“How do you spell exaggeration?”
Jason left the two of them to it, grabbed his winter coat from the peg by the door to put on over the coat he always wore, and headed into the lobby then out of the hotel. Flossie didn’t know the way the business world worked, for all her exceptional talent. Enterprises like his depended on their relationships with financiers, suppliers, and advertisers. Lady E dropping him would be seen as proof that he was mad, and it was bad business to work with a madman. He wasn’t exaggerating overmuch to speculate that everything he’d built could come crumbling down. He would be lucky if he could hold onto The Dragon’s Head.
He fetched is horse from the hotel’s mews and rode up to Huntingdon Hall with a heavy heart. As rotten and adrift as he felt, he didn’t want to lose his hotels. They were everything to him. He’d worked too hard to just let them go. At the same time, he didn’t feel up to maintaining them. The pressure of it all made him want to find another closet to hide in until things got better. If they ever got better.
Huntingdon Hall had a brittle feeling about it as Jason dismounted and handed his horse’s reins to Lord Gerald’s groom. It was more than just the frost that coated the winter-withered shrubs and plants or the washed-out feeling of the cold stone against a cloudy sky. It was next to impossible to heat a place as big as the Hall, but the chill was in more than just the air as Jason strode into the front hall. It didn’t bode well for him.
“Lady E is expecting you, sir,” Hugo, Lord Gerald’s butler, greeted Jason with a weary look in his eyes that said he’d heard all the rumors and then some. Hugo looked as though he would say more, but before he could, Lady Arabella swept out of one of the parlors, dressed to go out.
She started at the sight of Jason and turned her face slightly away from him, skittish as a rabbit. “Mr. Throckmorton. I wasn’t expecting to see you.”
“I’ve been summoned by Lady Elizabeth,” Jason explained, certain Lady Arabella’s odd look was because she’d heard the rumors too. Why else was she so determined not to look directly at him? Then again, she did seem to be wearing an inordinate amount of cosmetics…which failed to fully hide a dark patch on her cheekbone. Jason opened his mouth to comment, but thought better of it.
“I won’t be out long, Hugo,” Lady Arabella said in a rush. “If anyone cares to look for me, tell them I’ve gone to the shops.”
Jason knew fear and lies when he saw them, but still he kept quiet.
“Yes, my lady,” Hugo said, paternal concern and pain in his eyes. He waited until Lady Arabella was gone before returning his attention to Jason. “Very sorry, sir,” he said with a bow. “Lady E said to send you up to Lord Gerald’s room.”
“Lord Gerald’s room?” Jason asked, starting toward the stairs. “She’s with him?”
“Yes, sir,” Hugo answered. There was definitely a story behind the look in the butler’s eyes.
Jason had been up to Lord Gerald’s room enough times not to need directions to get there. He heard Lady E’s voice—as if she were reading a book aloud—before he reached the room’s open door. As soon as he stepped into the doorway, Lady E put down her book and glanced up at Jason with the same sort of indulgent smile a mother would use with a simple child.
“Look, Papa. Jason is here,” she said.
Lord Gerald muttered something in a half-asleep voice and pushed at his bed as though trying to sit up.
“I’ll help you, Papa.” Lady E set her book aside.
“Allow me,” Jason said. He strode to Lord Gerald’s bedside and wrapped his arms around the old man, muscling him into a sitting position. He’d done the same a time or two before.
“Who are you?” Lord Gerald asked, staring at Jason with narrowed eyes.
“Jason Throckmorton. Remember?” Jason asked in a raised voice, though he felt silly doing it. There was nothing wrong with Lord Gerald’s hearing, even though his memory left much to be desired.
“Throckmorton?” Lord Gerald said. His mouth hung open for a moment before he asked, “Why do I know that name?”
“Jason has been here before, Papa,” Lady E said, shifting from her chair to her father’s bed. “He’s my fiancé, remember?”
Jason blinked in surprise. “Am I?”
Lady E glanced up at him with a puzzled look. All three of them looked like clueless, gaping fools. “Yes, of course you are.”
