Karen Harbaugh (13 page)

“It has been a long time since I have seen a lake,” she said. “I think the last time was before Jack went in the army. He was my older brother, and I remember thinking when I was a girl that no one could possibly have a better brother than I.”

“You must have cared for him a great deal,” said Rothwick.

Linnea smiled. “Yes. He was rarely cross with me, and taught me all manner of things: swimming, shooting—yes, I can shoot a pistol, but not well—and fishing.” They stopped by the water’s edge, taking in the reflected blue of the sky.

“A Compleat Angler, are you?”

“Hardly.” She laughed. “I always seemed to slip and fall into the water—which was why Jack soon taught me to swim.”

“Hmmm. Remind me not to ask you along when I wish to cast a line.”

“No, I assure you, I have learned to be quite still, and have caught any number of trout.”

“Ah. Then I shall know whom to blame if I find all my sport gone.”

“You are a vexing man, to be sure! There is no pleasing you.” Linnea stooped to pick up a rock.

Rothwick eyed it with mock unease. “I am very easy to please, ma’am. Especially when you are armed.”

She suppressed a laugh. “I was not going to throw it at you! I was going to throw it in the lake!” she said primly. “There is something very gratifying about throwing rocks into water, you know.”

“Is there?” replied the earl with just a hint of laughter in his voice. He shook his head sadly. “For a vicar’s daughter, you are quite violent. First you abuse me, then my fish.”

“I had cause, I think,” Linnea said tartly, throwing the rock far out in the water. It landed with a satisfying splash.

“My trout are totally innocent, I assure you,” he replied.

“As you were not, I
assure
you!” She picked up another, much larger rock.

Rothwick grinned. He wondered how she would throw it, for it was half again the size of her hand and obviously heavy from the way she bit her lip in an effort to heft it. He put on a pained look.

“That again,” he replied. “I have tried to remedy my mistake, you know.”

Linnea turned toward him impulsively. “Oh, I am fully conscious of it, my lor—William! I, oh, ouch, oh, good heavens—”

Will swiftly grasped her arm to support her. Linnea’s face was pale with pain: in her haste to turn in his direction, she had stumbled and dropped the rock on her foot. The same foot, apparently, that she had twisted that night he had abducted her.

He led her to a small stone bench a few feet from the shore of the lake and kneeled down in front of her. She quickly tucked her foot beneath her, her face reddening even as she gasped with pain. “No, really, I am quite all right—so stupid of me! I don’t know how I came to be so clumsy—”

“Nonsense! Let me look at it!” commanded the earl. He reached forward and grasped her ankle, ignoring her cry of mingled pain and outrage. Gently he eased her shoe from her slender foot. A touch of blood stained the stocking; the rock had cut it, but he could not see through the sturdy cloth to determine the extent of the injury. “You will need to remove your stocking so I can see if you have broken anything.”

“I will not!” Linnea exclaimed. Her cheeks were becomingly stained with pink, and her lips pressed together tightly.

He grinned at her. “Missish, are you? You will have to get over that, you know. We are married, after all. I have no compunctions about removing it myself, if you will not do it.”

Linnea’s cheeks grew redder still. “Oh, you, you—!” Quickly she swung her legs around to the other side of the bench so that her back was to him, and he was rewarded by a brief glimpse of a well-shaped knee before she tossed her skirts back down over it. She turned around again.

“There!” she said, and thrust her foot at him defiantly.

Will took her foot and examined it gently. It was oozing a little blood, not badly, but a large bruise was forming under the wound, and if he was not mistaken, her instep was beginning to swell. He moved her foot this way and that, and though she gasped at the pain, it did not seem that anything was broken.

“A sprain, I think—not bad, I hope, but you should stay off it,” he said.

“And how would you know, O Doctor?” she said sarcastically.

Will stood up. “I have seen a few sprains,” he replied, smiling. “I was used to follow after Dr. Grenwich—and I will send for him once we return—when I was young, always asking him this or that. I don’t know how he bore with my incessant chatter, but he did. But come—” The earl held out his hand, which Linnea grasped.

Suddenly she found herself swung up in his arms. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, do let me down! I hardly need to be carried!” She looked up at him and found his face unnervingly close to hers.

