by Candace Camp
“Don’t be silly. You have had a shock, and you’re in no shape to climb a hill. Sit here and wait. I’ll send grooms back with a wagon for you. They can find the horses, too.”
Laura shivered as she walked, the pleasant breeze now cold through her wet clothes. Her hair had come loose, straggling wetly all over the place. She pulled out the remaining hairpins and squeezed out the water, thinking yearningly of a long warm bath. And a cup of hot tea. Another shudder shook her.
As she started over the bridge, she heard the sound of a vehicle and team. She swung back around, wondering if the team, running loose, had turned to head home. If so, they were still moving at a rapid clip. But it was a different team that charged around the curve, a foursome of grays pulling a two-seater barouche. The driver was Lord Montclair.
“Graeme!” Laura cried, and hurried toward the carriage, waving her arms.
He was already pulling back on the reins, and when he drew to a stop, he dropped them and leapt down from the vehicle. “Laura! My God, what happened?”
Only seconds behind him, Abby got out of the carriage. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Laura said quickly. “It’s Littletree who’s hurt.” She pointed toward the coachman sitting on the bank.
At the sight of Graeme, the man shoved himself up to his feet and reached his hand up to sweep off his hat before realizing it was long gone. Instead, he bobbed his head respectfully. “My lord.”
“Littletree!” Graeme strode over to him. “You’re injured. Sit down, man, no reason to stand on ceremony. Here’s a nice boulder.” He guided the man toward a large rock.
“What happened?” Abby asked. “We came upon the carriage overturned. Mirabelle feared it was Aunt Tessa’s.”
Mirabelle climbed down from the carriage, as well, albeit more slowly, her face creased with worry. “Is Tessa all right?”
“Tessa’s fine,” Laura reassured her. “I was the only one in the carriage. We started down the hill, but something happened to the brake, and the horses ran.”
“It was Binky, my lord; he took off,” Littletree hastened to explain. “I think a bee must have stung him. He started running, and of course Biscuit joined him. I had the brake slipper on, but the chain snapped. You know how it is on a hill like that.”
“Of course,” Graeme agreed. “Even if the brake had held, it couldn’t stop a runaway team. I’m sure you did everything you could, Littletree.” He glanced at Laura. “Were you thrown out here at the river?”
“We jumped when we reached the bridge,” Laura explained. “I thought it would be a softer landing than crashing on the curve.”
“Indeed. Quick thinking,” Graeme said approvingly. “The carriage wound up on its side and lost a wheel. You two might have been killed if you were still in it.”
A violent shiver ran through Laura, only partially from the cold.
“Here,” an imperious female voice said, and Laura turned to see that Graeme’s grandmother, the dowager Countess of Montclair, had joined them. She draped a carriage rug around Laura’s shoulders. “No need to stand about freezing.”
“Thank you,” Laura said in a heartfelt voice, and remembered to give the older woman a little curtsey in greeting. Lady Eugenia was a stickler for courtesy.
“The horses, sir,” Littletree said to Graeme, his expression pleading. “Are they all right?”
“Yes, yes,” Graeme hastened to assure him. “They looked in decent shape. In a lather of course and standing there looking quite lost, but I didn’t see any cuts, and neither seemed to be limping. I left Barrow to look after them, and I drove us on to see what had happened to the people in the vehicle. Thank heavens you were all right.”
“Barrow.” Clearly the idea of Montclair’s coachman seeing to the team lifted much of the weight from Littletree’s shoulders. “That’s good. Thank you, my lord.”
“Now,” Abigail said firmly, “I think it’s time we took these two home and got them cared for.”
“Oh, yes,” Mirabelle agreed, putting her arm around Laura’s waist and leading her toward the carriage.
The others followed. The dowager countess seemed rather taken aback when she realized that Graeme was putting the injured coachman into the carriage with the ladies—as, indeed, did Littletree himself—but Graeme quelled whatever she was about to say with a firm look. Abigail wedged herself into the seat with Laura and Littletree so that the two older women had the forward-facing seat to themselves.
