Candice Hern (71 page)

His mind drifted along with the clouds.

He was too old, at thirty-six, to continue in the selfish, carefree ways of his youth. The days of carousing with Robert and Jack were long past. He had begun to notice that his companions of late were more often than not some ten years his junior. Young men, like Cosmo Trevelian.

Was he afraid to face the maturity of his years? Afraid to face up to the responsibilities of age? Was he simply afraid to grow up?

Before he could give much consideration to such uncharacteristically sobering thoughts, a knock sounded on the bedchamber door.

"Come in," he said, hoping and hoping that it was Meg.

"Here you are, my lord," Mrs. Lattimer said as she walked into the room, followed by the housekeeper. "A nice bit of nuncheon for you."

Sedge sat up straight and allowed the housekeeper to place a tray on his lap, laden with cold meats, pickles, cheese, and bread, as well as a good-sized apple tart and a tankard of ale. Thankfully, the bland diet had long since been discarded. Sedge now suspected the ladies of Thornhill were out to fatten him up.

Mrs. Lattimer took a chair after the housekeeper left, determined to keep him company during his meal. Sedge was in fact grateful for her company. She was a very sweet lady, and though she never mentioned it, he knew she had never quite forgiven herself for the mix-up with the herbs.

"How are you feeling today, my lord?"

"Fit as a fiddle," he replied, "except for the damned—excuse me, ma'am—darned leg. Can't do much to speed it along, I expect" He took a bit of pickle and followed it with a hearty swallow of ale. Meg had told him that Thornhill had its own brewhouse, almost a necessity with the number of men required to run the stables. Sedge looked forward each day to another taste of the special home brew.

All things considered, there were worse places to recuperate from a broken leg.

"Your head seems to be healing nicely," Mrs. Lattimer said.

"I am glad finally to be free of that wretched bandage," he said with a shake of his head that caused his too-long hair to flop over his forehead. "What do you think, ma'am? Is the scar going to be as dashing as you promised? I could perhaps add an eyepatch and earring for a better effect."

"If you keep your hair that long," she replied with a smile, "no one will ever see the scar. I can barely see it now. But you needn't worry. Dr. Garthwaite did a fine job, so it will at least be a good, clean scar. Not ragged or puckered."

Sedge smiled and continued his meal. Mrs. Lattimer entertained him with local gossip—long, involved tales of people completely unknown to him. But he was thankful for the diversion.

Just as he bit into the apple tart, Meg swept in the open door with her usual long stride, and Sedge almost lost the ability to swallow. Quickly choking the tart down before he disgraced himself, Sedge stared open-mouthed at the young woman chattering away and bending down to kiss her grandmother's cheek. She wore a pair of tight buckskin breeches and high, black riding boots that displayed the shapeliest hips and longest legs he thought he had ever laid eyes on. She wore a green woolen jacket buttoned tight over a thin lawn shirt. Her hair was pulled back into its usual knot at the back of her neck, but enough unruly locks had come loose so that her face was framed in soft red curls. But his eyes kept returning to those breeches and all the delights they did little to disguise.

"Really, Meg!" Mrs. Lattimer scolded after accepting her granddaughter's kiss. "What will Lord Sedgewick think of you? Must you come in wearing those horrible breeches?"

Yes, he thought, she must. She must.

"I am sorry," Meg said, "but I was too excited to take the time to change." She turned to Sedge with a huge smile. "He did it, Sedge! I took Bristol over the most difficult stretch of the north field, and he did not falter once! Not once! He handled the high ground with ease, took all the hedges and fences. He even jumped a ditch—a ditch with flowing water—without the least skittishness. Oh, I am so proud of him!" She practically bounced with enthusiasm.

"You should be proud of yourself, Meg," Sedge said. "It is your own good training that has made him so surefooted."

"And he is so fast," she continued. "I felt as though I were flying. It was so wonderful, I tell you it quite took my breath away."

Her eyes flashed and her cheeks were still pink from exertion, and excitement. He watched through the tightly stretched jacket as the swell of her bosom rose and fell with her rapid breathing. It was indeed wonderful, and she quite took
his
breath away.

