Whatever that meant. He said, “She’s the niece of Lady Arbuckle. How did you meet her?”
“She was coming out of a milliner’s shop with Lady Arbuckle. They were having a very intense discussion, but when Judith saw me, she was all smiles. I don’t think that Lady Arbuckle was pleased to see me. I suppose Judith knows that I’m a childhood friend and thus someone to be cultivated.”
“Jason hasn’t spoken much about her lately.”
“No wonder, since his brother disappeared and could very well have been killed.”
“I think he quite likes her too. Now that he sees I’m well again, he’ll resume his course with her.”
“I wonder what course that will be. Was Juliette camping out in the drawing room when you woke up this morning?”
“Well, she and her mother did visit not long after breakfast. I was in bed.” He struck only a very slight pose since he was still too weak to goad her to his normal standards. “Do you know, I believe she enjoyed my company, her mother sitting comfortably in the corner, benignly watching the tableau.”
“And I don’t suppose you enjoyed all that dripping attention? All the cooing? Did she smooth her palm over your poor brow?”
“I can’t recall a single coo, except maybe from her mother.”
“Well, yes, that makes sense. You’re the heir, after all. You know, James, I really can’t imagine that she would want to marry you.”
“Why ever not?”
“Juliette is very rightly aware of her own beauty. The problem is that you’re more beautiful than she is. Just imagine, both of you could be looking into a mirror and she would come in a very poor second. I can’t see her tolerating that.”
James streaked his fingers through his hair, standing it on end. “Bloody hell, I’ve already let you distract me. You open your mouth and I forget where I was going. Now, be quiet and sit down, Corrie. I have something to say to you.” He started to walk to her, to tower over her, intimidate her a bit, when he felt a wave of dizziness and quickly sat back down in his father’s chair. He cleared his throat, then plowed forward. “Jason told me he saw you riding in the park with Devlin Monroe.”
She sat herself down, spreading the lovely pale green skirt of her gown over the cushions beside her. She crossed her legs and began to swing her foot. She eyed her lovely slippers. They made her feet look positively small; and no heels. She could run and leap in these lovely slippers. She examined her thumbnail, whistled a little tune, waiting for him to explode. She’d known the signs since he was fifteen years old and so furious with his brother he’d put his fist right through a stable wall. Now that she considered it, she realized that she hadn’t seen him lose control in a very long time, in fact, not since he’d become a man. He was now more reasoned and—
“Corrie, would you please pay attention to me?”
She looked up and smiled at him. “I was praising my slippers. They could chase down Augie and his cohorts. Aren’t they lovely?”
Actually, they were, but he said, “Pay attention. Why the hell were you with Devlin Monroe? I told you to stay away from him.”
“This was what you wished to speak to me about? Whatever is wrong with Devlin? Surely he isn’t one of these fortune hunters who would hunt me down like a rat? Why, he’s the heir to a dukedom.”
“Well, yes, but it’s Devlin himself that’s the problem. He is not the sort of man you want all that close to you, Corrie.”
“Well, he hasn’t gotten all that close. Yet.”
“Very well. You force me to be blunt here. He keeps mistresses—not one, but several, and he likes to compare them, and announce results in his club, which happens also to be my club.”
“Goodness.” She sat forward, eyes alight with curiosity. “That is quite the oddest thing I’ve ever heard. What do you mean by comparisons? Like this girl has blue eyes and this one has brown eyes?”
“Never you mind that.”
“Perhaps this girl wears her gown cut too low and that one—”
“Be quiet.”
“Do you know of any ladies who keep several misters?”
He gritted his teeth until his jaws ached. “There isn’t a male version of mistress.” He shook his head. “Damnation, ladies can have lovers, and yes, I understand that some ladies have a string of lovers. But lovers are a different matter from mistresses. Devlin has kept as many as three mistresses at a single time. Three!”
Corrie rose, pulled a rose out of a vase, sniffed it, and said, “It sounds to me like you’re jealous.”
