Karen Harbaugh (20 page)

“It was your homesickness, no doubt, that made you think so.”

“No.” He flashed a wide, white smile at her.

“Ohh... Oh! There is Staynes!” Thank heavens, Sophia thought. She did not know how she was going to maintain any control in the conversation if he kept... Well, she did not know what it was he kept doing, but it disconcerted her, and she did not like it. Situations, conversations, felt far more comfortable if she held the reins. Sophia slanted a look at Sir James, but he was gazing toward Staynes. She bit her lip. She hoped it would not be difficult to persuade Lady Rothwick to extend her hospitality to Sir James.

* * * *

It was not difficult at all. When Linnea examined the splint, she eyed Sir James with approval.

“Of course you must stay as well. You cannot continue your journey clad only in your shirtsleeves!”

Sir James bowed. “I thank you, Lady Rothwick. You are most kind. I will only visit so long as I am without my coat; as soon as it is laundered, I will leave.”

Linnea saw Sophia cast Sir James an anxious glance. She almost sighed in relief. It seemed Miss Amberley had formed a tendre for the man; possibly this meant she was at least somewhat recovered from her broken betrothal to Rothwick. She hoped it would make their situation less awkward.

For indeed, Linnea felt the awkwardness acutely. Here was Rothwick’s former betrothed, a beautiful young lady, thrust into her, Linnea’s, company by a dreadful accident. Linnea would not blame the girl if she thought of her as an interloper, a horrid person who had taken away her former betrothed. She was sure that it was not only the accident that had caused Miss Amberley to burst into tears upon seeing her. What a shock, indeed, it must have been to come upon the woman who had caused so much trouble in her life—and that after less than a month’s time.

But if Miss Amberley had an interest in Sir James, perhaps it would not be a bad thing at all to have him stay. Linnea bit her lip guiltily. She was trying to distract her guests, just so she would not have to deal with any unpleasantness. Oh, but she would much rather not have any unpleasantness right now, not with Rothwick recovering from the influenza. Linnea’s uneasiness grew as she thought of Rothwick’s possible reaction upon finding he had guests. And what if he still had some feelings toward Miss Amberley? Linnea’s heart contracted painfully at the idea. She thrust the thought away. These people were in difficult straits. They needed help.

So she smiled at Sir James and said, “Oh, if your business is not urgent, surely you can stay a little longer? I am afraid Miss and Mr. Amberley would feel quite dull here, for my hus—I have been nursing Lord Rothwick in his illness, and I would be a sorry conversationalist for you all, rushing back and forth from sickroom to parlour. Your presence, sir, would add leavening to our company, I am sure.”

Sir James bowed again. “I am honored, ma’am.”

“Oh! Is Lord Rothwick ill?” A look of consternation flashed across Miss Amberley’s face.

“Yes, but you need not worry,” Linnea replied, and smiled at her reassuringly. “He is recovering, and I am sure he shall be up and about in a few days.” If, she thought to herself, he behaves as he ought and does not arise from bed too soon. She rang the bell for Bartle and smiled at her guests. “I shall make sure your rooms are ready for you. Did you have trunks on your carriage, Mr. Amberley?”

Richard looked up, apparently startled from a brown study. “Trunks? Oh, yes! We did, just two, I believe.”

“Very well, then. I shall have them brought to your rooms. Meanwhile, do feel free to roam the house and the estate as you will. There is some fishing to be had in the lake, and our stable is at your disposal.”

After Bartle came to escort them to their rooms, Linnea slumped down on a chair by the fireplace and rubbed her eyes wearily. Perhaps she could delay telling Lord Rothwick about the guests while he stayed within his rooms. How very awkward it was, to be sure! Oh, but this marriage of convenience was far from being convenient. She sighed. Lord knew this honeymoon—if it could even be called that—had not been.

Linnea made herself sit up straight and squared her shoulders. Well, she would just have to do the best she could with it, that was all. Certainly nothing worse could happen.

Chapter 11

“I beg your pardon?” Rothwick’s gruel-filled spoon paused halfway to his mouth, and he stared fixedly at Linnea.

“I... I invited the Amberleys and Sir James Marlowe to stay with us for a while,” Linnea repeated.

