Johanna Lindsey (18 page)

His tone was grouchy and weak by turns. And his eyes had closed again. Margaret hurried with the tea. She was afraid he was going to pass out again. But at least she’d gotten some food into him first.

Dr. Culden had warned that the powder he’d left would make Douglas sleepy as well as ease the pain.

She brought him the tea. He hadn’t passed out as she’d feared. His eyes opened again when he sensed her presence by the bed.

“I had the oddest dream,” he said after he drank the tea. “I dreamt I woke up and saw my mother sitting in the chair beside my bed. I started to speak to her but then—nothing, complete blackness. I assume I really woke up at that point, or the dream just ended.”

“That doesn’t sound so odd. I frequently have dreams that end abruptly or switch to something else.”

Maggie thought it probably had been Abbie. Had the old girl been so worried about him she’d actually sat beside his bed? Or had Abigail recalled their talk and been willing to speak to him again?

“Yes, but then I had the exact same dream again,” Douglas continued. “Except it was Sebastian I saw this time in the chair.”

Margaret managed to hide her surprise. She wasn’t about to tell him that it was quite possible that neither dream had been a dream.

“Dreams follow no rhyme or reason usually,” was all she said in response. “I’m going to send for Dr. Culden,” Margaret continued. “He’ll want to examine you again now that you’re awake. All those medical questions he’s so fond of asking, you know.”

She started to head to the door, but he said, “Maggie, wait.” Margaret stopped cold, filled with dread. She was afraid he was going to ask her something she wasn’t prepared to answer yet.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he continued, “and sorry this accident has delayed my meeting your husband. Tell me about him. Where’d you meet him? Is he good to you? You’re happy with him?” She smiled in relief that his questions involved only the story she and Sebastian had devised. She turned and gave him the concocted version without mentioning her husband’s name. She didn’t need to go into more detail, though. He nodded off again before she finished relating the simple facts. She checked him, gently shook his shoulder. It wasn’t the natural, restful sleep she’d hoped for. He seemed to have passed out again.

She was actually somewhat relieved and feeling a good deal of guilt because of it. But she did not want to be the one to tell him that Sebastian had come home. He would find that out soon enough, when Sebastian came to talk to him, but not, she hoped, before Douglas had recovered enough to deal with all the unpleasant feelings that confrontation was bound to stir up.

M
ARGARET SUMMONED A MAID to sit with Douglas again, sent a footman after Dr. Culden, then went in search of Sebastian to tell him about her brief conversation with his father. She found him in the conservatory with Abigail. She actually heard the sound of his laughter just before she entered and saw his pleasant expression before he noticed her there.

There was such an amazing difference in him when he was around his grandmother. Obviously, he wanted her to see only the old Sebastian, the one Abigail remembered, not the cold, hardened man he’d become that everyone else had to suffer knowing. She wondered which one he’d show his father when they finally came face-to-face.

“Douglas awoke briefly,” she told them. “I managed to feed him before he passed out again.”

“Did he mention what caused him to end up in that ditch?” Sebastian asked.

“Yes. He thinks his horse got spooked and bolted to the side where he was swept out of the saddle by one of the lower branches on the trees there.”

“The evidence at the site supports that, though what could possibly spook his horse on a road merely lined with trees I’d like to know.”

Abigail had an answer for that. “I heard him tell Denton that his new mare is a bit more skittish than the old one. He mentioned it more’n once,” she said, then blushed, having just admitted that while she wouldn’t speak to him, she certainly listened, probably to his every word.

Margaret went on to tell them the rest of what had been said and about the dreams Douglas had mentioned. She asked Abigail pointedly, “Did you visit him? Long enough for him to see you there?” Abigail admitted, “Briefly, early this morning, just as you asked me to. I didn’t notice him waking while I was there, though, so I doubt he saw me.”