“I don’t know what Sir James is going to say about this,” Littletree said mournfully.
“Nothing,” Laura said firmly. “Because he’s not going to know about it.” Laura fixed the driver with a stern look. “Do you understand? You are not to let a word of what just happened get back to Sir James.”
“But, Laura, James would want to know.” Graeme paused in the act of climbing up into the higher driver’s seat. “No man would want to be kept in the dark if his wife had been in an accident.”
“No doubt he would not,” Laura retorted crisply. “But that doesn’t mean he should. You didn’t see how ill he’s been, Graeme.”
Graeme nodded, his eyes dark with worry. “He’s no better? Abby said—”
“I hope he will improve,” Laura said carefully, mindful of the coachman’s presence and the likelihood of servant gossip. “But I won’t have James fret himself into another fever because of some silly accident that he couldn’t have done anything to prevent.”
“No, you’re right, of course.” Graeme nodded. “We’ll say nothing about it.”
chapter 21
James walked from the bed to the dresser to the far wall and back again. He felt like a fool, tottering around his room like a two-year-old. But Laura was right. He must get stronger; he was useless as he was. So he would eat, though food still was tasteless at best. He would take Laura’s bitter nostrums and drink the blasted milk. He would sleep—he’d already taken two naps since he awoke this morning.
And he would walk in the privacy of his room to regain his strength. At least he had rid himself of Owen after a brief argument over whether Lady de Vere would approve. Fortunately, a desire to remain employed overcame the loyalty Laura engendered in everyone. He had waited until Laura left before he started his treks.
Not that Laura would have been shocked at his weakness. Hell, he’d been flat on his back, it seemed, half the time she’d been here. Still, he had some pride. He had already embarrassed himself this morning when he awoke and found Laura’s soft body snuggled against him—and his own body in a thoroughly aroused state. He’d been dreaming of her, and in that dream Laura was warm and willing, even eager, and he had no longer been ill or weak. He had been himself again, hungry and strong.
But even as the sweet pleasure flooded his body, he had realized how appalled Laura would be to awaken with the unmistakable evidence of his lust pressing against her. She was not only an untouched maiden, but she had made it clear—rather too clear, actually—that gracing his bed was not part of their bargain. James was not the sort of man Laura wanted.
Then he had made the situation even more humiliating by jumping back from her as if he were some maiden aunt. The result was that now he had permanently lost her sweet presence in his bed.
James cast a jaundiced eye at the cot Owen had set up for Laura on the other side of the room. It seemed a very poor place indeed for her to sleep while he took her large, soft bed. But she would never let her patient take the cot.
It wasn’t really the inequity of the sleeping arrangements that bothered him. The thing was . . . he enjoyed waking up with her in his arms. He’d liked turning over in the night and feeling her beside him. He wasn’t sure why, for he was a man who had always preferred to sleep in his own bed. Alone. He made it a point to leave a woman’s bed, not linger through the night. He had no need to cuddle and utter honeyed, meaningless words.
But these past few nights had been different. Even though he had been in and out of consciousness, h
alf the time not knowing what was real and what was not, he had been aware of Laura’s presence. The slow gentle sound of her breath. Her softness. Her warmth. It hadn’t been sexual. Or, at least, it had not been until this morning. James had the feeling he’d ruined things.
His less-than-happy thoughts were interrupted by a bark outside his door. James knew that particular bark, accompanied by several thumps of a large tail against the door. James turned, unsurprised when, after a short knock, Graeme opened the door.
More unexpected, however, was the square woman beside his cousin. “Lady Eugenia!”
“You needn’t sound so surprised, James.” The dowager countess stepped past Demosthenes, who was occupied with letting Graeme rub his ears. “One would think a beast like that wouldn’t have a place in a sickroom.”
“He keeps out unwanted visitors.” James sketched a bow. “Naturally, that would not include you.”
“Hmph.”
“James . . .” Aunt Mirabelle rushed into the room and engulfed him in a soft, sweet-scented hug. “I’ve been so worried about you.”