“You didn’t bring me here to call things off?” Jason asked on.
Lady E stared at him as though he had two heads. “Why would I do that?” The pink in her cheeks belied her innocent demeanor.
“Because I’m mad,” he reminded her. “You’ve seen me at my worst.”
“Oh, that?” Lady E did a poor job of pretending she hadn’t seen and that it didn’t matter. “That’s over now.”
Jason could hardly believe what he was hearing. He sat in the chair beside Lord Gerald’s bed and crossed his arms. “You can’t possibly want to shackle yourself to a man who has fits like I had.”
“You only had a fit because you were in London,” Lady E rushed on, busying herself with her father and not looking at Jason. “You’ll be fine as long as you don’t return to the city.”
Jason arched one eyebrow. “Do you truly believe that?”
“It’s what Flossie said, and I believe her,” Lady E admitted.
Jason raised his other eyebrow. Had the two women been in collusion when he was distracted with his fit? “But you want to spend time in London, being the queen social bee, don’t you?”
“I still can,” Lady E said, continuing to not look at him. “We don’t have to be together all the time, after all. Many high society couples aren’t. We can say that you have business elsewhere.”
Jason could hardly believe his ears. “Association with me won’t work the same social magic that it would have before, you know. Thanks to Bligh and others, there are already rumors flying about my mental health.”
“Rumors that can easily be squashed by a show of support from me. What better way to support you is there than continuing this engagement?” At last, she looked at him. There was a hint of wariness in her eyes, but with it was something he’d never seen before in Lady E—compassion.
Jason let out a breath and wiped a hand over his face. “I fail to see the benefit of this arrangement for you anymore. I’m not the prize I once was.”
“I like you, Jason,” she said, startling him. In spite of the frown he sent her, there was still a softness in her eyes. “I know that wasn’t why I asked you to marry me in the first place—”
“Now see here,” Lord Gerald interrupted. “You asked him?”
“Never mind, Papa. It isn’t important now.” She reached out to pat her father’s hand. “What’s important is that I feel a sort of…kinship with Jason now.” She glanced to Jason again. “I saw a side of you in London that I didn’t know was there,” she admitted. “I thought you were just a loud, brash man. A man like any other man. All men are gross and boorish. They take what they want and push the women in their lives around. Like that villainous George Fretwell,” she went on with a sudden burst of anger. “Why Lady Arabella ever—”
She stopped herself and shook her head, as though the thought were too horrible to bear. After a deep breath, she went on. “But you’re not like that. I’ll admit, I thought you were. That’s why I was so harsh with you. I wanted to beat you before you beat me. But that’s not you at all. You’re vulnerable. You’re complex.”
Jason rolled his eyes. If she thought she was complimenting him, she had a lot to learn.
“And I saw the way Flossie was with you,” she went on. “I thought she’d merely wormed her way into your affections so that she could rise in the world. But no, she loves you.” A sudden misty look came to Lady E’s eyes. “She loves you the way I’ve always wanted to be loved—purely, unreservedly.”
“She does,” Jason admitted, dropping his shoulders. “Though heaven knows I don’t deserve it.”
“But you deserve
me,” Lady E went on, more insistent. “You deserve the connections I can still provide you with. You deserve the chance to get one foot in the door of society. It’s the least I can give you.”
Hope sprang in Jason’s chest, even though he didn’t agree with Lady E. If she did stand by him, there was a chance he could dismiss the rumors and maintain the status quo. His life would return to normal, or whatever passed for normal in his world.
“You would really take that risk?” he asked. “There’s no guarantee I won’t have another episode.”
“As long as you’re with Flossie, you won’t,” she answered, more confident than he felt.
“There’s no guarantee of that,” he repeated. “I love Flossie. She calms me in a way no one or no thing ever has. But there are other things, other…deficiencies about my character and my state of mine, that I haven’t told you about. I’m not normal.”
