Late afternoon shadows filled the room as Kate padded barefoot across the library. She stood with nothing but a sheet wrapped around her, gazing out the tall windows at the street below. She could feel James’s questioning gaze upon her, but she didn’t look at him, needing a moment to gather her senses and collect her thoughts.
London had changed while she slept. The streets looked cleaner, the flowers bloomed more brightly, the crowds appeared better dressed. No, Kate decided, silently amending the giddy rush of her thoughts, it wasn’t London that had changed. She had changed. After three and twenty years of dutiful obedience, of playing the part of the prim and proper miss, it was if a curtain had parted, giving her a glimpse of a world she’d never known existed.
A world where a simple touch, a soft word, nay—a single glance—could send a shiver of scorching anticipation racing down her spine Where a kiss could make her heart hammer, and a light caress send an aching, empty need throbbing between her legs. A world of passion, secrets, and desire. It was as though she’d subsisted entirely on bread and water, when life offered such a dazzling feast. A veritable banquet for the initiated. She was enraptured by it all.
James came up behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him so that her back leaned against his chest, the top of her head nuzzled beneath his chin. She noted the power of his corded muscles and the bronze of his skin, so opposite to her own soft, creamy white curves. Two disparate halves somehow combining to form a perfect whole.
“Regrets?” he asked quietly.
“At having relinquished my virginity?”
“Yes.”
She gave her head a light shake. “No.”
She turned in his arms and searched his gaze, her heart swelling at the fierceness in his expression. Her virginity was a commodity prized by society, not by her. For it was a commodity that had value only when bartered for marriage, and it was highly unlikely that was in her future.
James nuzzled his jaw against her cheek. “I thought I could light a spark within you.”
“I think you touched off a flame.”
He smiled. “More like a dormant volcano.” He was entirely naked, his penis no less fascinating in a state of non-arousal.
“People do this?” she asked.
“This?”
“What we’ve done. Here.” She gestured to the bed, which looked preposterously normal despite the earth-shattering events that had occurred within it.
“Yes,” he responded. “Every day. Perhaps not as well as we do it. Not as enthusiastically.” He kissed the tops of her breasts. “Not as reverently...”
She gave her head a light shake, determined to follow the train of her thought. “And afterwards, they go about their everyday lives as though nothing had happened. They visit shops, send letters, stroll in the park, drink tea with their grandmothers...”
“They do.”
“How extraordinary.”
James studied her for a long, silent moment. “Yes,” he agreed. “Extraordinary, indeed.” Abruptly recalling his duties as host, he inquired, “Is there anything I can get you? Anything you need?”
“Yes.” Standing on tiptoe, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “More.”
Chapter Eight
James hadn’t been expecting a visitor but Roger Chalmers, Earl of Longford, was a welcome sight. They’d known each other since their days at Eton and shared a rowdy history of misspent youth. Nothing too terrible, just the traditional London attractions for boys eager to prove their manhood: gritty pubs, dockside taverns, risque brothels, gaming hells.
Dusk threw soft shadows across the front parlor as Roger arrived. James walked about the room, turning up the oil lamps.
Roger watched him move, not bothering to hide his scrutiny. “Your leg?” he asked, speaking in the shorthand of long acquaintance. “Healing?”
“Quite. The cane is a bit of an embarrassment, but overall I’d say I’m on the mend.”
“Who are you seeing?”
“Dr. Michaelson of St. Thomas. He’s prescribed a radical treatment of movement and exercise. Unusual, but effective.”
“Must be deadly boring for you.”
James hesitated. “Not precisely the phrase I would use to describe the situation.”
Roger cocked his head, rightly sensing there was more to the statement and silently inviting James to continue. James, however, was disinclined to say more. He was not quite sure how to put his relationship with Kate into words.
He didn’t want to trivialize it as torrid affair, nor did he want to over-dramatize the depth of his emotions, not until he’d gotten a handle on them himself. All he knew for certain was that it was too soon to hold their liaison up to the light of public scrutiny.
In the end, he simply poured two tumblers of scotch and passed one to his guest.
Roger took the drink and cast a glance around the barren room. “Obviously you won’t be insisting I sit and enjoy it.”
Owen, who had been occupied at the rear of the manse and had not heard Roger’s arrival, appeared in the doorway. James glanced up at his footman. “Apparently my troublesome guest requires a chair.”
Roger let out a breath. “A chair? What a novel idea. But if that’s asking too much, an empty produce bin will suit.”
Owen, unable to hide his horror at the suggestion of the Earl of Longford should sit upon a crude wooden bin, turned to see to the task. James stopped him. “If you can’t find a bin, I suppose a chamber pot would do. One with a sturdy lid, preferably.”
Roger smiled. “You do make a guest feel welcome.”
Owen, the color draining from his face, left the room in a rush. He returned within minutes and quickly had James and his guest comfortably ensconced in a pair of tufted leather club chairs.
“So,” Roger said, eyeing James appraisingly. “You’re in an obscenely good mood.”
