Candice Hern (74 page)

He had become rather good at moving about on crutches. The rhythm of pushing off with his left foot and swinging the splinted right leg had become almost second nature. Thump, slide. Thump, slide. Thump, slide. As he made his way toward the landing at the top of the stairs, the gentle aromas of breakfast wafted upstairs to tease him. Gad, but he was hungry.

He hoped to see Meg at the breakfast table this morning. He had not seen her for days. He missed her. Until a few days ago, his so-called courtship had been progressing nicely. To a point, that is. They had spent even more time together, now that he was mobile. Her pride in Thornhill was obvious as he toured the stables and grounds with her. It was every bit as beautiful as the word pictures she had painted for him while he was confined to bed. He had enjoyed their necessarily moderate pace—thump, slide, thump, slide—as well as Meg's animated commentary. As they had strolled about Thornhill, they had talked and talked, but they had often drifted into long silences that were equally comfortable.

And even though they talked and laughed and joked and were quiet together with ease, whenever Sedge flirted with her, flattered her, or touched her in any way, he felt her draw back slightly.

Meg never said anything to discourage him. Nevertheless, Sedge felt her shrink away from him, or saw her posture stiffen at his side, or heard a momentary tightening of her voice. Small things, but noticeable. He was not sure what it all meant, but he did know that he was becoming more and more besotted with her, and so he would not give up just yet

Sedge pushed forward for the final step on the landing before beginning the arduous negotiation of the stairs.

And his left foot went flying out from under him.

What the devil?

The crutches wobbled as he fell forward. Instinctively, his arms flew out to the side for balance, and the crutches fell to the floor, one of them bouncing noisily down the stairs. Swinging his arms like windmills, he teetered over the edge of the landing. His heart pounded wildly in his chest as he realized he was about to follow his crutch down to the bottom. Damnation!

"Sedge!" The feminine shriek came almost at the same moment that he was grabbed roughly from behind. Meg's arms wrapped around his waist with surprising strength and tugged him back to safety.

Sweet heaven, but that was a close call.

Sweet heaven, but Meg was holding him in her arms.

"Are you all right, Sedge?"

He could barely hear her over the sound of his racing pulse. Good Lord, that had been close. He had nearly killed himself. And she had saved his life. Again. Ah, sweet Meg. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing. He could feel her breasts pressed against his back as she continued to hold him tightly. He leaned back against her and drank in the fragrance of wild violets that always seemed to linger about her in the mornings.

"Sedge? Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

He could feel her warm breath against his ear as she spoke. She pulled him closer as she rested her chin on his shoulder, pushing forward as though trying to see his face. Her skin against his cheek was soft and smooth as satin.

"Did you hurt your leg? Oh, please, Sedge, tell me! Are you all right?"

"I am fine," he murmured as he brought his own arms up to cover hers, basking in the feel of her, the scent of her. "I am fine." In fact, he had never been finer. He did not care if he never moved again from this spot, with this woman's arms around him.

"But, what happened? Did you trip on something? Did you lose your balance? Are you sure you are not hurt? Why did you not ask for help? Oh, we should never have allowed you to attempt the stairs on your own. Good Lord, do you realize you might have broken your neck?"

Ignoring her frantic entreaties, Sedge awkwardly turned himself in her arms until he faced her. Oh, this was even better. Wrapping his own arms around her shoulders and pulling her close, he locked eyes with Meg's as she chattered on.

"Are you sure you are not..." Her voice faded and she seemed momentarily captivated as he continued to hold her eyes. Sedge had no doubt that his own smoldered with desire.

He inched his face closer to hers, intoxicated by those sherry eyes. And by the look in those eyes. Beneath the wide-eyed surprise lurked an expression of undisguised longing. This was the moment he had waited for, when she looked at him with desire equal to his own. When he knew she wanted what he wanted.

He did not move for what seemed a long moment, allowing the unspoken tension to build between them. Then, very slowly, he lowered his lips to hers.

And Meg wrenched away from his grasp.

