by Carrie Lomax
“September is only a few weeks from now.”
“Yes.”
“I won’t be ready.”
“You don’t have a choice in the matter. We must make you ready.”
“I have been away for fifteen years. Even before I left, I was raised to be a diplomat’s son, not a nobleman. I cannot learn everything I must know about being a gentleman in a few weeks. It will be a disaster.” He stood and paced in bare feet. Harper watched his muscular body go tense with anger. “What if I look cross-ways at some simpering maiden and find myself married?”
“Edward, you haven’t even met any society maidens, simpering or otherwise. I am sure they or their mothers will be cautious, given your reputation. Surely they have more virtue and sense than to chase after a mirage.”
“Have you ever met these paragons of virtue?” Edward asked skeptically.
Harper gave him a fulminating glare of exasperation. “No. When would I have crossed paths with them?”
“Then why should you conclude that society women are any different from my brother?”
Harper opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it. She didn’t have an answer to that. The idea that the peerage was more refined, more intelligent, and generally superior in all ways was one she had grown up accepting without question. It had never occurred to her to think otherwise, even when she met examples of her supposed betters whose behavior was deplorable.
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I suppose I think that because Richard is such a poor example of the form, and the entire upper class couldn’t possibly be as self-absorbed and status-conscious as he is. It is simply unfathomable.”
Edward laughed. “It has been many years since I have met any members of high society, yet I remember well the sting of insults flung carelessly at Christmas parties, even among the children.”
“I thought you were raised as a diplomat’s son,” Harper interjected.
“Yes, and my great-uncle and then uncle were earls. We didn’t visit often, but we interacted with aristocrats from time to time. My father has become like them. Richard has always aspired to be one of the fast set.”
“Then we must work very hard and focus on the things you need to know most to survive there. You must also try to find the good in people and in high society, because like it or not, you will spend the rest of your life around people like that. Or you will be confined to an asylum. I hate to be blunt, Edward, but these are the choices before you.”
“You mean, I have no choice but to perform tricks for people who regard me as an animal.”
Harper thought of the newspapers.
“Some do, yes.” There was no use in pretending otherwise. “You must look for the people like me, who see the man and not the reputation.”
Edward closed the distance between them with a few steps. Harper stood her ground. Every hair on the backs of her arms rose, longing for some wisp of air carrying a hint of him to touch her.
“You are the only one who sees me as a man,” he said softly, and his words made her pulse pound. Edward touched her jaw with blunt, rough fingertips. Harper tilted her face to his. A scant inch separated them.
Until it didn’t.
Edward’s mouth grazed hers in a whisper-light caress, testing. Harper’s eyes fluttered closed and her world sharpened to a pinpoint of desire. Gently, she kissed him back, knowing she shouldn’t, but unable to resist. Northcote groaned and pulled her against his body as he claimed her mouth. Harper’s body was fluid and warm, without a hint of resistance. For a first real kiss, Edward’s was spectacular.
Harper’s hand barely spanned the back of his neck as she twined it into his hair. Edward nipped her lip, and Harper gasped. Then, they were kissing open-mouthed and hungry, the tip of his tongue touching her teeth, asking for entry. She gave it willingly and craned up on tiptoe to explore his mouth in return.
A sound from the hall had them on opposite sides of the large room in a flash of panic. Reason reasserted itself with a vengeance. She’d touched him. She’d violated her patient—and even though he’d encouraged it, Harper experienced a nauseating wave of guilt at the thought.
After a moment of silence, they concluded that they were undisturbed. Edward turned on her with an intensity of emotion in his eyes.
“Would you marry me?”
Harper barked a laugh. “Why on earth would you ask such a thing?”
“Marriage would protect me from the worst aspects of entering society. Besides,” he grinned, “I like you. And you like me. As we’ve just proven. We suit, Harper Forsythe.”
“Edward—” Harper sidestepped his advance. “Firstly, that arrangement would never satisfy your father. I am the first woman you have had any extended contact with since your return. How can you know that you won’t prefer another woman if you haven’t even met them?”
Edward lowered himself onto the settee. “I cannot. All I can say is that you are brave and strong and compassionate. It may have been years since I’ve been anywhere near high society, but these aren’t traits I associate with the ton. I have been shaped far from mansions and ballrooms. As have you.”
Harper couldn’t meet his eye for another moment. “If you endure London for an entire season and decide that you still prefer me, we can discuss the subject later. For now, we must present a united—and above all chaste—front to secure your future. And you must promise me that you will give London society a chance.”
Edward nodded. “All right. But, Harper?”
“Yes?”
“I need your help. I was heedless and angry when I arrived here, and I have done and said the wrong thing at every step because I couldn’t see past my own anger and loss. But I’m not sorry, not one bit. Do you know why?”
She shook her head, the barest of movements. He was so close now, his body imposing on the space that was rightfully hers. With any other man, it would have been intolerable. Harper looked up.
“Because if I had been one whit less impulsive, less angry, I never would have met you.”
