Her Mad Baron (23 page)

He wasn’t in the habit of passing the time of day with his uncle’s servants and gave up trying to think of any reason to stall.

He wrote on the back of the calling card. Then moving very slowly, he stood, stretched and looked around the room.

“New painting?” he asked, pointing to a large canvas on the back wall, yet another glorious patriotic battle scene.

“Yes, my lord. We acquired it about a month ago.”

He strolled to the painting and pretended to examine the details. Moss was far too well-trained to show impatience so Nathaniel managed to drag the few minutes into ten. His ears strained as he tried to listen. Nothing, although he thought he heard a slithering hiss and slight thump. The rope again.

He didn’t want Florrie to think he’d run away, so he thanked Moss, handed him the calling card, picked up the satchel and left.

No sign of her. Damn. He roundly cursed her and himself. Had he summoned the butler from the basement to a spot where he’d be more likely to hear noises from upstairs?

Out on the sidewalk, Nathaniel paced and silently reviled everything. Florrie, his uncle, this idiotic scheme, his own inability to scurry up the front of buildings.

He scanned the windows to make sure Moss wasn’t watching him then shifted his attention to the top of the house, trying to see the shape through the fog. He must have waited only a few minutes, but it felt like hours. Was that dark form up there the top of a head?

Two horseback riders passed. Then a cart of some sort.

And he glared into the dark sky over his uncle’s roof.

The distant clop of hooves made him turn to stare down the street, and when he turned back, Florrie, panting and smiling, stood next to him a coil of rope over her shoulder.

He cursed with surprise and long suppressed anger.

“Hush!” She yanked the bag from his hands and darted behind the neighbor’s urn until the horse and rider passed.

When she reappeared she was dressed in the grey dress, almost decent, although it was hitched at her hip where it had been caught on the trousers and her ankles showed.

Before he could explode, she grabbed him by the elbow and leaned close. “Wait to read me a lecture. We should go.”

“Never again,” he growled as they strode along the street. “I can’t allow you to do anything like that. Ever again.”

“Another pair of my special shoes, ruined,” she said, sounding almost cheerful. “And I didn’t really need the rope. The building had excellent drainpipes. Every member of your family does a good job of paying for sturdy, well-anchored drainpipes.”

He stopped dead. “Are you paying any attention? Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

“You were worried.”

“Hell, yes. But I am bloody angry too.”

“Yes, you are,” she agreed.

“We had an agreement. We were working together. In fact, I am your employer. You are supposed to obey my- my orders.”

“I did. I found something that might help you discover what happened to you. Aren’t you pleased about that?”

He was too filled with roiling emotion to actually give a goddamn about anything else. “That was the longest half hour of my life.”

“It wasn’t that long.”

“It felt like three bloody years.” The anger seemed to be releasing its grip on him.

They walked for a minute, and what she’d said finally penetrated his consciousness.

“You found something that proves it was my uncle’s plan then.” Another, new chill froze him. It was one thing to suspect, and entirely another to know who was out to destroy him—someone he’d known all his life.

“I only had a fast look, but I don’t think it was Lord Bessette behind the plan. I’ll show you. We best get indoors. The fog’s worse.”

They were less than three streets to his house by now but slowed down by the thick fog. She pressed close to him and shivered. Something in her bodice crackled. She fumbled under her gown, withdrew a sheaf of papers, and shoved it into the satchel she carried.

He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. Bedamn
the proprieties. “Are you cold?”

“A little. A climb often ends with this, as if it depletes my strength.” She heaved a huge sigh that seemed to slow the shivering. “I wonder why I crave adventure and my heart beating so hard when it has such an odd effect on me.”

“But you do.”

She only nodded.

As they climbed the steps to his house, he considered leading Florrie to the familiar library—a room he didn’t really associate with books these days—but instead chose the front sitting-room where a larger fire blazed.

He ordered food and drink and then sat down close to her on the large sofa. She started to pull a thin bundle of papers from her bodice when he stilled her hand. “Wait.” He gave a quick look in the direction of the door. “We should be alone.”

She nodded and rubbed her hands together briskly as if to warm them. She hadn’t been wearing gloves to climb and still wasn’t wearing them.

He reached for her fingers. “Ice,” he said and lifted them to his mouth to blow on them. The way her eyes darkened and her shiver grew more pronounced was satisfying.

He didn’t stop chafing her hands as the servants entered the room with the food. She tried to pull away, but he only released her to nod thanks and dismissal to the servants.

He could smell the fog that clung to her, the light perfume she wore, plus a tinge of the perspiration from her exercise.

His uncle’s perfidy didn’t matter. All Nathaniel wanted was to see her in the strange climbing clothes again and then to take them off her just as he’d done that first night, only now he was alert, awake...

The need for her had grown.

He’d tried to ignore his body’s clamoring, but it wasn’t just desire for Florrie that pulled at him.

Addiction scrabbled at him.

“Are you ill? You’re so pale. Is it the realization about your uncle?”

“No. It’s an itching for the stuff.” He got up and paced the room. “Damn them to hell. If I could, I’d force whoever’s responsible to swallow his own poison.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Nathaniel turned and looked into her concerned wide eyes, then down at her lush mouth. “They say physical exhaustion helps with the symptoms.”

She apparently didn’t notice his deliberately lewd smirk. “Oh, dear,” she said. “Perhaps I should have allowed you to climb up that wall. I do know I should have said something, Nathaniel, instead of running away to do the job myself.”

“What would you say?” The prickling started in his back and crept down his arms. He shook like a dog and tried to concentrate on her answer. This was when the fits had occurred, when he allowed the need to go too long.