Since Abigail probably wouldn’t have noticed his eyes open, especially if they didn’t stay open for very long, Margaret concluded, “Well, that’s an excellent sign, if he has been waking more than we thought, or at least trying to wake. I’d say that means he’s fighting that fever.” Denton came in to fetch his grandmother for a project they were working on. Last night at dinner Abigail had mentioned she was going to take up the hobby of painting again. Every few years she tried her hand at it. And each time she wanted new windows installed in the room that had been set aside upstairs for her hobbies. She blamed the lighting every time for her less than exemplary efforts. Denton was overseeing the remodeling for her.

Margaret apprised Denton of the good news and went over again the brief conversation she’d had with his father. Denton expressed little interest in his father’s awakening. “Just a spooked horse? Well, that could happen to anyone,” he said, sounding greatly relieved, as if he’d expected something entirely different to have caused the accident.

Sebastian must have noticed his brother’s odd reaction, too, because as soon as Denton escorted Abigail out of the room, he asked Margaret, “Was it my imagination, or did Denton’s spirits lift at an odd moment of your dissertation?”

“I wouldn’t call it odd, when Denton is known for his delayed reactions. He frequently apologizes for his head being in the clouds. Well, that’s his usual excuse. Surely you recall that about him?”

“Not in the least.”

She was surprised. “Really? He’s been like that as long as I’ve known him.”

“Which is how long? From the time you lived here? Since his marriage to Juliette?”

“Well, yes, I suppose you could say that. I didn’t know him very well a’tall before my father died and I moved here. We didn’t do much socializing then. Father was sickly for an extended period before he died, and before that, Eleanor had kept us a house in mourning for three long years.” He actually winced slightly, just enough for her to notice. Or did she just imagine it?

But he did say, “You’ve had a hard time of it, haven’t you, Maggie?” The question made her uncomfortable, caused her to snort. “Rubbish. I was a child, more or less.

I didn’t miss out on anything that has caused me any regrets. Other families have their tragedies. We had ours. I see no difference.”

“You had friends?”

“Certainly.”

Well, she wasn’t going to admit that her current housekeeper, Florence, had probably been her closest friend. He’d see that as a lack, when she didn’t view it that way at all. And she had her friends from the private school she’d attended for several years, after her tutor had finished with her. She kept in touch with them. She also knew every other woman in the neighborhood, she’d just never taken to any of them enough to call one a close friend.

“What happened to Denton’s leg?”

The abrupt change in subject startled her. “Why don’t you ask him?”

“I did,” Sebastian replied. “He got all red in the face and—limped off.”

“It happened just last year,” she told him. “He got so foxed one night, he fell down the stairs.

Unfortunately, it happened in the middle of the night, so he wasn’t found until morning. By then, he’d lost so much blood he was barely alive. It was quite touch and go for a few days and it took a long time for him to recover.”

“Lost blood from what?”

“He broke the banister during the tumble. One of the broken spikes sliced his leg open so badly that it left permanent damage, which accounts for the limp. Actually, I’m not surprised he wouldn’t tell you about it. He’s quite bitter that he’s not a perfect specimen anymore. But don’t show him any pity. He bloody well goes through the roof if he suspects you feel sorry for him.”

“Why didn’t you mention that accident?”

She frowned. “Well, I simply attributed it to Denton’s drunkenness.”

“Then you don’t think it’s related to my father’s accidents?” She blinked. “I suppose it could be, it just never occurred to me.”

“You said Denton and Juliette fight a lot. Could that fall have been the result of one of their fights?” She shook her head. “Doubtful. That would mean she left him there to die.”

“Perhaps that was her intent.”

She wasn’t surprised that his thoughts were taking that route. “You think she’s going for a tally?

How many husbands she can get killed? Come now, that’s so far-fetched—”

“You don’t really want to know what I think, Maggie.”

She would have had to be dense not to realize the subject had just changed drastically again, and to one she didn’t want to discuss. His lowered tone suggested it. And his expression, for once not the least bit inscrutable, was far too intense as he stared at her, or more precisely, at her lips.

When he took a step toward her, she fairly jumped back from him. “I need to return to my vigil,” she said quickly.

“Stay put,” he warned.