He smiled down at her. “True, but think what a sensation it will make when the servants see us arriving this way.”

Linnea bit her lip to keep from laughing in spite of herself and her hurt foot. “Odious man! Do, do let me down! I am convinced I am much too heavy to carry!”

Rothwick appeared much struck. “I had not thought of that. And here I believed I was lifting nothing more than... oh, ten stone!”

“Ten stone!” cried Linnea. “I am hardly—how dare you—”

She was cut off by a kiss. This time it was deep and full and lovely, and she could feel the warmth of his body pressed close to hers. His arm shifted slowly from under her knees to let her down, but he still held her so that her feet only brushed the soft grass beneath them.

“Not fair...,” Linnea murmured as his lips moved just beneath her right ear.

“All’s fair...” His lips moved farther down to the base of her neck. She gasped.

“And is this war?” she managed to say.

Rothwick gave a husky chuckle and let her down gently. Linnea balanced gingerly on one foot.

“I think we should go back. Dr. Grenwich should see your foot as soon as possible.” He put his arm around her waist and took her hand firmly in his.

The sun had sunk a bit lower on the horizon as they turned back to the house. They exchanged no further conversation except scattered inanities about the weather or if she was experiencing much pain, for both were too preoccupied trying to wend their way back home. Growing tired, Linnea made only a token protest when he lifted her in his arms again, though she hid her blushing face in his chest when they went into the house.

It was with a sense of foreboding that the earl viewed Dr. Grenwich’s examination of Linnea’s foot, which was quite a bit more swollen now. The good doctor shook his head. No strenuous activities for my lady for a while, said he. A bad sprain and badly bruised, it was; he prescribed cold compresses, elevation of the limb, laudanum for the pain, and tincture of arnica.

Rothwick had looked forward to his wedding night with anticipation, but he had to be content with a chaste kiss on Linnea’s forehead when they parted for the night. He dared not come any closer to her lips than that. Her lips had proved too dangerous and tempting so far, and if he lingered near them, he feared he’d not have the strength to stop in consideration of her injury. Long ago he’d once himself had a sprained foot and had later tried to please a mistress of his. Perhaps he had pleased her, but the act of lovemaking had too many vigorous movements to it for him to ignore the sharp pain that had lanced through his foot at the most inappropriate moments. No, it was best that he wait until Linnea’s foot healed.

In his chamber he prepared for bed, but as soon as his head touched the pillow, he knew he would not drop off to sleep as easily as he had hoped. Rothwick sighed and rose again, putting on his robe. It would be a library-and-brandy night; a good book and one small glass of brandy often cured any amount of sleeplessness he had.

Once in the library he rang for Bartle for a fire to warm him and a bottle of brandy. He ignored his butler’s speculative look and picked up a book at random from the shelf. He settled down on his chair, stretching out his legs in front of the fire. Bartle silently poured the brandy.

“You may go, Bartle—and leave the bottle with me.”

Bartle’s face was impassive. “Very good, sir.”

Rothwick turned and looked at him. “And don’t give me that look. I’ve known you long enough to know you don’t approve of my hasty marriage—it doesn’t suit your notions of what is due my station in life. But I assure you, your consequence as my butler won’t suffer.”

A brief grin cracked the butler’s proper demeanor. “The thought never crossed my mind, sir.”

“The devil it didn’t,” retorted Rothwick. “Well, off with you, and a good night. The lady is from a good family, you know.”

“I always rely on your judgment, my lord,” replied Bartle with a bow. He turned toward the door, but not before he noticed his lordship had already downed a second glass. He shook his head. Not an auspicious start, this marriage. Not auspicious at all.

Chapter 8

Linnea closed her chamber door behind her and leaned against it. This was her wedding night, and all her fears and hesitant anticipations were for naught: her husband had merely kissed her on her forehead and left her at her door.

She did not know whether to be sad, embarrassed, or relieved. Well, embarrassed, certainly! What in heaven had caused her to be so stupid as to twist her foot and drop that rock on it, too? William must have thought her a regular nodcock, and she would not have blamed him if he had.

