A Taste for Scandal (27 page)

She thought of his question. What was wrong? She dropped her gaze and shook her head. She wouldn’t voice her doubts and her fears. Just because she was feeling a little hesitant was no reason to ruin the experience. With her eyes averted from his, she caught sight of her mother’s cedar hope chest, standing guard at the foot of the bed. She pressed her eyes closed; she did
not
want to be thinking about her mother’s advice to her right then.

He brought his hands to either side of her face, cupping her chin in his palms as he gently raised her head. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” When she didn’t answer, he drew her toward him and dropped a kiss at the corner of each eye. It was so sweet, the apprehension began to melt within her.

“Nothing.” She bit her lip and looked up into his eyes. “It’s all just so fast, that’s all.”

He paused, tilting his head slightly as he considered her. She tried not to betray the nervousness coursing through her, focusing instead on the anticipation still heating her blood and tickling her belly.

Richard smiled slightly and leaned forward to press a light kiss against her lips before drawing back. “Do you know,” he said, twining his fingers with hers, “I suddenly feel quite parched.”

She raised an eyebrow. It was not something she would ever expect a man to say whilst sitting on a woman’s bed. “You’re
parched
?”

“Indeed. I do believe a cup of tea sounds perfect. Particularly if accompanied by a biscuit.”

A smile teased the corners of her lips, and she smiled at him. He always managed to surprise her with his unexpected moments of intuition. “I’m fine, Richard. Truly I am.”

“Good. Then you shan’t have any trouble accommodating me. Besides,” he said, pausing while he lifted her hand to his lips for a soft kiss, “I have all night, all week, or even all year to have my way with you. I never thought I would say the words, but sometimes good things come to those with patience.”

Her heart lifted to hear him say as much. They may not have forever, but they certainly had more than this moment. The feeling deep within her that she might be ruining her only chance eased, and she rolled her eyes teasingly. “You are the least patient person I know.”

“Which should tell you just how much of good a thing I think you are.”

The smile he gave her very nearly toppled her every reservation. But he was right—taking a moment to just be with him, to gather herself and relax, was a very good idea. He was a saint to propose such a thing, and she was all the more delighted with him because of it.

She swung her legs around and got to her feet. “Well, fortunately for you, your patience can be had with tea
and
a side of chocolate biscuits.” She had made them for him just in case. They were his favorite, after all.

“You, my sweet, are an angel.” He stood and grabbed his discarded shirt, pulling it over his head before gesturing for her to lead the way. Once out in the main living area, she waved for him to sit at the table, then bent down to stoke the fire. It was an oddly intimate scene, him sitting at her table half dressed while she tended to their tea. It felt natural, as though he had always been meant to be by her side, sharing such a mundane yet somehow meaningful moment with her.

She would have expected him—or any man, really—to be short with her, with lingering regret at her second thoughts souring the evening. But that couldn’t have been further from the reality of things. Richard was sweet and funny, teasing her as she readied the tea and delighting in the plate of biscuits she set before him. Even as they bantered and laughed, the passion was still there, smoldering just below the surface, flashing between them whenever their eyes met. His touches were light and fleeting—a brush of his fingers against her cheek, a quick slide of his arm across hers—but they made her shiver in the best possible way. It was a promise of things to come, free from pressure or expectations.

It was because of their laughter that they didn’t hear it at first. It started off quietly, the staccato taps blending with the constant drum of rain. But then it seemed to escalate, separating itself from the storm. Almost at the same time, their gazes snapped up, and in a flash of comprehension, Jane’s heart lurched wildly as she realized what the sound was.

Dear Lord, someone was hammering on her door!

Chapter Twenty-two

Horror doused whatever lingering humor Jane possessed like a bucket of ice water on red hot coals. Whoever it was would wake the dead with that racket!

Richard was out of his chair in a flash. Shoving his shirttails down his pants, he rushed to the window and peeked through the curtains. “Bloody hell, it’s my family’s blasted coachman.” Before she could stop him, he threw open the window and hissed, “Lawrence, cease this at once!”