“No, I’m appalled.”
Her brow went up as she stared at him.
“Well, maybe a bit jealous, but that’s neither here nor there. Three mistresses is more than a surfeit, Corrie, it’s wasteful, and it would be immoral if he were married.”
“Do you think he’ll continue to keep mistresses when he’s wed?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.”
“Well, good for him, I say. The more mistresses the better. Next time I see him, I will inquire about this. There must be rules and—”
He spoke over her. “You’ve distracted me again. Dammit, forget his bloody mistresses. Why did you disobey me and see him?”
Another sunny smile from her, and a shrug that made him want to walk across the estate room and shake her but good, but all he wanted to do was sleep. She said as she gently slipped the rose back into its vase, “Well, he asked me to go riding in the park with him. No one else had, and I really wanted the exercise, you understand.”
He looked to the heavens, only to have her bring him crashing back to earth when she said, “I can now swear that Devlin isn’t a vampire. The sun was bright overhead and he didn’t get burned up. I think rather than seduce me, Devlin wants me to amuse him. He certainly laughed a lot after he got all the details of your rescue out of me. He allowed that if he were felled he would like me to minister to him as well as I did to you, even though I was going to have to pay for it. He wouldn’t tell me what he meant by that.” Now Corrie struck a pose. “Ah, James, I was thinking a bit about taking care of Devlin and the thought intruded—do you think Devlin is as pale as a specter all over or just his face?”
“Yes, he is.” That said, James leaned back against the desk, his arms crossed over his chest. He crossed his feet at the ankles and finally, he closed his eyes. It felt wonderful, but he knew he couldn’t go to sleep yet. He had too much to do.
“I think I can imagine Devlin lying there naked, on his back, like you. He would be so pale that if the sheet was well washed, he might disappear into it. I think a darker complexion is more interesting, say a more golden skin color, like yours.”
“Jason and I have our father’s swarthy skin,” he said, and wondered when his mouth had detached itself from his brain.
“Yes, that’s it, you’re swarthy, only that word doesn’t sound as golden as you are, it sounds more like a sunburnt pirate. Now, to be honest here, James, I believe there is no more beautiful a man than you. On the other hand, to be objective about this, you are the only naked man I have ever seen.”
How had she gotten off on this? He nearly moaned when he realized that he was hard as the leg on his father’s desk. He had to get back on track here. He opened his mouth, but she was off again. “Naturally,” Corrie said, “I didn’t tell him I was an heiress.”
“No, you told him everything else.” He slammed his fist onto the desktop, making the inkwell jump. What came out of his mouth then was unplanned and unwise. “Are you a complete idiot, Corrie? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“Of course. I thought about it carefully and then decided that if everyone in London knows exactly what happened to you, everyone will be looking out for not only your father, but for you and Jason as well. You know, Devlin leaves his hat on to keep the sun off his face. And he did today as well. There, I admitted it. Such a lovely pallor. At least his face.” The witch shuddered.
There was no hope for it. He said, all indifferent, �
��I don’t suppose Devlin told you that your adventure with me was the cause of some, er, consternation?”
“Consternation? Actually, when I mentioned to him that Mrs. Cutter and Lady Brisbett had cut me, he just laughed and patted my hand and told me that it didn’t mean anything and not to concern myself about it. He said, if it was all right with me, he would like to visit with my Uncle Simon.”
No, James thought, Devlin wasn’t going to offer for her, his parents would disown him if he offered for a girl whose reputation was in shreds. Besides he’d only just met her. And he didn’t know she was an heiress, she was right about that. She was just a girl who amused him. What was Devlin up to? Why had he told her she would have to pay?
Better to get things straight right this instant. “We had an adventure, Corrie, didn’t we?”
“It was a splendid adventure if you hadn’t gotten so ill that it fair to scared the spit out of me.”