He put down his spoon, gruel untasted. “Why, pray, did you do that? And why did you not ask me first?” The earl’s voice was chilly.

Linnea clasped her hands nervously on her lap. The chair in her husband’s chambers suddenly felt uncomfortable, and she moved to the edge of it. She looked at Rothwick, sitting up in his bed, a tray in his lap. He did not look pleased. Well, she had not been, either, at first, so she did not blame him. But really! He did not need to be so autocratic. This was her home, too, now, was it not?

“I did not think I needed to ask your permission, my lord,” she replied stiffly.

A flash of irritation crossed his face. “This is my home. I should at least be made aware of anything that goes on under its roof. As my wife, you should have told me who was at our door before making any decisions about who is to come and go here.”

“If you will remember, my lord, you were asleep yesterday. Their carriage suffered a bad accident, and their groom was badly injured. Sir James sacrificed his coat and neckcloth to make the servant more comfortable, and had no other coat with him. What else was I to do? Tell them to go fifteen miles farther to the nearest inn? I think not!”

Rothwick broke his gaze briefly, and a tinge of pink settled on his cheeks. “Ah, I see. Well, I suppose there was no helping it,” he said gruffly.

“No, there was not.” Linnea’s voice was subdued. She did not look at him. He had made it quite clear, she thought. It was
his
home, not hers. She was his wife and, as such, must consult him on all things and decide none. It rankled, to be sure. She had thought she had left autocracy at her cousin Boothe’s house, but she had not, really. Ah, whom was she trying to fool? It was not his arrogance that rankled—she had dealt with that before in other people, and it never left her in the doldrums even if she did not like it. It was the thought that she was here on sufferance, that this was not her home, and that she did not really have a home unless he pleased. And how different was it, in spirit, from her cousin Boothe’s house? She thought she had done well here, not interfering—much—in his life. Indeed, she had thought they were rubbing along quite well and had hoped they could become friends.

She bit her lip. Friends. No, more than friends. She had come to love him. He had been kind to her in his way. He was generous with her and gave her more pin money than she could ever use. He had done the honorable thing in his mind by marrying her. Linnea glanced at him, taking in his handsome face—pale from the tail end of his illness, to be sure, but handsome nevertheless. Of course she was attracted to him. Who would not be? Holding him in affection would be an easy thing to do. Affection? No, loving him. Admit it, Linnea, she thought.

She turned so as to hide the blush she was sure had crept to her cheeks. She rose from her chair and took three steps to the chamber door before his voice stopped her.

“Linnea. Don’t go.”

She turned back. “Is there something you wish?”

“Come here.” Rothwick held out his hand to her.

Her eyebrows raised.

“Please.”

“Of course.” She went to his side.

“I am afraid this gruel has made me quite irritable,” said the earl, looking at her with an ingratiating smile.

“Gruel? I doubt it, my lord.” Linnea could not totally suppress her own smile, for his had turned quite mischievous.

“Indeed it has. I detest gruel. Therefore, it has made me quite out of sorts, and I proceeded to snap at you for no good reason at all. I would much prefer a good breakfast of ham, eggs, toast, kippers, and perhaps coffee or tea.”

“But gruel is
good
for you, my lord.” Linnea widened her eyes innocently.

“But it is not
good
for my frame of mind. I could very well become so irritable that it inflames my constitution to the point of fever. In fact, the taste of it has already given me the shivers.” He shuddered eloquently. “You see?”

Linnea laughed. “You are as bad as a little boy! Inflame your constitution to a fever, indeed!”

“I do think I am getting worse....” With trembling hands he moved the breakfast tray to the table next to his bed, then slumped down upon his pillows.

“Perhaps... perhaps you should feel my forehead… Is it warm? Hot, even?” He took her hand and put it to his head. She tried to pull away but was held in a firm grip.

“Oh, good heavens, William! I do not think—”

“I see it all, now. You do not care whether I live or die…”

“Of course I do not want you to die! And how can you be as ill as you say when your hand is holding mine so firmly?”

“It is the rigor of impending death, I assure you,” Rothwick said solemnly. He pulled her closer to him and drew her hand to his lips. Eyes twinkling, he took her other hand and dragged her to him until her face was but a few inches from his.

