
Two days later, Lance and Cara assumed a familiar pose after completing a rotation.
“Do we really have to go around again?” He grimaced. “Can we not skip it, and say we did it?”
“Absolutely not.” Clutching his hand tightly, she glared at him and shook her head. “Dr.
Handley prescribed this physical regimen for your benefit, and we are going to get it done, one way or another.”
“Quite the taskmaster, are we not? And I love it when you use that governessy tone. Tell me, what will you do if I refuse?” Lance stuck his tongue in his cheek and grinned. “Spank me?”
“Don’t tempt me.” With a charming blush coloring her cheeks, Cara’s eyes flared. “Now, stop stalling and start walking.”
With a hearty chuckle, he stepped out and immediately swallowed a groan. “Bloody hell, it hurts.”
“Perhaps if you put more into your routine you would not be whining like a newborn pup.” Cara steadfastly refused to meet his gaze. But despite her reproach he could not miss her smile, and it was comforting, given the disquietude of their relations.
“It is not as it was before, is it?” He asked the question before he realized what he’d said.
“No.”
In silence, he suffered her response as a death knell to their friendship. In fact, nothing remained as it was once, prior to the incident, but until that moment Lance had been confident their rift would heal with the passage of time. As was her custom, Cara betrayed no hesitance in her enthusiasm for his convalescence.
Elegance personified, she arrived every morning, bright and early, with a cheery expression investing her delicate features, to assist him with his exercises, not that he expected anything less. With an arm about his waist, she anchored him as he stumbled, limped, and cursed the perimeter of his bedchamber. And while she often referred to him as her hero, he ached to proclaim that, in truth, she was his hero.
“A newborn pup, am I?” Though he groused, it was in jest. “I take issue, my dear. Is there a tail attached to my bum?”
“No.” Now she cast him a flirty grin. “But, now that you mention it, you are a bit droopy about the ears.”
“Droopy?” Lance thrust his chin in mock offense. “We shall see about that. Prepare to defend yourself, madam.” With a titillating touch, he brushed his fingertips to the highly sensitized flesh at the base of her neck.
“Oh, Lance.” In an instant, Cara shrieked and flinched. “I beg you, do not tickle me.”
When she jerked hard, in a pitiful attempt to escape, she threw him off balance, and he teetered precariously. Just as quick, she reversed course in an awkward dance, of sorts, hugging him close to keep him from falling, which brought them toe-to-toe.
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