She chattered on about the successful ride, oblivious to the fact that Mrs. Lattimer had quietly left the room. Sedge smiled to think that the old woman's tactics were not necessary to help him notice and appreciate her granddaughter. In fact, Meg needed no help from anyone at all in that respect. She did it all by herself.

Meg took the chair her grandmother had vacated and dragged it close to the bed. She swung it around and straddled it backward, perching her elbows on its top rail. The glorious, long legs wrapped around the chair in a manner that would have given her grandmother forty fits, and almost did the same for Sedge, for very different reasons.

"I cannot wait to show you Bristol," she said, reaching for his tray and breaking off a piece of apple tart. "I am going to train him to race, you know. And if you are a betting man, my lord, I tell you now that he is going to be a formidable competitor. Goodness, I am starving." She popped the piece of tart in her mouth and then looked up at him sheepishly as she licked the sticky syrup off her fingers. The slow, sensual strokes of her tongue caused Sedge's groin to tighten in a most uncomfortable manner. He was grateful his lap was covered with the tray.

And suddenly his mind was filled with a vision of Meg's beautiful white body, naked beneath his own. He thought she might be the one woman in the world he could actually look in the eye while he made love to her, instead of having her face buried somewhere in the middle of his chest. Or contorting himself into a knot to reach her face. He was used to women who were some twelve inches or more shorter than his own six feet three inches. But he and Meg could look into each other's eyes. A perfect fit. There were all sorts of advantages to that beautiful, tall, long-legged body. But if he thought of them all just now, he might truly embarrass himself.

She was a gently bred, innocent young woman, after all. She was not a woman to be casually seduced. He should not even be having such improper thoughts about her. Unless ...

"Thank you. Sedge, for allowing me to rattle on and on like this," she said, offering a puckish smile. "I know you are a captive audience, so to speak, but you are such a good listener. I have so enjoyed the times we have spent together."

He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. "It has been my pleasure, ma'am."

She dropped her eyes, and her long, auburn lashes cast shadows on her cheeks. Cheeks tinted with a faint pink blush. She kept her fingers curved slightly over his for a moment, and then slowly—reluctantly?—pulled them away. When she looked up again, it was to reward him with a smile of such warmth that Sedge was singed all the way to his toes.

"It is just that..." She paused and flashed a self-conscious grin. "Well, you are so easy to talk to. I feel like I can talk to you about anything. I can, and frequently do, tell you all my thoughts and feelings. And you never dismiss them or belittle them or make me feel silly. You listen. I... I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate that."

His friends had been right, after all. There were no fireworks. It was indeed a quiet sort of thing.

Chapter 9

"So, cuz, tomorrow is the big day?"

Sedge looked over at his cousin, who stood with an arm propped against the wide window embrasure, looking out at something below. "Yes," he replied to Albert's back, "the doctor wants me to try my hand at crutches tomorrow." And he could not wait to get even as far as that window. He had studied every inch of this room from his position on the bed— every chair, every table, every painting, every cushion. He had memorized the patterns in the curtains, in the rugs, in the bed hangings. He had traced the shapes carved into the paneling, the chair legs, the picture frames, the bedposts. He could describe every detail of the room with his eyes closed.

If he could only get as far as the window, he could at least expand his world beyond these four walls.

"At first," he continued, wondering what Albert found so fascinating outside, "I will probably only be allowed to hobble across the room and back. But you can be sure that I will be stumbling all over Thornhill before you know it. I cannot wait!"

Albert turned and smiled at Sedge's excitement "You must be simply itching to get out of that bed."

"Indeed, I am ready to climb these walls. I am anxious to be up and about again."

"And then," Albert said, "you can be on your way. You must be wanting to get back home."

Sedge shrugged and grinned. "Oh, I don't know," he said enigmatically, eliciting a deep chortle from Albert. "But I tell you, I am more than ready to get out of this bed. You cannot imagine how stiff I am. Not just the leg, but all over. I fear my body may have completely forgotten how to move properly. I am desperate for some exercise."

"Did you have any particular type of exercise in mind?" Albert asked with a sly grin.

