The Delicate Matter of Lady Blayne (17 page)

“I accept that I am wicked. Very wicked. I am willing to suffer any pangs of conscience I might feel later.” She offered him what she hoped wasn’t too flirtatious a smile. “The price would be well worth the experience.”

His jaw tensed. “I won’t have you taking the blame for this.”

“But I accept the blame, always, if it is something I want badly enough. The same as I accept how wicked it is when I stay awake all night drinking wine and reading romances, or when I binge on candies.” Heat spread over her face and she looked down.

Goodness, she had just all but said she wished to binge on…him.

Well, didn’t she?

Heat of an entirely different nature spread through her lower belly. Anticipation rising, an inner assurance that if she wanted him, needed him, he would never deny her. Never deny her anything.

She lifted her chin. “I am wicked. I know that. I admit that. And I have believed that I must be fixed, made better, returned to a state of purity. But sometimes, I really do believe that the only way I’ll ever be whole again is to embrace my wickedness. To learn to be apologetically naughty. But I hold back, because I am so afraid of my own drives. I am afraid of losing control.”

Her throat ached, for it had been hard to force those words past a self-protective tightening of her voice. She had once blurted all this, and more, out to Dr. Meeker, but she had been drugged at the time, and it had been late at night, in dim light. Not in brightest morning.

James continued to stare at her. What was he thinking? Impatience beat through her. Inner trembling made her feel slightly sick and her palms began to sweat. She balled her fists.

“M-maybe,” she began. “I’m not meant to be a lady, not meant to be a wife.”

“What nonsense, Catriona. Of course you are a lady. Of course you are meant to be a wife.”

“I was a wife. Not a very good one.”

“Would you deny yourself children of your own?”

At his words, sadness wormed its way into her heart. Pain lashed through her. Stark hopelessness. She couldn’t think about children now. She couldn’t think about the long-term future. She had to continue. She had to express what she’d held inside silently for far too long. “I have been pinned down by the expectations of others. It has driven me mad at times. It has split me into a thousand pieces. I don’t know how to fix myself.

“I want to find out what would happen if I gave in to my inner nature. If I let myself be a woman driven only by a desire for pleasure. But only if I could do that with you and you could set limits for me.” Oh, heavens, she was babbling now. She rushed to finish. “I want to be your lover.” No, she wanted something more formal. Something with more structure, more clear-cut expectations. “I want to be your mistress.”

God.

She’d actually managed to say it.

Her heart pounded as she waited for his response.

His expression turned so grave, it sent a small chill through her.

“What?” she asked.

His mouth hardened into a hard, tight line.

Dread settled like ballast in her stomach. “What?” she asked again, more softly.

“It can’t happen, Sunny.” He let go her hand and arose from the bed.

She watched him walk to the washstand. His well-tailored trousers and waistcoat accentuated every line of his hard-muscled body. He was so very tall, and he had an elegance and grace that set him apart from any other man she’d ever seen.

He looked in the mirror and ran his hands over his lean, sculpted cheeks, and then he began laying out his shaving equipment. “Robert has to come in here and assist me.”

His tone was impersonal.

“Of course,” she said woodenly. That cold weight in her belly seemed heavier than ever. All the happy energy that had filled her upon waking to the sight of him, sitting on her bedside, drained from her. She sank back into the bed.

“Catriona,” his voice was a bit impatient. “You’ll need to go to your own chamber.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, dragging herself from the bed, wrapping the sheet about herself from neck to ankles. Apparently, they must observe the proprieties. Last night had been a mistake.

She had offered herself up as his mistress.

He had gone cold as stone.

Burning pressure seared her throat and her vision blurred. She bent her head and hurried to the other chamber and closed the door between them.

The soft click sounded so final.

Chapter Eleven

Though the air was a tad cool, Sunny sat by the window, letting the breeze flutter her curls. In the glass pane of the open window, she caught sight herself. Her eyes were slightly swollen, red-rimmed. Her stomach muscles were still somewhat sore, for she had let herself cry too hard and too long, whilst holding in the sound of the sobs and causing them to be all the more wrenching until finally she’d become ill, retching up bitter yellow bile from her empty stomach. Afterward, she’d taken a small dose of laudanum, the barest drop in some watered wine. Her nerves had steadied immediately. Her tense muscles had unfurled. Now her body had begun to thrum with desire. In the past, such a thing had disturbed her greatly, in particular when it had carried into the morning. Morning. A new beginning. Freshness. Light. A newborn day. Such things were ill-suited to the ugliness of lust. Lust belonged in the cold and dark of night.

But what about passion? For that was what she felt for James. And passion, she was discovering, had a beauty to it. Even when it turned out to be less than what one had wished for, passion uplifted the very soul. What else could account for the joy that had kept surging in her blood this morning, causing her to sing little snippets of songs and tap her foot? Her heart had raced with a strange euphoria. And ten times—at least ten—she had begun to fix her hair, only to find her hands too restless for her to continue.