The noise stopped in that instant, and Jane could hear nothing over the roar of the blood in her ears and the relentless rain. The fool! What was wrong with the man—he very well could have just ruined her! As she struggled to pull her hair into a rough knot at the base of her head, Richard slammed the window down with a resounding
thunk
.

“I’ll be right back. You stay here.” Grabbing his boots, he ducked out the door and disappeared.

Like hell she would! Jane shoved her feet into her slippers—her only footwear without laces—and raced after Richard as he thundered down the stairs to the kitchen. By the time she was halfway down the steps he yanked open the door, grabbed the coachman by his collar, and unceremoniously hauled the man inside before slamming the door shut again with enough force to rattle the frame.

Lawrence stood dripping just inside the door, his wide eyes riveted on Richard. Even the darkness of the small vestibule couldn’t hide the fury on Richard’s face, matched only by the force of anger burning within Jane’s chest. How could the man have done such a stupid thing?

“What is the meaning of this?” Richard growled, his voice taut as a drawn bow. “Do you have any idea what you have done?” She had never seen him angry before, and even she took a small step back.

The man was a good four inches shorter than Richard, and his face paled to the color of ash. “F-forgive me, my lord. Lady Beatrice sent me here to find you. It’s your father. H-he’s ill—you must come at once.”

Jane drew in a sharp breath, her fury instantly transforming to worry as she was assailed by the memory of the night a pounding on the door had brought news of her own father’s death. Her eyes darted to Richard, all thoughts of neighbors and propriety whisked from her mind.

Richard blinked several times, and then comprehension dawned. Belatedly, he released his hold on the servant’s collar and lifted his gaze to where Jane stood on the last step. “I must go.”

The raw emotion in his normally teasing gaze wrapped around her heart like a cold fist. “Yes, yes, of course.” She reached out and grasped his hand, squeezing hard before releasing him. “Get your boots on; I’ll go get your things.”

Within minutes he was gone. Worry gathered in her chest like a storm cloud as she watched him go, and she sent up a fervent prayer for his father’s health. Before closing the door, she glanced up and down the dark alley, shivering with a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. If anyone saw the men leave, she didn’t know what she would do. She squinted through the rain at the windows above the shops across the way. Did the curtains move, or was that her overheated imagination?

Gooseflesh peppered the back of her neck, and she swallowed past the continent that had somehow lodged itself in her throat.

There was nothing to be done about it now. If any of her neighbors had seen anything, Jane had no doubt Mrs. Brown would be on her doorstep by day’s end.

The ride home was a blur. Before he knew it, Richard was rushing up the steps, soaking wet and panting with both fear and exertion. If he hadn’t already been told something was horribly wrong, he would have known as much when, for the first time in his entire life, the glossy black door didn’t swing open at his approach.

Pausing to steel himself against whatever news awaited on the other side, he turned the knob and let himself in. The entry hall was oddly quiet, ominously so. Wasting not a second more, he shed his overcoat and vaulted up the stairs, heading straight for the master suite. He glanced in the drawing room as he passed, and stopped abruptly. Beatrice was alone, huddled on the sofa with her arms wrapped around her legs and her chin resting on the top of her knees. She looked like a frightened child.

“Bea?”

She started, her eyes flying up to meet his as if shaken from a trance. “Oh, Richard!” In a moment she was in his arms, heedless of his damp clothes, crying into his shoulder and squeezing him so tightly he could scarcely draw a breath. He squeezed her back, terror constricting his throat as he waited for her to collect herself enough to tell him what the bloody hell was going on.

“It’s, it’s Papa,” she said, her voice muffled by the cloth of his jacket.

He pulled away and looked down at her, dread pumping through his icy veins. “Yes, I know. What happened exactly? Is he all right? Is he . . .” He trailed off, unable to ask the question.
Is he still alive?
Mother would never have summoned him if the situation was not dire.