He grinned at her cant, recognized Lovejoy. “Yes, all of London—everyone, Corrie—now knows about our adventure. And those few who didn’t know, Devlin has now doubtless informed.” He stared down at his fingernails, examining the small tear on his thumbnail. When he looked up at her, he smiled. “It appears that I won’t have to hunt you down like a rat.”
“Whatever do you mean by that?”
The estate room door suddenly opened and the earl walked in, saying to James, “This smuggler who briefly captured you and Corrie, I’ve been wondering who he could be, wondering if I’ve played cards with him. I’ve a hankering to go look at that cave, see if there’s any clue as to what he’s smuggling. You said he sounded familiar?”
“Yes, sir, sort of.”
“Whatever is the matt—?” Douglas turned slowly to see Corrie sitting there on the lovely brocade sofa that Alexandra had known he liked and given to him. “Corrie,” he said. “You’re looking quite lovely, my dear.”
“Thank you, sir. James was telling me about Uncle Simon muttering about me being hunted down like a rat.”
“It would be best if you simply forgot about that, Corrie. I must see to something now. You will both excuse me.” He turned in the doorway. “James, ten more minutes, then I want you back in your bed.”
After Douglas had left, closing the door quietly behind him, Corrie rose, smoothed down her skirts. “Well, James, I was thinking about our smuggler too. I agree with your father—when this is all over, let’s go take a look at that cave. I think you should take a nice rest now. You’re looking a bit on the vampire side. Not quite as pale as Devlin, but still too pale for your swarthy complexion to look anything but weedy.”
He rose slowly, his palms on the desktop. “If you attempt to leave, I will put you over my lap and smack you good.”
Her chin went up. “I don’t think you’re strong enough to hold me down, much less raise and lower your hand with any force at all. I think it likely that if you take one step toward me, you will fall on your face.”
“I could beat you in my sleep.”
“You’re looking flushed, James. I don’t like it. Please sit down and try to calm yourself.”
He rolled his eyes, nothing else to do. He really couldn’t beat her, not here in his father’s estate room. It struck him rather forcibly that such an action would not gain him what he had to have, not that he wanted what he had to have. “Sit down, dammit.”
Corrie sat down, clasped her hands in her lap, and looked up at him like an inquiring pupil.
He said, all slow as a snail, feeling each word being pulled out of his throat, “This adventure of ours—it will be a tale that will doubtless embroider itself into a heroic saga when we tell it to our children and grandchildren.”
There, it was out of his mouth, and those clever words had made sense, indeed, had sounded fluent and sincere, and the words were eloquent, calling forth images to charm the mind. But James had signed his fate with those bloody elegant words, a fate he’d known had to be his when his brain had begun functioning again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
HE WAITED. HE felt strangely detached, as if his brain was sitting over on that bookshelf across the room, watching him, watching and laughing.
Complete and utter silence filled the estate room.
Corrie raised an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon? Are you delirious again, James? Shall I fetch your father? A physician? You’re obviously not well and that worries me.”
“Corrie, don’t be stupid.”
“I will be as stupid as I wish.” She fiddled a moment with her mittens, the same lovely green as her gown and slippers. What came out of her mouth next nearly sent him over the edge. “Do you think that Devlin is going to propose?”
“All right, be stupid for the moment, but I can’t. I’m facing the situation head-on here. There’s no choice in this, Corrie, no choice for either of us.”
Corrie jumped up, backed away three steps to behind the sofa, and stood there, staring at him, her hands on her hips. “Now you listen to me, James Sherbrooke. There is no situation to face head-on. There is no situation at all. Do you know what your problem is? You think too much, you weigh everything, churn it all around in your head, and then you make a decision. Many times you’re exactly right but sometimes—like right now, right this instant—you skip happily to a conclusion that makes my brain hurt, so stop it. Forget this. Do you hear me? Forget it!”
He said quietly, “Two ladies already cut you. Don’t you realize what that means?”
“Devlin said to forget it. I plan to.”