He claimed her again. His kiss was sure but not overwhelming. Instinctively she parted for him as Edward ran a large, warm hand up her back and urged her closer. There were many good reasons why she shouldn’t be kissing this man, let alone in this place, but at that moment she couldn’t think of a single one. His arm encircled her waist, pulling her against the hard planes of his chest. Enraptured, Harper’s hand glided up his muscled arm until her fingers brushed his dark hair. He groaned and tugged her closer, pressing her aching breasts against him. Their kiss became demanding, needy, all-consuming.
Harper couldn’t, didn’t want to breathe. She wanted to drown in the sensation of Edward’s kiss. She needed this more than she needed breath itself.
“We should stop.” Edward’s voice, thick and gravelly, intoned in her ear, jolting Harper back to cold reality. Her reply was as stiff as her kiss had been pliable.
“Agreed.” She touched her lips with one finger, indicating silence. “We mustn’t do that again, Edward. I cannot marry you,” she whispered. Each of them had a future to claim. Their futures did not intersect.
Chapter 10
“Valeriana officinalis, otherwise known as common valerian,” Harper observed, twirling the pinkish flower cluster between her fingers. “Known for its soporific effects. You might consider trying it on those evenings when you feel the need to go visiting at windows.”
Edward cracked one blue eye open at her and rolled onto his side. “I have no need of herbs and tisanes for sleep when I can nap in the afternoon,” he commented pointedly.
“We are supposed to be working, not lolling about in a meadow.”
“I remain unclear on how talking with you is supposed to help me.” The physical labor Harper had assigned to him over the past week had caught up with him. His fatigue was compounded by the ambitious course of study she’d assigned him, a useful but unsuccessful distraction from the memory of her skin against his.
Harper su
ppressed a sigh, as if she, too, were reliving the moment in the library when they had given in to their mutual attraction for a scant minute. If he hadn’t been so attuned to the doctor’s every motion, he wouldn’t have noticed the subtle way she exhaled after glancing at him every time. Edward wished she had a bit less honor about kissing him.
“I am supposed to help you understand your feelings and place them in the proper context. The theory is that by understanding the feelings that make you act out you will gain control over them and eventually improve your behavior. Malva neglecta.” Harper picked a small white flower and added it to her tiny bouquet. “Edible.”
Edward leaned forward and bit the bloom from its stem. Harper yelped.
“Not especially tasty,” he commented, swallowing. “Though I have eaten worse.”
“You see? That is exactly the kind of behavior unbefitting a gentleman which we are on a mission to change.”
Edward lay back in the full sun, his eyes slitted like half-drawn window blinds. “Some might call my behavior rakishly charming.”
“Idiots, perhaps.” Harper tossed away the damaged stem and picked another bloom.
“You did say it was edible.”
“It was not an invitation to munch on my nosegay,” she replied, though he read laughter in her eyes.
“What about your feelings, Doctor Forsythe?” Edward asked.
“I am a doctor. I don’t have any,” Harper insisted.
That made Edward sit up and glare at her.
“You are a woman—a person—and therefore full of them, no matter how much you deny the fact. You set a poor example for someone trying to demonstrate the power of mastering one’s emotions.”
“Nonsense,” Harper replied briskly. “But all right, since you persist in asking, right now I feel annoyed and vexed.”
“What is it exactly that you find so vexing about me?” Edward demanded.
Harper met his gaze with hazel pools of longing. The frustration of knowing that she must ruthlessly hide any enjoyment of his company was wearing thin. They hadn’t touched once since the moment in the library. Harper had maintained a perfect degree of propriety, even when they were away from the house. As comforted as he was by her constant proximity, her presence was torture in equal measure. He ached to touch her again.
“Nothing at all. You are a wondrous specimen of humanity.”
Edward laughed, breaking their shared gaze. “The devil you say.”
There were not a great many vehicles traveling up the road to the main house. When a dust cloud bloomed on the horizon, Edward sat up and took notice. He watched for a long moment.
“Richard,” he snarled. His body coiled beneath him without even thinking, from lazy sprawl amongst the weeds to tense as a bowstring in the space of a single breath. In the jungle, his life had depended upon the ability to react within seconds to barely perceived threats. He glanced at the calico-clad woman beside him. Here, his survival might depend upon a slip of a woman with a hard head and butter-soft heart.
“Again, already?”
“Who else could it be?”
Harper shaded her eyes.
“It could be the rector,” she said doubtfully. A moment later the carriage came close enough to make out the details. No rector had ever driven such fine bays or a carriage of such gleaming black varnish. Red and gold painted wheel rims sealed it.
“How are you always right about these things?” she complained.
Edward ignored the impulse to sweep her into his arms and carry her far away from Richard and everything he represented. “I can sense his malevolence from miles away.”
Harper made a most unladylike sound. It was utterly adorable. Then she turned to him in all seriousness. “We should go back to the house and prepare. We will take him off-guard if you make an appearance dressed as a proper Englishman. Promise me you will act like the perfect gentlemen for as long as your brother is here. Promise me.” She laid one ungloved hand on his forearm, her expression fierce.