Linnea blushed furiously. She was well nigh on top of him now and could feel his hard body underneath his robe. It made her think of the first night he had been fevered, when she had seen him without any nightclothes. She looked down from his intent gaze, but it only made matters worse. She could see his chest between the collars of his robe, and what she did not see, she could imagine. She looked up at him again.

“I want to express my gratitude for your care of me in my illness,” he said, smiling. His breath whispered warmly upon her cheek. “It was very kind.” He released her hands and held her waist instead, caressing it lightly. “I—it was n-nothing, truly,” Linnea stammered. The expression in his eyes was warm and held her spellbound. She could almost imagine some tender feeling existed there—but no, of course not. Pressing her hands against his chest, and trying not to notice what she felt, she pushed herself away.

Or tried to. He pulled her down again.

“It was more than most would do, Linnea. Certainly no one would else would feel obliged to keep me from shivering with the warmth of her own body.” Linnea doubted this. She felt his finger trace the contour of her cheek to her lips. It made her breathless, scattering her thoughts.

“Of course she wou—That is, I—I remembered my mother caring for me in a similar way, so I thought perhaps it would help you also.”

“And how right you were.” Rothwick’s eyes grew meditative as he gazed at her. “I do not have a fever now, it seems.”

“Yes....”

His finger drew a line from her lips to her chin and down toward her neck. She shivered but could not look away from him. “You do care for me a little, do you not, Linnea?”

“Yes, no, I, I had thought we might become friends, perhaps,” Linnea managed to say. “But that was all.”

“Friends. How amiable of you.” Did his voice grow cool? She was not sure.

“Yes...,” she murmured.

“After all, there is no reason we should be at daggers drawn with each other.” His finger moved back up her neck again.

“Oh, no....”

“Much better to be friends, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes....”

Suddenly he pulled her fully onto the bed and rolled over. Caught unawares, Linnea found her arms trapped beneath his chest. “I would very much like to be your friend, Linnea.”

He smiled at her, and she felt even more breathless. “W-would you...?”

“Yes. I think gratitude for your care in my illness is a good start, is it not?” He dipped his head and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

“Yes....”

“And I am very, very grateful....” Another kiss touched just beneath her ear. Linnea closed her eyes.

“Yes....”

“Grateful that I am getting well again....” The next kiss went lower to her neck.

“Yes,” she breathed. She could feel his lips move up again, leaving a tingling trail behind.

“And stronger....” Rothwick’s mouth moved to her cheek again, at one corner of her lips.

“Mmmm....”

“Much, much better....” And finally, finally, his lips touched hers.

Linnea sighed, and her hands clutched the lapels of his robe. The kiss was soft and tender and deep, and she wished it would go on forever. But he moved from her mouth, and his lips explored the tender flesh just under her chin and her throat.

“So much better, my dear...” Rothwick moved aside the fichu of her morning dress, kissing the skin he uncovered.

“Yes....”

“…that I think I could certainly manage a good breakfast of ham, eggs, and kippers,” he whispered.

“Yes...”

“I am glad you agree,” he said softly. With a last lingering kiss on her lips, he rose and moved off the bed.

Linnea blinked and sat up abruptly. Rothwick was straightening his robe, and at her movement he grinned at her. “I would welcome your presence at the breakfast table, of course.”

“But, but, you cannot—”

“Of course I can. You see me on my feet, do you not? I am not faint, nor do I tremble from ague. Ergo, I am quite well, and need no more coddling.”

A fiery light flared in Linnea’s eyes. “You, you—”

Rothwick smiled kindly at her. “Yes?”

“Ohhhh! You odious man!”

He furrowed his brow, apparently concerned. “You have said that before. Do you truly find me odious?”

“No. Yes! Yes, I do! How dare you kiss me just to get kippers!”

The earl shrugged helplessly. “You behold a man desperate in his hunger. What could I do? You were a veritable dragon, keeping me from my rightful comestible treasures. I only used what poor weapons I had.”

“You think you can overcome me with your kisses, do you?”

Rothwick gazed at her, seeming to consider this. “Yes,” he said after a pause. “I do.”

Linnea gasped in outrage, leaped off the bed, and stumbled when she felt a protesting sting of pain through her injured ankle. She straightened herself and tried to ignore it. “And this is what I receive for nursing you back to health—”