The Delicate Matter of Lady Blayne (42 page)

“They told you, love, he left town,” Mrs. Taylor said in a tearful tone.

“This is so far from Mayfair. I thought they meant he’d come here.” He paused. “M-mama—” He stumbled over the word. “She used to refer to coming here as ‘leaving town.’”

“Your uncle has become a very important man,” Sunny said. “Pressing matters will often take his attention. We must cope on our own the best we can.” She tried to smile, despite feeling her throat burn with the truth of her words.

****

What had started as a cold morning had warmed to a pleasingly brisk afternoon. Radiant midday sun caused the water spray from a bronze fish’s mouth to sparkle like tiny diamonds on the grand central fountain. It was likely to be the last such mild day and it had been impossible to resist the temptation to have an
al fresco
luncheon. The ladies were busy with their water coloring and their soft chatter and occasional polite laughter blended with the birds’ singing. In the shade provided by a line of well-sculpted cypress tress, a slight breeze ruffled the Duke of Hornby’s fading golden locks. He ran a smoothing hand over them, then regarded James with his brown eyes seriously. “You know that you are my first choice.”

“You indicated that before,” James replied with a slight smile.

“It must be Charlotte’s decision, of course.”

“Of course.”

“And I cannot let her come to you until after her nineteenth birthday, which is next fall. But I give you leave to court her. You will have a decided advantage over those other suitors who are to meet her at her debut ball this Season.”

Lady Charlotte Bingham was not a beauty. Nor was she a great wit. She was an extremely well-dowered, exceptionally well-connected virgin, the daughter of a duke. A practical, good natured girl with flawless manners and elegant tastes.

And she was completely different from Catriona.

That was important. He was going to have to bed this woman at some point. The whole process would be easier to stomach if she in no way reminded him of Catriona.

James took a sip of coffee, trying to ease the heavy, sinking sensation that pulled down through his innards. The warmth didn’t help. He set his cup back on the saucer then prepared to reply in the affirmative.

His mind supplied the words but his tongue had stopped working. He could not command it.

He frowned. There was no reason not to commit himself. The girl was everything he needed in a countess. He had spent a few hours’ time in her company every day for the past week and found her level-headed and easy to converse with. She was thoughtful and kind. She didn’t seem the type to be prone to dramatic, tearful late-night confessions.

He wanted for us to run away to America…I-I was tempted…But I could no’ love him…I could never hate him, I hurt so badly for him after we parted. I grieved for him, maybe harder than I grieved for anything or anyone in my life. But that’s not love, is it?

Catriona’s voice echoed in his mind, soft and sensual. Wrenching his heart.

He forced himself to focus on the Duke’s countenance. Forced himself to think of the matter at hand.

“Why me?” he found himself saying. A ploy for time.

“Why you?” The duke regarded him for a moment and then gave a small smile. “I admire the way you have come along in your life. You have not always had an easy time of things. You are not soft as so many of these young, idle noblemen are. That’s important. Charlotte is a strong-minded girl. She needs a strong man to respect.”

The sound of approaching boots upon the garden stones made both men turn to see a liveried servant hurrying toward them. He bore a silver tray with an envelope upon it, and to James’ surprise, he brought it to him, not to the duke.

James took the letter, then glanced at the wax seal. His heart’s beat quickened. His hands began to shake. Something was wrong with Catriona.

He pushed the irrational thought away. By God, if she was playing at a game of manipulation, she would have the very devil to pay. He tore the seal then his gaze fell on the vellum and he saw Catriona’s elegant yet embellished script.

Come to me. Now.

Four simple words. A plea she knew damned well he’d not be able to deny.

Blast her for picking this moment. Did she possess some feminine instinct that led her to be able to interrupt this important meeting?

“Trouble, Greythorn?” the duke asked.

James didn’t look up. He knew if he did, he’d reveal the sudden lack of color in his face. The torment in his eyes. “I have to beg your leave, Your Grace. Something has happened which requires my immediate attention.”

****

The first thing James saw was the black wreath on the door. His heart stopped. He hurried up the steps then flung the door open. He took the stairs two at a time. “Catriona!”

He knew a terrible moment of dread. His pounding heart deafened him. His throat was dry and his stomach in a knot.

The door to one of the chambers down the corridor burst open.

Catriona stood there, her hair lank and tangled, hanging over one shoulder. Her face was pale and strained. She wore a dark, drab gown over which she had tied a simple white apron which bore many stains.

He thought her chin had begun to tremble. But he couldn’t be sure from this distance. He ran to her.

The lines of strain in her face relaxed as he approached. “Oh, James…”

He stopped in front of her and without further thought, he cupped her face, letting his gaze drink in her visage. “Cat,” he said, then his mouth was on hers, kissing her fiercely.