Defying him, she took another step back. “Really, the doctor will be here soon—” She didn’t get to finish, because he yanked her toward him. She glanced down at the hand that had pulled her forward. He’d grabbed a fistful of the pink lawn chemisette she wore under her low-cut dress, which added pleated ruffles to her neck and modestly filled in her bodice. It wasn’t the first time he

’d done that.

Incredulously, she said, “You did it again! How dare you do that again! Five thousand pounds deducted from your fee for wrinkling my clothes. Now maybe you’ll keep your hands to yourself!” His response was a kiss that wrinkled her toes instead. Margaret didn’t try to stop him, probably couldn’t have if she thought to. But she was too enthralled to do anything at that moment other than enjoy the sensations inspired by his lips and tongue.

Her teeth hadn’t clenched this time. His tongue moved into her mouth as if it belonged there. The fluttering was back in her stomach, too, and even her breasts tingled. A single pulse began to throb between her legs, almost frightening her, but it was so pleasant she didn’t know what to make of it.

She’d gripped his shoulders, was afraid she’d fall if she didn’t, her knees were so weak. But he was holding her firmly to him, both his arms wrapped around her back. And the feel of his big, hard, muscular body was so exciting…

“Are you going to deduct for that, too?” he suddenly asked. “Or maybe add the five thousand back on?”

She wasn’t a flirtatious sort, but she’d just been shocked—pleasantly—so she said something she wouldn’t ordinarily say. “Maybe I will add it back on. That kiss was rather nice. Would you mind doing it again?”

“Jesus, Maggie,” he almost growled before his mouth claimed hers again, ravaging her senses.

He was holding her much tighter now, and heat was starting to radiate between them, so much of it she swore if she wore spectacles they’d be steamed. Never in her life had she guessed that kissing could be like this, could cause such intense feelings…

The cough by the door tore them apart. “The dowager duchess has come to call,” Mr. Hobbs announced without inflection.

M
ARGARET BLUSHED DEEPLY upon being discovered in such a compromising embrace by the Townshend butler. The door had been wide open! She hadn’t even thought, well, hadn’t thought of anything, actually, she’d been so lost in kissing Sebastian.

She swallowed her embarrassment and asked, “Alberta is here to visit with Abigail?”

“With you, Lady Margaret.”

“Oh, dear,” she said and turned back to Sebastian, only to find that he’d slipped out the back door.

“She’s aware of who you married,” Mr. Hobbs warned her.

“Word has spread already?”

“Indeed. And she’s not alone, as usual. The ladies are all waiting in the parlor. Lord Denton is trying to entertain them. I’m sure he’d appreciate your rescuing him from that duty.” Margaret sighed. She couldn’t put Alberta Dorrien off again. Once had been unwise, twice would mean social ruin.

She hurried down the hall to the parlor, stopping only for a moment by a mirror she passed to make sure she still looked presentable. Were her lips a little swollen, a little pinker after that kiss? No, surely it was her imagination. And at least her mauve morning dress with the pink trimming was suitable for receiving a duchess. She did have to straighten the ruffles on her chemisette, though, thanks to Sebastian’s manhandling.

She could get through this, she assured herself, she really could. But thinking it was not the same as facing six of the most prominent women in the neighborhood, as well as a few of the less prominent ones. Even her old school chum Beatrice, who had moved to London with her husband several years ago, was there.

Margaret didn’t manage to utter a greeting before all eyes turned to her and she began to blush.

Denton made his excuses and escaped the moment she arrived, wincing at her apologetically on his way out the door. Then the ladies began to bombard her with what was on their minds.

“Margaret, how could you?!” was said more than once.

“Really, Maggie, him of all people?”

“There isn’t a member of the ton who doesn’t know he was given the boot by his own family. And reasonably so. Look what he did, after all.”

“Has Douglas forgiven him? Does he even know he’s here?”

Oddly enough, the ladies’ condemnation of Sebastian raised Margaret’s hackles. She found herself wanting to defend him. He could do that well enough on his own, if he’d bother to, but he wasn’t present to do so.