"Why, Bertie, what can you mean?"

Albert chuckled and moved to stand next to the bed, his arms folded across his chest. "It has not escaped my notice, Sedge, how taken you are with Miss Ashburton. I thought perhaps you might be considering a bit of diversion while here in the country. She is quite beautiful."

"So she is," Sedge said.

"Were you really thinking of a dalliance with our host's sister?" Albert shook his head in disapproval. "Not like you to court danger, Sedge."

"Breaking my leg is more than enough danger for me, Bertie. Do not worry. I am not planning anything foolish." Wasn't he? He had thought he might actually begin a real courtship of Meg, once he was on his feet again. But perhaps that was indeed a foolish notion. The ultimate goal of a courtship, after all, was marriage. Is that what he really wanted? He had toyed with the idea of marriage to Meg. There were advantages, to be sure. But the very idea of marriage still tended to strike terror in his bachelor's heart. He had not quite settled in his mind if he really wanted to go through with it, if he was ready to go through with it. And he was confused by these new feelings she inspired in him. He still had much to consider.

"I am glad to hear it," Albert said as he reached for a chair and pulled it closer to the bed. He sat down and crossed one leg languidly over the other. "Could have been awkward. Sir Terrence might have insisted on a formal offer." He chuckled softly. "And we both know that you would run screaming from such a situation.
If
you could run, that is."

Sedge laughed, but did not respond.

"You had better be careful, cuz," Albert continued, "since you are in no condition to flee. Don't allow yourself to be lured into any traps."

"Don't worry, Bertie. I have said I will do nothing foolish."

"Yes, but I remember a certain conversation we had at Witham Abbey during your mother's Christmas party. Do you recall? You were in your cups and bemoaning the loss of your friends—Bradleigh and Pemerton."

"I do have a vague recollection of polishing off several bottles of the Abbey's best claret with you one night. Got a bit maudlin, did I?"

"You could say that," Albert replied, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Mostly, you talked about marriage."

"I did?"

Albert laughed. "You did. Talked about how it might be time to settle down and fill up your nursery. The most confirmed old bachelor I know actually speaking of marriage! You had me laughing for hours."

"I am pleased to have amused you, Bertie, I am sure."

"Well, you must admit, old man, that it is certainly unlike you even to consider such a subject." Albert slid further down in the chair, leaned his head against the back rail, and laughed at such an absurd notion. "But you will never marry. You know that you will not. You have said so often enough. That sort of settled, routine way of life is not in your nature. Never could be."

"No doubt you are right, Bertie," Sedge replied as he considered the truth of his cousin's words.

"You were simply mourning the loss of your close friends to the bonds of matrimony," Albert continued. "Feeling left out, I suppose. And I can understand that, Sedge. I know how close you and Bradleigh and Pemerton had been all those years. But things change, you know. Their lives have taken a different turn from yours, that is all. I should hate to think that you were considering marriage simply as a means to reclaim those old friendships."

Is that what he was thinking of doing? Using a wife to get back into the circle of friendship he had so missed? To make himself a part of a couple so that he was no longer the odd man out? Was he that desperate to bring things back to the way they had once been?

"Besides, you cannot turn back the clock, you know," Albert said, as if he had read Sedge's mind. "Things can never be the same again. Life moves on. Didn't Bradleigh's wife have a child recently?"

"Yes," Sedge replied. "Last fall. A little girl."

"Ah," Albert said with a lift of his brows, "then you can be sure there will be other children until Bradleigh has a son. No, cuz, once children enter the picture, there is no looking back. The past is in the past."

"I know that, Bertie. I know that."

Albert hunched a shoulder and flashed a sheepish grin. "Sorry, Sedge. Didn't mean to lecture. I just wanted to make sure you weren't allowing your confinement to warp your judgment where Miss Ashburton is concerned."

Sedge heaved a weary sigh and sank back against the pillows. Perhaps he
was
spinning foolish dreams about Meg. Perhaps when his leg had healed and he had resumed his active life in Town, Meg Ashburton would no longer seem so extraordinary. Perhaps.