“You cannot marry Devlin Monroe, unless, of course, you’ve a hankering to be a duchess rather than just a countess.”
“What a stupid thing to say. I’m leaving, James.”
“Where are you going?”
“To get some brandy from your father’s library.”
“Don’t you remember what happened to you the last time you drank brandy? You and Natty Pole stole a bottle of your Uncle Simon’s best, and ended up puking your guts out in the yew behind the house.”
“I was twelve years old, James.” But that stopped her.
He said, “I remember you were so sick you were lying there panting, and in the most pitiful voice you said to me, ‘There’s nothing else in me, James, even my heart has been puked out of me. I’m going to die now. Please give my apologies to Uncle Simon for stealing his brandy.’ And then you fell into a stupor. No brandy, Corrie. I don’t think I’m well enough to hold your hair out of your face this time.”
She paused, her hand on the doorknob. She gave him a look of acute dislike. “Sometimes you are right, I admit it. You do have a point here. Very well, I will get myself a big glass of water,” and she ran out of the room, light on her slippers, and that was because there were no heels on them.
He sat there and brooded. For God’s sake, he didn’t want to marry. Not just Corrie—and that thought was enough to make his eyes cross—but anyone. His father hadn’t married until he was twenty-eight, a nice ripe year, his father would say, a year when a man finally realizes that there just might be something to this business of sleeping with a woman every single night and it was legal.
But he was only twenty-five. Three years of freedom were wafting right out the window, all because Corrie had chased after him to save him.
He cursed. Petrie said from the doorway, “My lord, you are flushed. Miss Corrie shouldn’t have disagreed with you, thus elevating your choler and perhaps bringing back the fever. I wanted to tell her to take herself off, but then she did it herself. Now, I have a bit of barley water that your dear mother left for me to give you.”
“Petrie,” James said, eyeing his valet of five years and that damned barley water, “there are some things a gentleman must face, even though it might bring back his fever. Give me that vile stuff then leave me be. I swear I will drink it down before I traipse upstairs and fall into my bed.”
“Her ladyship told me to tell you that she’d added things to the drink and that you would like it. Here, my lord. Dri
nk it now.”
James sipped the barley water, ready to spit it out, but to his surprise, it wasn’t bad at all. He downed the entire glass, sighed, trudged up the stairs, and walked slowly down the long corridor to his bedchamber. When he was leaning his head against the pillows, he saw that Petrie had followed him, probably because he feared James might keel over. He lay there, wishing there’d been a different road to walk. He heard Petrie clear his throat.
“You’ll choke if you don’t speak, Petrie, so go ahead.”
“It is my experience, my lord, that young ladies must not be rushed into weighty decisions. They must be treated gently, without—”
“Petrie, I do wish you could have seen Corrie ride through that cottage door with a pitchfork under her arm. She stabbed one of the men in the arm. She is not fragile, she is not weak.”
“Perhaps you were delirious at the time, my lord, and only imagined what she did. Perhaps, and many of us agree that this must be the case, you yourself managed to escape the three men. You found Miss Corrie in the shed, huddled down and weeping, and you yourself carried her to that farmhouse where you finally collapsed because you’d carried her for ten miles and given her all your clothes to keep her warm. Surely this is what happened, since it makes far more sense.”
James could but stare. “You’re telling me that Willicombe subscribes to this, Petrie?”
“As to Mr. Willicombe’s beliefs on the subject, my lord, I cannot say.”
“Why the hell not? You have a say about everything else in this damned house. Listen to me. Not only did she save me, she also stuck her knee in the throat of a smuggler. What do you think about that?”
“You’re fevered, my lord, it is obvious. I will fetch your father.” And Petrie walked out of the room, shoulders straight, head up.
James lay there and continued to brood. Maybe he’d spoken too quickly, hadn’t given her time to let everything soak in.
Catherine Coulter the Sherbrooke Series Novels 6-10 (9781101562123) Page 81