“No complaints,” James replied, sipping his scotch.
“Tell me, is this the fashion now? Cavernous rooms with no furnishings to speak of,” he paused, gesturing through the open door into the library, “save that horrendous wooden board you call a bed.”
“The bed is highly functional, and has recently become highly sentimental as well. As to the rest of the house,” he paused, giving a vague wave, “I’ll get around to it eventually.”
Roger nodded, but didn’t look convinced. He shifted uncomfortably, swirled his drink. “If it’s a matter of funds, I’d be happy to lend—”
James cut him off with a bark of laughter. “I’m hardly broke, Roger. The truth is, my profits on cargoes have gone up threefold since the war. I dare say I should be offering you money to keep up that ridiculous, rambling estate of yours.”
“Then why—”
“I thought I’d leave it to Vanessa to do,” he replied with a shrug. Damned if he knew why, but women seemed to enjoy that sort of thing. They obviously possessed some nesting instinct that men lacked, enabling them to spend countless hours visiting furniture makers, cabinetry men, ordering fabric swatches, settees, lamps, rugs, draperies, and the like. He could swear he even saw that dreamy expression in Kate’s eyes as she surveyed the rooms. It must be endemic to the species.
“Ah. Vanessa. I wasn’t going to bring it up, but since you did…”
James looked at him. “You’ve heard, then?”
“I stopped by White’s after the cabinet meeting.”
James grimaced. London was a great clockwork city. He’d forgotten, or chosen to forget, that the gears upon which London spun were greased by idle gossip. “What is being said?”
Roger shifted. “At present, nothing of substance. It was expected you would announce your engagement at your mother’s ball two weeks hence. The suddenness with which your relationship terminated is causing some untoward speculation.”
“You think I care what gossips say?”
“You know as well as I do that rumors—even baseless ones—can have devastating effects.”
&
nbsp; True enough, James silently agreed, battling a surge of irritation. He didn’t care about his own reputation, but he’d be damned if he’d tolerate any damage to his family name or embarrass his mother or his brothers.
“If you wish to champion my honor,” he said, his voice dripping irony, “simply let it be known that the lady has transferred her affections to a more suitable candidate—with my most sincere felicitations to them both.” He swallowed the rest of his drink and regarded Roger steadily. “So there you have it. I am neither destitute, grossly crippled, nor am I withering away from the effects of a broken heart. London will have to forgo speculation on my behalf and find another victim upon which to feast.”
“Excellent. Because there is another matter I need to speak to you about.” Roger set his drink aside and stood, his demeanor serious. “You know I’ve recently been appointed to a position in the War Office.”
James nodded, not interrupting as Roger spoke at length of the recent series of disastrous battles in the Crimea. Battles which had been brilliantly planned and orchestrated, but which met with utter failure, resulting in the deaths of hundreds of Englishmen.
“The papers are putting the blame for the string of defeats on the incompetence of our generals,” Roger said. “But I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that.”
“Oh?”
“The enemy had information prior to each engagement. Detailed information. Troop sizes, commanders, weaponry, point of attack, dates, times, everything all laid out for them. In each instance, our men were expected. It’s a wonder we weren’t entirely decimated.”
James slowly digested that. He understood how the army worked. The often baffling orders that were sent from man-to-man, employing battle strategies and tactics that did not become truly coherent until the whole was grasped. Even top generals were only privy to the movements of their own troops. “There are only a handful of people in all of England who would have that much information...”
“Yes,” Roger confirmed grimly. “My conclusion as well. I won’t bore you with the details, but we’ve tested that theory and it’s been confirmed. The leak came from somewhere within the War Office.”
James drew in his breath as quiet rage flashed through his body. One of England’s highest ranking politicians, or perhaps a peer of the realm, had deliberately betrayed his own people. His thoughts turned to the men who had died in foreign battlefields, all of whom had left behind families and loved ones. Treason of that magnitude was almost impossible to comprehend.
“Obviously the traitor needed a way to get the information into enemy hands.” Roger continued. “As It turns out, our man in London had been using an army physician in the field to do his dirty work. Rather brilliant, actually, sending his missives along with hospital supplies. The physician was traveling between enemy lines under the guise of exchanging wounded soldiers with the enemy, when really he was passing battle plans.”
“I assume you arrested the bastard?”
“Absolutely.”
James refilled Roger’s glass, then tipped a finger of scotch into his own. “There’s a reason you’re telling me all this.”
“I need your help.”
“Me? What can I do?”
“That unfortunate episode taught us we need to tighten our surveillance. Put more men on the ground listening to rumors, looking for irregularities—particularly among the foreign service. The French spotted the leak before we did. Damned embarrassing.”
James sipped his drink as he studied his friend. “What exactly are you asking?”
“The War Office could use a man like you. Our diplomatic corps is stretched too thin, and majority of them have no actual combat experience. I’m asking you to come back into the service. Not on active duty, but where we really need you: in France.”
“France?”