“I didn’t think it would be good to attempt your uncle’s house the first time you tried to climb, you see. And you have a way of bowling over a person so I didn’t say anything.”

He stopped, midstride, distracted at last. “
I
do? I bowl people over? Ha. So says the teapot to the kettle.”

Her mouth quivered, and he wondered if she could possibly be on the verge of tears. But then a huge grin burst onto her face, and he understood she’d been trying not to smile.

“Yes. I know. You don’t know what a relief it is to finally be able to push someone around—especially someone who pushes back. Duncan’s impossible and so was my father. Jimmy was so set in his ways. You seem to listen though. You’re so reasonable.”

He gaped at her. “Reasonable? Once upon a time perhaps. But not now.”

“Very. Reasonable.” Her smile seemed more wicked. “So I owe you exercise, I expect. Because I took away your climb.”

The dizziness grew stronger, and the dark appeared at the corners of his eyes. “I need it,” he gasped, or maybe he didn’t. He fell onto the floor, but it wasn’t like the other incidents. He felt himself fall, felt his side hit the floor and knew where he was.

“Nathaniel?” she cried out. He heard her. Had the blackness taken over?

Her voice came near his head. “Let me get the doctor. The medicine.”

“No,” he managed to say. “It will pass. It will end.”

“But it’s so horrible.”

He clenched his teeth as the spasms shook his body.
The medicine. Take it. Get a release from the heat and chills and nausea.

No. He’d wait it out. He shivered and felt ill, but he knew exactly where he lay, and better, he knew Florrie held him. He opened his eyes and examined the hazy halo of light that surrounded her.

“I’m...not…” He swallowed. “I’m not in a fit. Am I?”

“No, no, but you’re shivering. Please, this is horrible. What can I do? I rang the bell.”

He closed his eyes, grateful that he didn’t leave his mind. “Don’t give me any. Don’t let them.” He’d sweat it out this time. Never let it come near him again. No more.

The bustle of servants. If he opened his eyes, he would be sick so he clamped his mouth tight.

“Miss, we have his dose right here.” Thompson, curse him.

“No,” Florrie said. “Lord Felston says no.”

“But he needs the medication, miss. It’s important; the doctor said he must.”

Nathaniel shook his head, ignoring the dizziness.

“Look, see?” Florrie’s soft hand rested on his forehead. “He says no.”

“Ma’am, it is that he is not in his right mind.” The butler sounded mournful.

“He’s ill, nothing more.” Florrie sounded just as fierce as she had with his uncle. Oh, he had picked a good advocate.

Already the worst of the shaking seemed to pass, and he managed to open his eyes without fear of toppling into nausea or worse.

“No. More. Medicine,” he whispered.

“Hear that?” Florrie almost shouted.

He smiled. And knew with her near, he’d be safe so he let himself drift for a moment.

When he woke or came to himself, he felt almost strong. Florrie sat on the floor next to him. “Did I have a fit?” he demanded.

“Welcome back. I don’t know. Except there was that shivering. And then you slept deeply. I thought of leaving but didn’t want the servants to give you that stuff.”

“Thank you for that.” He climbed to his feet, weak, but the thread of strength surged through him. His hands trembled as he held them out. “Bah, I am weak as a kitten.”

She came to him and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “No, I don’t think so,” she said. “When I tried to move you, you fought me because you thought I would feed you medicine.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t recall that.” His heart sank.

“I think you were mostly asleep. But it was you, Nathaniel. I mean it wasn’t as if some demons had taken over your body. You weren’t in a fit.”

“All right.” He gave her a smile. “I believe you. I hope this evening improves.”

He had plans. Soon he’d get to see her in the strange trousers, and he’d undo them again, slide them off her body and then forget everything in her arms.

He rang the bell, and a few moments later, Thompson answered.

Nathaniel said, “Would you inform Mr. Short he has the night off? I’ll say goodnight to you, too.”

“My lord, I cannot be easy if you take no medication.”

“I promise if I need more, I’ll make my own mixture.”

After the butler left, Florrie turned from the window where she’d been staring into the night—probably hoping the butler wouldn’t notice her.

A tiny pucker formed between her brows. Such a funny frown she had. “The illness was horrible, Nathaniel. And even though this time you had no fit, your face looked pale as parchment. Your lips were blue.”

“I expect it was horrible, poor Florrie. But I must fight it. I will forgo this dose. And then another. And I will survive.”

She nodded slowly and made a face. “All right. I’ll help.”

They went to his room. She trailed around the room, made a few chatty remarks about the huge bed and the richness of the furnishings. When she opened the door to the dressing room, a confused fear shot through him.

“Come back,” he croaked. He couldn’t add
I need you
, but suspected the truth was in his face because she came to him at once.

They didn’t speak as they undressed. His hands still trembled. The worst had passed but dreadful need prickled all over, and the only cure was Florrie. She melted against him and let him use her body again and again, let him lose himself in her arms. But he wasn’t so far gone that he couldn’t see to her pleasure too. He loved watching the astonishment in her wide eyes and her head thrown back as she found her pleasure on his fingers, his mouth and his cock. And for once afterwards, she didn’t demand he look into her eyes or speak to him. He held her as she fell asleep.

She dozed, naked and pink, a sheet wrapped around her leg.

Aching again with the dreadful impatience of wanting the green stuff, he picked up a dressing gown then discarded it. Instead he got dressed. The servants would have to speculate about what went on behind his bedroom door because he’d give as little proof as possible.