She knew well the effects of opiates. Laudanum alone couldn’t account for her feelings.

Maybe she was falling a little in love?

Was she even capable of such emotions now? If she was, did that mean she was a little less broken?

A feeling of hope continued to well up inside her.

The clatter of carriages rolling by sent another surge of anticipation through the center of Sunny’s chest. Travel. They had come from Landbrae, shortly after Freddy’s demise. Aunt Frances had been seeking expert care for Sunny’s delicate nerves. Since then, Sunny had been stuck here in the city. She loathed the city!

Soon, very soon, she and James would travel back to the country. She leaned her face out the window, letting the breeze catch her tresses more strongly. In the country, there would be no odor of coal smoke. There would be fresh air and greenness and flowers. Fat buzzing bumble bees. She smiled. Yes, James had rejected her this morning. Yet a feeling welled within her, a sureness that, given time, all things would be possible.

All things.

If James knew what she needed, if he truly believed that she needed him, he would not deny her.

In the country, amid the healing country air, it would happen.

A new sense of purpose spread through her, warm as butter melting on toast.

She caught herself singing again. Intending to pop downstairs for a cup of tea and to enjoy her new anonymity, Sunny quickly dressed her hair then put on her new hat, tying the bright yellow bow with a flourish. Then she smoothed the skirts on the new blue morning-gown. She opened her chamber door and poked her head out into the dimly lit corridor.

Robert seemed to leap from nowhere.

She started and took several steps back into the chamber, her hand to her chest. “Goodness!” she said. “I didn’t see you there.”

“I am sorry, my lady.” The valet’s expression was contrite.

“Oh, it is quite all right,” she assured him. The day was too full of promise not to smile. She was so light of mood. “How long have you been here?”

He didn’t answer. He seemed somewhat transfixed, staring at her intently, his amber eyes brightening and the barest hint of a smile spreading across his face before he seemed to freeze and his expression went to stone.

Her stomach tensed. She shouldn’t have smiled at a servant, no matter that he was an upper servant.

I trust you, Sunny. I trust you not to cause me any difficulties during our journey.

James’ words echoed in her mind. She recalled how wonderful it had felt inside when he’d spoken them. But no matter what he’d said, he didn’t know her well enough yet. An instant image of Dr. Meeker’s thin, distinguished face, his icy blue stare, entered her mind. Dr. Meeker knew her. He always knew. She should not be alone with a male servant. That had been expressly forbidden to her.

The thought took all the joy from the morning. It reminded her of how broken she was, no longer worthy of trust.

Would it always be that way?

I trust you.

She remembered that warmth. Oh, she wanted to believe him! Did she dare?

“Lord Blayne asked me to stay here and keep watch over you. He told me to assure you that he’ll be returning soon.”

“Thank you,” she said stiffly, careful not to stare at him or offer any sign that could be taken as too familiar. She wanted nothing more than to retreat behind her closed door.

She couldn’t wait for James to return. She couldn’t wait for them to journey to the country and to be alone. Alone with the only man she could trust.

And she did trust him. He would protect her, even from herself.

“Good day,” she said, again in a stiff tone, and she made to close the door.

“Pardon me, my lady.”

“Yes,” she said, leaning against the door, wishing he would simply leave.

“Lord Blayne left a message for you.” He brushed his coat aside to access his waistcoat pocket.

Sunny glanced down quickly, lest he—or anyone else—think that she was looking at his youthful, firm midsection displayed in his well-tailored waistcoat.

She should not…definitely
not
be alone, conversing with a young male servant. Her stomach began to feel unsettled once more.

She really needed that tea now. She could send him downstairs for some, but best not to extend their conversation.

The valet handed her the note. Their fingers brushed. Oh, God, had she done that? Dr. Meeker had warned that she could expect herself to be unwittingly provocative and flirtatious with men when she least expected it. Something deeper than her day-to-day thinking. Something more powerful than her self-control.

Her hands began shaking.

“My lady, are you feeling well?”

Without looking up, she nodded.

“Shall I bring you some tea?”

“Yes…t-thank you.” She barely managed to get the words out and she shut the door.

Relief washed over her.

She hadn’t flirted. Not intentionally.

But she had noticed his youth. His masculine handsomeness. His well-made body.

However, those things were hard not to notice, at least in passing. That had been all it was. Noticing what another person looked like in passing. That moment, when he had brushed aside his waistcoat, the hard flatness of his stomach showing against the pale tan silk—she had noticed only in passing.

Shaking all over now, she sat on the bed, letting the folded velum fall to the bed. She put her hands over her face.

It was only in passing. I am not blind. I would have to be blind not to notice. I didn’t notice for that long. I stopped as soon as I realized the transgression.