A knock at her door made Linnea wonder if it was William again, but no—Betty came in to help her undress. Linnea was soon ready for bed, her delicate lawn nightgown buttoned securely, her nightcap tied loosely under her chin. She winced as her maid helped her to bed. Her foot hurt, and the bedclothes pressing down on it irritated it. Linnea shifted herself this way and that, pulling the covers to the right and to the left of her foot. She sighed. She would have to bear the discomfort and have warm feet or uncover her foot and be chilled. Choosing warm feet, Linnea closed her eyes.

She could not sleep. She could not help being conscious of the fact that her room connected to Lord Rothwick’s—her husband’s—own chamber, that it was no doubt unlocked, and that someday it would open and he would come through it. She stared at it through the dark, trying to discern its shape. Useless!

Linnea fumbled with the tinderbox and, after a few tries, lit a candle. She would go to the library for a book. Perhaps she would ring for a little something to eat. Then she would sleep; reading at night always made her drowsy. She had been so nervous this evening that she had barely touched her supper, and the nervousness had not yet faded.

She discovered that putting weight on her foot still pained her dreadfully. Her eye caught sight of the medicine bottle on the side table next to the bed. She detested taking medicine; it always tasted horrible, and she always resisted taking it. Oh, drat! It was either lie awake in pain or take the awful stuff so she would be able to get to the library and select a book. Well, she would not take the full draught—just enough to take the edge off the pain, perhaps. She read the doctor’s receipt and poured half the prescription into water and drank it. Ugh!

Slowly Linnea hobbled down the hall and the stairs, trying to remember where Rothwick had said the library was and trying not to let her candle drip badly. By the time she came to the library, her foot was not paining her as much as it had, although she felt a little light-headed. She noticed the door was ajar, and there was a light within. She pushed the door open hesitantly but did not see anyone. At the bookshelves, she scanned the titles. Fielding, Cowper... Ah.
Sense and Sensibility,
and there was
Pride and Prejudice
as well. Linnea hesitated. She had read and liked both and would be more than glad to read them again. But then perhaps she should try a book she had not yet read…

“There is a new one by the same author, if you’d like to see it.”

Linnea jumped, almost upsetting her candle. “For goodness’ sakes, could you not give me warning before you send me into an apoplexy?”

Rothwick grinned. “You are too young to be apoplectic. I thought you must have known I was here.” He was standing next to a chair that was facing away from the doorway. No doubt he had been sitting in it and its high back had obscured him from view.

“No, I did not,” she said crossly. She had come to the library to get away from thinking of him in the room next to hers, and here he was again. What was more, he was in a magnificent dressing gown that showed off his shoulders to perfection, and she was acutely conscious of her own state of relative undress. She hoped the shadows in the room disguised her blush.

“Foot paining you, is it?” Rothwick asked solicitously.

Linnea shot him a fiery look, for his amused expression was in extreme contrast to his voice. “Actually, yes. The bedclothes pressed upon it in an irritating manner, so I could not sleep. I decided to get a book to take back with me.”

“I am sorry you were uncomfortable.” This time Rothwick’s voice was grave, and his face matched it. Then he smiled. “Come, sit. Elevating your foot should help.” She sat, and he reached over to a bottle on a small table to the side of his chair and poured a small amount of golden liquid into a glass. “Would you care for some brandy, or perhaps some other refreshment?”

Linnea had never had any brandy before and hesitated.

“Please try it. It is strong, but quite good, and I assure you it should bring a bit of comfort to you this night.”

Linnea took the glass and sipped it. The brandy coursed down her throat like liquid fire, and she coughed. A smoky-sweet taste flooded her mouth. “I, I think I like it.” This time she took another, more cautious taste. She smiled up at him. “Yes, I do like it. Thank you.” She drank a little more.

“You are welcome.” He returned her smile and knelt at her feet, pulling up a footstool. He held out his hand and looked meaningfully at her foot. Linnea blushed, and he laughed. “My dear, it is much too late to be missish. I have already seen your ankle, and held your delightful little foot. As it is, it is covered in bandages. You are not used to the weight of them; I am merely offering to set your foot gently upon this footstool to forestall any painful knocks against it.”