“Are any of us? Lady E asked with a dismissive laugh. A moment later, she grew serious. “We all do what we can, Jason. This is one thing I can do. And honestly, nothing has changed. The union is still advantageous to us.”
Jason sat back in his chair and studied her. “Do you really think so?”
“As long ‘us’ includes Flossie, then yes.”
“And that’s why you called me here today? To tell me the engagement is still on?”
“No,” she laughed. “I called you here to get me out of spending another second of my time with George Fretwell. That man is a monster. You know, he’s only living here, now that his father and my Aunt Charlotte have returned from their honeymoon, because he’s already used most of Lady Arabella’s dowry to pay off his gambling debts. And Aunt Charlotte is only staying here because she thinks if she’s stubborn enough, Alexandra will see the light and run home to her. Which is patently absurd, by the way, because from what I’ve heard, she enjoys Dr. Pycroft far too much to leave his arms, if you know what I mean.”
Part of Jason wanted to roll his eyes at the way Lady E was drawing him into her circle of gossip. Clearly, she thought of him as one of her bosom friends now, and apparently gossip was the currency of women and their friends. But part of him couldn’t resist the bait she’d laid out for him.
“Marshall Pycroft is like a brother to me,” he said. “And Flossie has become fast friends with Alexandra. Both of them have told me on numerous occasions that the bond Marshall and Alexandra have is far stronger than Lady Charlotte probably suspects. Marshall adores Alexandra, and from what I’ve observed, the feeling is mutual.”
“Oh, but Alexandra could never actually fall in love with a man like Dr. Pycroft,” Lady E argued. “He’s…he’s so middle class.”
“He’s the best of men,” Jason argued. “And he treats her like a queen. Some women don’t need gold and jewels and fancy houses to feel loved and cared for.” Like Flossie. All she seemed to need was something to keep her busy and him by her side. Perhaps she was the mad one after all.
“I suppose you’re right,” Lady E sighed. “But I do think something must agree with my cousin. Do you know that during the house party last summer George Fretwell was spotted leaving her room very early by one of the servants?”
Jason hadn’t known, but he assumed Marshall did, so he treated the on dit as what it was, bait to get him to return gossip with gossip. “If I had a penny for every time guests were seen sneaking out of other guests’ rooms very early in the morning at my hotel, I’d have enough to build a new hotel.”
“Really?” Lady E’s eyes lit up. “Anyone I know?”
“You’d be surprised.”
And of all the ridiculous things, as if he were sipping tea with the ladies on the lawn, Jason launched into a set of juicy, scandalous stories that was certain to secure his friendship with Lady E for years to come.
Alexandra
“Needle,” Marshall said, holding out his hand.
Alexandra was ready with the needle and thread he needed to close Mrs. McCreedy’s incision. She watched with interest as Marshall quickly stitched closed the opening in her stomach he’d made to remove the woman’s gallbladder, moving to staunch the slight bleeding. They worked perfectly together, and it was a relief to be able to stand on the other side of the surgical table with him once more.
“There.” He breathed a sigh of relief and stepped back, removing his cloth mask, when the wound was closed. “That ought to do it.”
“Beautiful work, Dr. Pycroft,” Alex complimented him, nodding for Nurse Stephens to step in and clean Mrs. McCreedy’s exposed flesh with the new brand of sterilization fluid they were trying. Alex herself circled around the table to remove her own mask and to scrub her hands in the sink where Marshall now stood. “I’ve missed performing surgeries,” she said with feeling, the same way her mother said she missed French cuisine when they’d made a trip to Paris after a five-year absence.
“I’ve missed performing them with you,” Marshall said. The smile he gave her spoke volumes. It was contented and warm. His eyes shone with affection and a hint of lust. He stood closer to her than normal colleagues would have, and judging by the way his gaze dropped to her lips, he was thinking of kissing her.
Butterflies flittered through Alex’s stomach at the thought. She wasn’t about to let him take those kinds of liberties while they were at work, but in the past three days—and four nights—since he’d returned from London, she’d allowed him all kinds of liberties when they were at home. Which had almost caused mortifying embarrassment when a drowsy Martha wandered into their bedroom after having a bad dream just as things had heated up. At Marshall’s request, Lawrence had installed a lock on their bedroom door the next day.