She felt ill now, in the way she normally did when she skipped breakfast. She needed some tea.

No, calm yourself. You’re making too much of an insignificant event.

She took a deep breath then opened the note. Her gaze moved over the neatly penned script.

I have gone to make preparations for our journey. I expect to return shortly before dinner.

J.

A knock sounded at the door. She went and opened it.

Robert was there, accompanied by a young maid who held a silver tea service.

Sunny backed away from the doorway and with a smile motioned to the maid to enter.

Robert turned to the maid. “I’ll take that. Go on now.”

The maid allowed him to take the tray.

He handed her a small bag of coins. “For your trouble, lass.”

The maid looked down and bit her lip, then she grasped the bag of coins and hurried away.

The byplay sent a small chill of unease through Sunny as she watched the valet enter her chamber and settle the tea service on the small table. Had Robert given the pretty servant any trouble? She hated to think someone who had all but grown up in service to the Blaynes would do something like that.

But why else would the girl act so nervous and eager to be gone from him?

He looked up and Sunny gave him a sharp look.

He returned her gaze blandly.

“You may go,” she said with equal sharpness.

At the door, he hesitated with his hand on the knob.

“You may go.” She spoke more firmly this time. Inside, she was trembling. This was how it had started before. A little too much familiarity, definitely too much assertiveness on the part of the footman.

But today, had Robert behaved so in reaction to some encouragement on her part? Some encouragement she had given him but been unaware of consciously? Was she deceiving herself?

Oh, when would she ever be able to trust herself again?

“I was wondering if your tea is acceptable.”

“I am sure it is. Go on.”

He just stood there.

Oh, wasn’t her heart leaping now! Why did he seem to think he had the right to be alone with her now that the maid was gone? It was dreadfully impertinent of him. How she wished with all her might that James would appear in the doorway. A woman like her needed a protector. Someone to set strict limits for her. Someone to warn off other men. At least until she was better able to trust herself. Until she became whole again. She compressed her lips a moment. “I shall call for you if I need you.”

Robert stared at the teapot. Indeed, he seemed transfixed by it.

She regarded the silver pot and the cup with pale pink roses and yellow-green leaves, the colors muted by time. A few biscuits lay on a matching plate. There was nothing remarkable about anything on the tray. She cleared her throat.

He managed to tear his eyes from the service and met hers. “Very well, my lady.”

Slowly, he walked from the chamber and the door closed with a soft click.

She sank into one of the chairs at the table. Robert had seemed a respectful sort before, and James must be happy with him. He had sent for him to come to London some months ago, so they had been together for a while now.

He knows you were with James the other night. That’s why he disrespects you.

But the valet had only brought coffee and left it in the dressing chamber that adjoined James’ bedchamber. Had he heard of her wanton
affaire
with a footman?

Only Mrs. Tibbs, her maid, Aunt Frances and Grandmother Blayne had known. And, of course, Dr. Meeker.

But had her maid told others? The traitorous little chit had told Aunt Frances. Who else had she told?

A wave of queasiness twisted through Sunny’s stomach and she placed her hand over her belly and rubbed. The story would leak out sooner or later. Such things always did. Grandmother Blayne had wanted Sunny to remarry and quickly. But Dr. Meeker had warned against such a thing, saying it would only result in Sunny’s being rejected, abandoned and all the worse off for it.

You can’t torment yourself like this. It does no good.

Sunny poured herself a cup of tea and sweetened it with two generous spoonfuls of sugar. She sipped it cautiously, wondering if it would cause her further stomach upset. But it rested quite easily, calming her churning belly. She bit into one of the biscuits.

The sharp taste of ginger caught her off guard. Her favorite teatime treat. Could Robert have possibly known?

She drained her teacup, feeling warmer inside. Calmer.

Too calm.

She sat the cup on the tray. It rattled and rolled onto its side and she stared at it, confused. Giddy.

Her eyelids were heavy, so heavy.

That tea had been drugged! Opiate. Too much opiate. Far too much.

She glanced at the bed. It seemed so far away. She tried to set the china cup to rights and the silver teapot fell with a crash, sending tea gushing out all over.

She cried out.

“’Tis all right, my lady.”

The masculine voice drew her attention to the doorway. The door stood open and Robert approached, followed by another man. She frowned. Oh, yes, she recognized him—he was one of the coachmen from Blayne House.

A woman, dressed all in black with a heavy veil, came as well.

Sunny closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands.

The woman’s hands touched her shoulders, softly.

“I have been so worried over you. Worried sick!” Aunt Frances’ voice was soft with a serrated undernote. “If anyone had heard of this madness—I swear, you and your misadventures will be the death of me.”

Sunny tried to reply but the sleepiness was overpowering.

****

“Why didn’t you bring her directly to my office as I requested?” Dr. Meeker’s voice leached into Sunny’s slumber.