“It’s essential we have someone there representing the War Office. A man we can trust absolutely, and I know of no one better suited than you. You have the experience and the intellect, and now that you’re free of any emotional entanglements that might keep you here in England, it seemed the perfect opportunity.”
“I see.” James tilted his drink, watching the amber liquid swirl around the base of his glass. Free of emotional entanglements... Two weeks ago he would have agreed with that assessment, but now?
Roger frowned. “I appears I spoke too soon. I assumed that since your liaison with Miss Kittworthy had ended, you’d be able to leave the country. Perhaps you need more time.”
James let out an impatient breath and stood. “Don’t coddle me, Roger,” he replied curtly. “Your offer was unexpected, that’s all. I’ll need some time to put my affairs in order.”
“So you’ll take the position?”
James hesitated. If he could help bring the war to a close, or prevent the kind of treachery Roger had mentioned, how could he turn the position down? Too many live were at stake to focus solely on his own interests. He gave a decisive nod. “Of course.”
Kate walked down the hospital corridor of St. James Hospital with James by her side. The experience was rather unnerving. Time spent with him at his home had been an idyll, altogether separate and distinct from her busy, work-a-day routine.
Never had she imagined the two worlds would intersect. Yet here he was beside her, companionably visiting the recovering soldiers she tended in her daily morning shift, chatting with the hospital physicians and surgeons, strolling through the wards.
And though his unexpected presence at the hospital left her feeling flustered and off-balance, she was also aware of the surge of pride that rushed through her as she watched him tour the wards. How tall and handsome he looked, how strong and purposeful. She had thought him charming in a crowded ballroom.
That was nothing compared to the praise and attention he showered on the staff and patients of St. Thomas, paying particular regard to the recovering soldiers. He even made a point of visiting the mailroom, thanking the clerks for their efforts in shipping equipment and supplies overseas.
“It was kind of you to come here,” she said as they left the building.
“It occurred to me yesterday that it is no longer necessary for you and Dr. Michaelson to make the trek across town to my home, when I am quite capable of coming here for the remainder of my treatments. As Dr. Michaelson has other patients in need of his attention, that only seems sensible.”
“Indeed,” Kate murmured, though her thoughts were in turmoil. Their erotic interludes had always taken place at his home, after their therapeutic sessions had ended. Was this his way of informing her that he had no further interest in pursuing her? She pushed the horrid possibility away. If it were true, she would face it later, in private.
“So this is where you spend your time when we’re not together,” he said.
“Yes. Every day except Sunday.”
She glanced over his shoulder at the hospital’s austere brick edifice. They were leaving the building behind, strolling through the open grounds. Every so often they passed a patient in a wheelchair taking the air, or testing his limits with a new set of crutches. Invariably she knew the patient, so she stopped to offer encouragement or a simple word of cheer.
James stood aside, watching the exchanges. “You mean a great deal to these men,” he said quietly.
“They’re forgotten,” she replied with a sigh.
“Forgotten?”
“Rarely do we receive visitors. The soldiers sent here for treatment come from all over England. Very few can afford the expense of bringing their family in to care for them. I do my best, and so do the other nurses, but there are so many of them, and so few of us.”
“What do you mean?”
“As you’ve seen, we have no shortage of bandages or medicine. But I often think what a man truly needs to recover are regular visits from someone who cares. Look at the people of London. They’ll line the streets and cheer the troops as they ship overseas, reveling in the glory of battle. But they won’t come visit those same s
oldiers when they return battered and broken, desperately in need of comfort and companionship. The hypocrisy of it makes my blood boil.”
Kate stopped herself. She hadn’t meant to vent her feelings. She risked a glance at James, only to find him staring straight ahead, his brows drawn together and his lips turned down in a pronounced frown. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken so strongly.”
He turned to look at her. “I’m glad you did,” he said simply. “I had no idea.”
They walked on in silence, each absorbed in his own thoughts. At length James said, “You mentioned you had two brothers in residence at the hospital. Surgeons, I believe. Were they not on duty today?”
Kate froze, feeling as guilty as a child caught with her finger in the jelly jar. “Oh, they were there,” she said, attempting a tone of breezy nonchalance.
It didn’t work. James drew to a halt, searching her gaze. “You didn’t introduce me?”
She should have. That would have been the polite and proper thing to do. Instead, the moment she’d caught sight of them she’d steered James in the opposite direction. What if George had been drinking, or Bertie had tried to involve James in his newest money-making scheme? Unlikely perhaps, but not impossible. That would have been beyond mortifying.
“I should like to meet them, you know.”
A tremor of alarm shot down Kate’s spine. “No, you wouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“They don’t move in the same circles.”
“Is that your way of calling me a snob?”
She looked up at him, surprised by the edge in his tone. “I didn’t mean that,” she started, then she released a sigh and told a partial truth. “I’m afraid we haven’t been getting on lately. It appears I’ve become a bit too independent for their taste.”
“Anything wrong?” he asked, his concern evident.
Kate forced a smile. “You mentioned you have two elder brothers. Did the three of you always get along?”
Out Of Her League, An Erotic Romance Page 9