“No need to worry, you know nothing can kill me.” He gave her an affectionate squeeze and kissed her cheek. “Though, promise me, you will not tell the others I am better.”
“I won’t, dear, I swear. Graeme already warned me they’d all be in here bothering you if they knew you were on the mend.” She looked at him searchingly. “Oh, lovie, how thin you are.” Mirabelle steered him toward the bed. “Come, sit down.”
She fussed over him as the dowager countess took a seat on the chair and Graeme came over to shake his cousin’s hand. “You look well, James.”
James gave him a sardonic look. “No need to lie, coz. I look like I have one foot in the grave, but fortunately I’m pulling it out now, I think. Thanks to Laura.”
“I knew she was the perfect wife for you,” Mirabelle told him, patting his hand. “I’m so happy for you.”
“I must say I was surprised when I heard you’d married her,” Lady Eugenia said. “But I agree, she will make you an excellent wife.”
“That’s not what you said when I wanted to marry her!” Graeme protested.
James cast a jaundiced eye at his cousin. Graeme obviously was the sort of man Laura did want.
“Of course not. She wouldn’t have been a suitable wife for the Earl of Montclair.”
“But of course I,” James drawled, “am lowly enough in station to make it perfectly acceptable.”
“Don’t be impertinent.” Lady Eugenia fixed him with a gimlet eye. “The fact that you are ill does not give you license to be rude.”
“Of course not.” James bowed his head, properly chastened. “I beg your pardon.”
“As for Laura’s worthiness,” Lady Eugenia went on. “She is of good family and quite unexceptionable in manner. We all know where her lack lay, and since James is swimming in money, it will not signify. She’s a sensible girl. No doubt she has come to realize that marriage is a contract, and security is a far more important consideration than love.”
Her words, James reflected, were frighteningly similar to the argument James himself had made to Laura. He wondered why it sounded so irritating when Lady Eugenia said it.
“I feel sure she will be an admirable influence on you, James,” Lady Eugenia went on.
“No doubt.”
“She already has been a wonderful influence,” Mirabelle said, patting James’s hand. “She saved his life.”
“Indeed. I owe her a great deal.”
Mirabelle smiled and gave him another pat. “I’ll leave you to talk to the countess now, as I’ll have many other opportunities to visit you, but Lady Eugenia will be here only a short while.” From the look on his aunt’s face, James suspected that the brevity of the dowager countess’s stay was more a wish than a fact.
“Where is Laura?” James asked, looking toward the door.
“I am sure, quite properly, Laura is giving us the opportunity of a private conversation with you,” Lady Eugenia told him.
“Yes, no doubt that’s it,” Graeme agreed in a hearty voice.
“For pity’s sake, Graeme, sit down and stop fidgeting about,” Lady Eugenia said. “You don’t need to pretend all’s well in front of me. I’m fully aware that someone is trying to kill James.”
Ignoring Graeme’s pained expression, she turned back to James. “I suppose it’s Claude who wants you dead.”
“Grandmother . . .” Graeme groaned.
“Don’t be so missish, Montclair,” his grandmother retorted.
“Yes, Claude is my first choice,” James agreed.
“I always thought he was a sly boy,” Lady Eugenia went on. “But handling it will be a delicate situation. You won’t want any scandal.”
“Naturally. I’ve thought of simply slipping a knife between his ribs one night.”
“James . . .” Graeme rolled his eyes. “This is scarcely a time for jests.”
“Who says I’m jesting?”
“That wouldn’t do,” the dowager countess put in. “It would still be a dreadful scandal. And you wouldn’t want to be sent to the gallows.”
“That is a consideration.”
Graeme looked pained, but the dowager countess appeared pleased with their exchange. She stood up, reaching over to lay her hand on James’s shoulder. “I’m glad you didn’t leave us.” She gave him a little pat, completing James’s astonishment, and stepped back. “I am sure you two would prefer to talk in private.” She let out a martyred sigh. “So I shall visit with Tessa and Mirabelle.”