“You’re lovely when you blush, you know,” Marshall said, nudging her arm.
“Am I blushing?” Alex stepped away to dry her hands, her face burning.
“Don’t worry,” Marshall told her with a jaunty grin. “I won’t try anything untoward with you at work.” He paused, then added, “Much as I want to.”
He followed the comment with a wink so devilish that it sent the butterflies in her stomach southward to form a distinct ache.
“It’s a shame we have more work to do,” Alex replied, uncertain if she was flirting, uncertain if she wanted to flirt.
“We do,” Marshall agreed, gesturing for her to precede him into the hall. “Last I checked, the waiting room was full.”
“Dr. Dyson, you have a private patient waiting for you upstairs in room five,” Mrs. Garforth said as she passed them, looking like she was on her way to put out a fire.
The only private patient Alex had was Lady Arabella, who was scheduled that afternoon for the appointment Marshall had advised her to make. It was odd that she was there hours early. Alex’s stomach lurched at the prospect. She pressed a hand to her belly—which was beginning to be noticeably larger now—and drew in a breath.
“Hmm.” Marshall hummed at the sight of her distress. “Would you have a word with me in here first?” He nodded toward their office.
Alex followed him into the room, turning as he shut the door behind them. Before she could do more than open her mouth to ask what he wanted, Marshall swept her into his arms and slanted his mouth over hers. He angled her against the low cabinet just inside the room so that she was forced to sit and he could move between her legs. The whole thing was so suddenly passionate that she reacted with ardor before she could think better of it.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t try anything at work?” she panted when they paused for breath.
“This is the office, not work,” he said, moving his hands from her sides to her breasts. Her nipples tightened as he rubbed them with his thumbs through her corset.
“Someone could walk through the door,” she argued, boldly slipping her hands down to his backside. Marshall had a magnificent backside, firm and delicious to hold onto.
The thought startled her into awkwardness even before Marshall took a step back and said, “You’re right,” with a rogue’s smile. “But I
saw the look in your eyes when Mrs. Garforth told you Lady Arabella was here. You were on your way to being upset about it.”
“And now I’m upset about it and quite a bit warmer than I should be before going in to consult with her,” Alex said, straightening herself and stepping toward the door. “I may need to be distracted again when I’m finished speaking with her.”
“I’ll be here for you,” Marshall said with more seriousness and an ample amount of affection.
Alex bit her lip, uncertainty plaguing her, then stepped into him and kissed him briefly before rushing into the hall and up the stairs. The truth was that she couldn’t flee from her feelings for Marshall fast enough. That in itself made little sense to her. Marshall was her husband. She had every right to feel affection for him. She didn’t deny that. What still had her tied in knots—as much as it had in the first days of their marriage—was that her feelings toward him were so carnal that she blushed every time they snuck up on her. She’d never even heard of a woman feeling so overheated about her husband, especially when the marriage wasn’t a love match. Either there was something wrong with her or every married woman she’d ever known had either lied about her marriage or was missing out.
Then again, the only married women she’d known in her years, at least socially, were priggish, upper-class snobs who believed a woman’s worth was directly tied to her husband’s standing. She doubted any of them felt the wild wantonness that Marshall could raise in her with his touch and his kiss. If she’d been tempted to think he would be cautious and reserved with her, given her pregnancy, she’d been wrong. He’d seemed even more determined to bring her to orgasm multiple times a night since returning from London.
That thought and those memories were foremost in her mind as she knocked lightly on room five before entering.
“Good afternoon, Lady Arabella,” she greeted her old pseudo-friend as the image of Marshall with his head between her legs, giving her astounding amounts of pleasure with his lips and tongue persisted. Lord, but he was talented that way. His moustache added levels of pleasure to the whole thing that—
The Brynthwaite Boys: Season Two - Part Two Page 14