“He had some sort of attack. He collapsed in his study. Mama sent for the doctor right away, and the only thing I know thus far is that Dr. Givens thinks it is his heart. He was white as a sheet and barely breathing. I told Mama to let me know if he improves, but I’ve yet to hear a thing.” Her eyes were huge and fearful as she looked up to him, her blond hair in disarray. “It’s been hours, Richard.” The last was whispered, and she sniffled as fresh tears fell down her flushed cheeks.

“Where is everybody?”

“Evie went up to the nursery ages ago to put Emma to bed. Jocelyn and Carolyn went with her so they would have something to do. Mama is with Papa.” Her voice broke, and she paused to swallow. “And Benedict, the coachmen, and half the footmen are out looking for you. When you weren’t at the club or your normal haunts, I—I told Lawrence where I thought you might be. I made him promise to go around the back way so no one would see. I didn’t know what else to do. I’ve never felt so useless in all my life.”

There was no anger or accusation in her tone, only upset. Still, guilt wracked him like a physical force. He hugged her to him once more before guiding her to the sofa. “I’m so sorry, Bea. I should have told somebody where I’d be in case I was needed.” He eased her down onto the soft velvet cushions and gave her shoulders a squeeze. “I need to go see him. Will you be all right?”

She sniffled and nodded, and he gave her his handkerchief to replace the crumpled one lying limply on the sofa table.

“Good. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Retreating to the hallway, he paused as soon as he was out of view of his sister and raked both hands through his hair. Dear God, how could this be happening? His father had to be all right—he
had
to! Taking a deep, almost painful breath, Richard set off for the master suite.

Every servant he passed immediately ceased whatever they were doing, their gazes dropping to the floor. His stride stretched longer and longer until he was almost running by the time he arrived outside the double doors leading to his father’s chambers.

Taking a deep breath, he rapped his knuckles against the wood and waited. Instead of a servant as he expected, his mother pulled open the door. Her gown, pristine when he left, was now disheveled, its voluminous skirts crushed and wrinkled. Purple smudges stained the hollows beneath her eyes. She looked as though she had aged a decade in a handful of hours.

“Mama,” he said, unconsciously using the endearment from childhood. She stared at him for a moment as if he were a specter before recognition flared in her tired eyes and she stepped forward.

“Thank heavens, you’re here at last.” Her voice was thin and strained, so different from her normal self. He gathered her in his arms as if she were an injured baby bird. She seemed so fragile, and it scared the hell out of him. As he held her, he looked over her shoulder to the imposing four-poster bed that dominated the room. The doctor stood beside the night table, quietly averting his gaze. Father lay still in the center of the bed, his skin waxy and slightly gray. Richard’s gut twisted.

His mother pulled back and looked up at him. “He’s only just awoken. He’s been asking for you.”

His father opened his eyes slowly, as if each lid were weighted. Though the movement was lethargic, it gave Richard hope—if he was awake, he must be on the mend. Releasing his mother, Richard padded to the chair that had been placed beside the bed and sat. He didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He couldn’t remember ever having seen his father in bed, let alone in such a state.

Hesitantly, Richard reached for his father’s hand and squeezed it. The marquis weakly returned the gesture, and Richard clenched his jaw against the feeling of the older man’s near lifeless, cold grip. Keeping his voice low, he asked, “How do you feel?”

Father just shook his head. “You must take care of your mother and sisters.”

“Yes, of course I’ll look after them until you are well.”

“I’m relying on you, Richard.”

“I know, Father. I won’t let you down.”

He closed his eyes then, his breathing shallow and uneven. Richard looked to the doctor, who stood and motioned for Richard to follow him out of earshot of the patient. As Richard moved to follow him, Mother reclaimed her chair and covered his father’s hands with her own.

“Lord Granville is very ill, my lord. With the state of his heart, even a minor stress can have terrible effects.”

Richard nodded. If that was what it would take to get his father healthy, he’d make sure to keep every possible stress as far away as possible from his father.
Nothing
would get in the way of his recovery—if Richard had to cushion the house in cotton batting and take over every blasted responsibility his father ever had right down to cutting his food, by God he’d do it.

He would not fail his father.