What Edward wanted to do was capture her chin in his hand a kiss the ferocity away. Instead, he covered her sun-warmed hand in his.
“I promise.”
* * *
Edward grabbed a footman by the upper arm and dragged him into his quarters. “You must dress me.”
The footman gulped. “Milord, I will call a valet—”
“There’s no time. I needn’t look perfect, merely presentable.” He shrugged out of his soiled linen shirt and kicked his grass-stained trousers across the room. The footman flushed and averted his eyes.
“The shirts are in the drawer there. Choose one.”
The footman reluctantly went to the large wardrobe. He laid out a clean shirt, pressed trousers and waistcoat and jacket on the bed for inspection. Edward glanced at the ensemble. A few weeks ago, he would not have cared if the man had chosen a Harlequin’s costume. Today he did.
“The gray silk figured waistcoat and the steel blue worsted jacket, if you please.”
The footman practically lunged back to the wardrobe. Edward reflected, not for the first time, that a bad reputation had its uses.
“Thank you,” Edward said as he admired his image in the wardrobe mirror. He ought to do something about his ragged hair.
Minutes later, he strode down the hall in shiny, uncomfortable shoes. His hair was nominally combed. He even wore a carelessly tied cravat. It was, by his lights, a more than presentable effect.
“Not so fast.” Harper was there, gray like the shadows, her voice low in the gloom of the halls. For the second time that afternoon she touched him. Even through layers of fabric and leather he could sense the tension in her body. She had not changed her calico dress and smelled wonderfully of warm grass and femininity. Edward checked his pace, falling into step with her.
“I’ve been listening at the door. You were right. It is Richard, and he has brought someone with him. A doctor.” Harper turned to him, her large eyes luminous. “He means to replace me.”
Edward’s hand tightened on hers. “We must go in.”
She nodded once. “You first.”
Edward swung open the heavy door to the study with a scowl on his face. A balding man with a beard sat in one of the wingback chairs facing his father’s desk. Richard occupied the other. Charles sat at the desk. He looked up impassively as the doors flew back and bumped the wall.
Damnation. The staff must have oiled the hinges recently. Crashing open the door was not the entrance he’d wanted to make.
“Edward, do come in. Richard has brought you a guest.” His father gestured from the solid leather chair behind the large desk toward a little man who looked as though his hair had migrated south to his chin and found the climate more to its liking.
“Edward. I am Doctor Yaris.” His speech was accented. Edward couldn’t place it. “I have come to evaluate you.”
“Doctor Yaris.” Edward nodded. “I already have a doctor. Her name is Forsythe.”
“Miss Forsythe. I have heard of her mentor, the great Dr. Patton.” The new doctor glanced at her dismissively.
“And I you, Doctor Yaris. I prefer the honorific doctor.”
Yaris smiled faintly. “An honor I should be happy to bestow on one in possession of the proper credentials.”
Harper did not smile in return. “I am pleased to find a colleague who holds the education of our profession in such esteem. I think you know my education, though informal, ranks among the best.”
“Well, you are no charlatan, I grant you that.”
If Edward did not care for the man’s dismissive manner toward Harper, he liked even less what the man said next. Turning his mole-like mien to Edward, the man inspected him top to toe.
“Your lordship, if not for the slamming of doors I would confess myself shocked to find a proper Englishman where I expected a savage. As it is, however, I suspect that your clothing is mere window-dressing.” He turned to Richard. “I conjecture that your brother does not typically dress in this
manner?”
“He is normally in a state of considerable dishevelment.”
Edward felt a growl form low in his throat. He had not been garbed in this proper English clothing for fifteen minutes and already he was sweating. How did they stand it? Who was the true lunatic, one who clothed himself according to the weather or the ones who dressed according to custom and fashion regardless of the season?
“That is a very good indicator of a disordered mind. Has Miss Forsythe’s influence had any effect?”
“The Honorable Richard Northcote is unacquainted with his brother’s recent progress due to his recent absence, Dr. Yaris. What you see is Lord Northcote’s regular appearance, except when he is working.”
“I see.”
Those two repressive words indicated exactly what the doctor saw.
“Your lordship, Miss Forsythe is a very well-regarded apprentice within the profession. But she is not a doctor. She has not the formal training. She is, above all, a woman, with a woman’s softness of mind. A willful giant, such as your son, is a danger to everyone around him. He must be physically restrained, forcefully if necessary,” Yaris explained to the earl. Charles listened attentively.
Each word sank an icy dagger into Edward’s heart.
“You speak of straitjackets,” he clarified.
“I speak of madhouses,” Yaris replied firmly, leaving no question as to why Richard had brought him here.
“If I may speak for myself,” Harper interjected with a sternness of tone that Edward had never before heard from her. “I am highly trained. I have more years of experience working with the mentally ill than you, Doctor Yaris. I am equally aware of your stature within our field. It is fair to say that you and my mentor, Doctor Patton, are philosophical opposites. I was taught to believe in healing. I know well that force only makes many patients worse. For a man like Edward, it would be soul-crushing. He would not survive the kinds of treatments in which you specialize.”