James watched her leave the room, then turned to his cousin. “I think I may be delirious again.”
“I told you Grandmother is fond of you.”
“I would have thought anything more than not fiercely disapproving of me would have been a step up for Lady Eugenia.”
“Are you all right?” Graeme moved closer. “I mean, really. Not for Mother’s or the dowager countess’s ears. Just me.”
“I am beginning to believe I shall live, yes. In exactly what state of health, I’m not sure.” James swung his legs off the bed and stood up. “I’ve spent the day walking back and forth across the room. So far I haven’t managed to stay on my feet much longer than five minutes. But it’s better than being flat on my back in bed.”
“Perhaps you should come to the hall to stay for a while. We’ve plenty of room.”
James gave him a sardonic look. “I’m not that feeble.”
“You’re not well,” Graeme countered. “If someone here is trying to kill you, how are you to stop him?”
“I’m well protected.” James waved toward the door. “Most of my family has a healthy regard for Dem’s teeth.” He paused, then added with a grin, “Besides, you should have seen Laura bar the door to Patricia and Archie.”
Graeme’s expression lightened. “I imagine that would be a sight.”
“All she needed was a flaming sword.”
At that moment the door opened, and the subject of their conversation stepped in. Graeme promptly popped to his feet. “Laura.”
“Montclair.” She gave him a formal nod.
James glanced from Graeme to his wife. They looked equally uncomfortable. What did Laura feel when she looked at Graeme? Regret? Bitterness? Yearning? James sat back down, suddenly exhausted.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have interrupted.” Laura turned toward the door. “Excuse me.”
“No, no, pray don’t go on my account. I was about to take my leave,” Graeme assured her. He glanced back at James and away.
“Is it raining outside?” James asked.
“What?” Laura looked surprised. “No, it’s quite lovely.”
“I just thought . . . is your hair wet?” James looked at Laura’s hair, not in its usual neat coronet of braids, but knotted loosely at the base of her neck and, yes, definitely dark with dampness.
“Oh!” Her cheeks flooded with color. “Well, when I got home I, um . . .”
“I shou
ld go,” Graeme said at the same time. “No doubt you’ll want to, uh . . .” With a vague nod, Graeme left the room.
James lay back against his pillows, linking his arms behind his head and idly watching Laura as she went to her vanity table. “That’s a different dress.”
“Yes. I bathed and changed clothes after I returned from the ride.” Pink bloomed along her cheekbones.
“Ah. Then that’s why your hair is wet.” And no doubt that was also why she had stumbled on the words earlier; it wasn’t the sort of thing to say in front of another man. But something a husband could be privy to. He wasn’t sure why that thought pleased him.
“Yes.” Looking into the mirror, not at him, she reached up and began to remove the pins from the heavy knot of hair at the base of her neck. It was only loosely done and it easily tumbled down, spilling over her shoulders. “I came to dry it by the fire.”
“I see.” His mouth suddenly dry, James watched her pick up a brush and comb and sit down in front of the fire. This, then, was another private intimacy afforded a husband, seeing the long fall of hair unbound, watching her brush it out.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you and Graeme.”
“Graeme was only fussing.” He dismissed him casually, more interested in watching Laura comb through her dark honey locks.
She leaned over, turning her face toward the fire, pulling her brush through the strands of her hair to the ends and letting it cascade down. James watched her, eyes half closed, desire coiling low in his abdomen. He didn’t mind the prickles of hunger. He welcomed the feeling of life stirring in him again, however little it would be satisfied.
This was enough for the moment, more than enough. He was alive and whole once more. And whatever lay in the past, whomever she had once loved, Laura was now his.
chapter 22
Laura glanced over her shoulder at the bed. James had fallen asleep. She tiptoed to his bed to pull the light blanket up over him. She studied his face. He looked vulnerable this way, his lashes long and dark against his cheeks, no mockery in his eyes or smirk to his mouth. She knew a momentary urge to stroke her fingers down his cheek. But that was foolish, of course. It might awaken him, and there was no need to touch him. Not really.