Chapter 11

Meg turned quickly away from the danger of the viscount's arms, and the dangerous look in his eye, and bent to retrieve one of the fallen crutches. She must not succumb to foolishness. She must not. She could still feel the warmth of his arms as they wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her close. It would have been so easy to give in to the comfort of his embrace, to lay her head on his shoulder and her heart at his feet. But if she allowed him to kiss her—and oh, how she had wanted him to kiss her—she would be setting herself up for disappointment

For she knew—now more than ever, after what his cousin had told Terrence—that he meant nothing serious in his attentions toward her. He likely had nothing more than seduction in mind.

But—oh!—how he had looked at her!

Could the charming gentleman she had come to know so well truly be so callous in his regard for her? Would he really attempt to seduce her without any serious intentions? She must remember Mr. Herriot's words.

He does not marry them.

And the alternative was not to be considered. Yes, she would repeat Mr. Herriot's words like a litany, until she got over this foolish infatuation.

Handing the crutch to Sedge, without meeting his eye, she wrenched her attention back to the situation at hand.

"You have not yet told me what happened, my lord."

His brows rose slightly at the use of his title. "I am not certain," he said. "My foot just seemed to slide out from under me. Just clumsy, I suppose."

Meg's eyes surveyed the hallway and landing. There were no rugs or other objects that might have caused him to trip. Perhaps he was less steady on the crutches than she had believed. Perhaps it was as he said, just a moment of clumsiness. In that case, she should dismiss the matter, change the subject, and help him downstairs to breakfast. She would not wish to embarrass him by dwelling on the incident.

"I will lend you my arm," she said, "to assist you down the stairs. Your other crutch—" She stopped as something odd caught her eye. "Hold on a moment," she said, retrieving her arm and leaving Sedge where he stood, half propped against the corridor wall.

Meg bent down and examined the floor just at the very edge of the landing. A dark patch of a thick, oily residue of some kind coated the dry-scrubbed wooden floorboards.

"No wonder you slipped," she said, looking up at Sedge, meeting his eye for the first time since pulling herself from his embrace. "Someone has spilled something, just here, at the top of the stairs." She turned back to examine the stain and shook her head. "Good heavens. Anyone could have slipped and fallen down these stairs." A shiver ran down her spine at the thought of what might have happened. She would have a harsh word or two with Mrs. Dillard.

"Since no bodies are piled up at the foot of the stairs," Sedge said, "I gather I am the first to have encountered this hazard?"

Meg smiled to think that he could joke after such a near escape. Her heart was still pounding, though perhaps for other reasons. She could vividly recall, however, the racing of Sedge's heart as she had grabbed him from behind. No, he was not as unaffected as he seemed. He merely masked his anxiety well. She remembered the same lightheartedness after Gram's mix-up with the monkshood. He had sliced through the tension in the room with a single quip.

"It seems you are the first, my lord," she said. "Gram has taken a bedchamber downstairs since the trouble with her knees last year. And Terrence, I believe, was up all night in the stables. One of his favorite mares was ready to foal, and he expected a difficult time. I do not believe Mr. Herriot has gone down yet. So, it appears you are the earliest bird after all."

"Well, thank goodness you were not too far behind, my dear, or you would have found me in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. With another broken leg, no doubt."

Meg shuddered as she considered that it would more likely have been his neck that had broken. She ran her fingers over the oily stain and lifted them to her nose. "How odd," she said. She repeated the procedure and sniffed harder. "Oil of vitriol." She rose to her feet, still holding her fingers under her nose. Speaking almost to herself, she said, "Who on earth would have spilled oil of vitriol?"

She turned at the sound of Sedge's laughter. "I believe I can answer that question," he said. "You see, Pargeter—and you must swear never to repeat this, my dear—Pargeter uses oil of vitriol as a part of his 'secret' blacking receipt. Only see how my boot gleams."

"Pargeter? But what business would he have spilling the stuff here, at the top of the stairs?"

"I am sure I do not know," Sedge replied.

"Is he still in your bedchamber?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"Then I shall ask him myself." Meg turned and marched down the hallway, leaving Sedge to balance on his single crutch. It was unconscionable that the man should be so careless. She knocked loudly on the bedchamber door. When Pargeter opened it, he quickly masked a look of surprise.

"May I help, you, Miss Ashburton?"

"I believe you may," she replied, unable to keep the sharpness from her tone. "Have you recently had an accident with oil of vitriol?"

The valet reddened from his neck to his ears. His eyes dropped to the floor. "Yes, ma'am," he said in a quiet voice. "I am that sorry, ma'am, but I did spill a bit last evening."

"And did you not think to clean it up?"

His head jerked up. "Of course I cleaned it up!" His eyes widened with outrage at such a suggestion. He shook a finger at the floor, pointing just in front of the spot where Meg stood. "See there," he said in an agitated tone. "Not a spot remains. I sanded and scrubbed and sanded and scrubbed until the stain had disappeared. Only look at my hands!" He held both hands up to display their reddened, raw tips. He then seemed to think better of such impertinence and clasped his hands behind his back. "As you see," he said, nodding toward the floor, "it is as white as the rest of the corridor, though still a bit damp."

Meg looked down at her toes, and indeed there was a freshly dry-scrubbed area. At least he was telling the truth about working hard to remove the stain. "But what of the other spill?" she asked. "Why did you not sand it as well?"

"Other spill? What other spill?"

"The spill at the top of the stairs," Meg replied with impatience. "The one that almost sent your employer tumbling to his death."

Pargeter blanched and followed Meg's eyes to the end of the corridor, where Sedge waited, leaning on his single crutch. "Oh my," the valet said before dashing down the hall to Sedge's side. Meg followed.

"Are you all right, my lord?" Pargeter asked in a frantic voice. "Can I help you, my lord?"

Sedge chuckled and laid his hand briefly on Pargeter's shoulder. "I am fine, Pargeter. As you see. No harm done."

"Look here, Pargeter," Meg said, pointing to the stain. "See how this spill was not cleaned up. His lordship slipped on it and almost fell headlong down the stairs."

"Oh my."

"I am still waiting for an explanation, Pargeter," Meg said. "Why did you not clean up this spill as well as the other?"

"I swear to you ma'am, my lord, that I knew nothing of this spill."

"But you admit to causing the other spill?" Meg asked.

"Yes," he replied in a slightly hesitant voice. "I had been mixing up a batch of blacking. It is a receipt I devised myself."

"A big secret it is, too," Sedge added with a grin.

"No, no," Pargeter said, his chest puffing out a bit. "Not a very big secret. The proportions I prefer to keep to myself, but I don't mind revealing the ingredients. Porter, a bit of ivory black, molasses, gum arabic, and oil of vitriol. A few other minor ingredients as well, but that is the main part."

Meg bit back a smile to think that it was likely those other minor ingredients that were the true secret to the receipt. "Go on, Pargeter," she said.

"Yes. Well, as I said, I was mixing up a new batch when there was a knock on the bedchamber door. I am afraid I had a small bottle of the oil of vitriol in my hand when I went to open the door. I should have put it down, of course, but in my haste, I am afraid I forgot." He turned to look at Sedge as he continued. "It was Mr. Herriot, my lord, asking for you. I told him you had not yet come upstairs. He said he would look for you downstairs and left. As I turned to shut the door, I accidentally bumped the handle against the bottle I carried. I regret to admit that it fell to the floor and shattered. Made a terrible mess, it did. But, as I told Miss Ashburton, I sanded and scrubbed the floor to remove the stain."

"Nothing to worry about, Pargeter," Sedge said. "I am sorry about the broken bottle, though." He grinned at the valet. "I trust you have a spare to keep my solitary boot shining like jet?"

"Of course, my lord."

"Good. Good. Then, you had better be about cleaning this bit of oil up as well. Dangerous stuff."

"But, my lord, I assure you, I did not—"

"No need to worry, Pargeter. It was only an accident. But you had better clean it up before someone else slips and falls."

"Yes, my lord." The valet's lips were drawn in a tight line as he hurried back down the corridor.

"Well, then," Meg said, "I will offer my arm once again to help you downstairs. We must both take care to step around the oil stain."

Then perhaps we should cling to each other very tightly, Sedge thought wickedly as he accepted the support of Meg's arm. But he doubted she would appreciate any further clinging on his part. His mind was still reeling with disappointment that she had fled his last embrace.