She went limp in his arms.

He pulled away then studied her. “You’re exhausted. It’s so late. You should be in bed.”

“No, I can’t—”

He swept her off her feet and into his arms.

“No, no, I cannot go to bed,” she cried.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Hush.” James began the walk down the corridor to her chamber.

“I am needed now.”

“Whatever it is, Mrs. Johnson and Mrs. Taylor can handle it.”

“No, this requires my personal care. Benjamin is—”

He stopped. “Benjamin is here?”

“Yes.”

Pain slashed through him.

Oh, Catriona, I did not want you to find out about Benjamin this way.

“Benjamin doesn’t belong here. Why is he here?” James demanded.

“He is a very ill little boy. The doctor said it is diphtheria. It took Benjamin’s mother and now he is very—”

“Diphtheria!” Fear froze his blood.

Images flashed into his mind. Her leaning over the railing on the roof of the dowager house at Brownwood, that terrible moment when he’d thought she would either leap or fall over. How long it seemed to take for him to reach her and pull her to safety. He couldn’t fathom the possibility of losing her again.

Diphtheria.

The word echoed in his mind with horrific effect.

His stomach lurched.

Christ.

Diphtheria was something from which he could not simply lunge and grasp her back to safety.

“You must leave here,” he said. “Tonight.”

He strode the last paces to her room and opened the door.

She struggled in his arms. “I have to go back to him.”

“You must keep your distance.”

“James, how can you say that?”

“I will not have you be at risk.” He laid her on her bed.

She sat up. “Have you heard nothing I have said? Benjamin lost his mother.”

He blinked at her several times. “Benjamin’s mother is dead?”

Catriona swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Yes. He came here looking for you. He needed you.”

James had traveled all night and had been consumed with worry. His fear was vastly different from worry he’d known in battle, worry for his ship, for his men, for his career.

He had easily stood tall in the face of all those things.

But fearing for the loss of Catriona was something he was ill-prepared for. His need to throw himself in the path between her and any dangers had brought on a deluge of guilt. He had failed his very life’s purpose.

After the shock of seeing the black wreath on the door, he had not thought beyond the relief of seeing her alive. Now his weary mind struggled to comprehend what she was saying. Dead. Katherine Neil was dead.

“He was so strong, so brave. But then we buried her two days ago and afterwards he collapsed with the fever. You should have been there for him.”

Her softly spoken words seared into him.

James sat on the mattress beside her. “How could I possibly have known?” He touched her face and found it cool, but he didn’t trust that. He plunged his hand into the neckline of her gown and pressed the upper swell of her breast. Warm. Not hot as with fever.

He wanted to fall to his knees and thank God.

How long must he keep a vigil over her before being sure she wasn’t sick? The fever didn’t always come immediately. It could take days to know if she were infected.

If anything happened to her—

Acid gushed up into his throat. For a moment he felt as though he would vomit from fear. He swallowed hard. “You must rest now.”

“But Benjamin needs—”

“I’ll see to him.”

“James…”

He bent and put his lips to hers, a hard, brief kiss. Then he rose and stared down at her. “The subject is closed. Now get some sleep.”

****

Sunny banged her fists on her chambers door yet again. “Damn you, James Blayne! Let me out of here!”

She grimaced. She had shouted so much, her throat was raw and she panted for breath. She slid to her knees and rested her cheek against the wooden door.

He wouldn’t come.

He had ignored her all day.

Nor would any of the others be brave enough to come and unlock her door, either.

Her gaze caught on her dinner tray, now empty. She had forced herself to eat to keep up her strength, but every bite had been a chore, for she was sick with worry at what toll the illness was taking in the house.

Was Benjamin better or worse?

Would Mrs. Taylor and Mrs. Johnson and the maids escape contagion?

Did James really believe she could ever be such a self-consumed person as to not care about her own household? Did he think she would really run and let others suffer and risk infection?

Anger poured into her blood, heating it, renewing her energy. She jumped to her feet then began to pound on the door once more.

“Stand back, Catriona.” James’ voice held a harsh note of command.

Her heart thumped all the harder. She stepped back several paces and the door swung open. He was stripped to his shirtsleeves and breeches. And for the first time, except in bed, she saw him look disheveled, with his coal-black hair plastered haphazardly to his forehead and his shirt wrinkled and stained.

“Benjamin?” She barely dared whisper the question. Her stomach twisted as she waited for his answer.

“He’s much the same. But the doctor is optimistic that he will begin to turn the corner toward recovery soon.”

“You must let me out of here. You must allow me to help.”

He shook his head. “I will send you to Greythorn House with Ailise if you don’t behave.”

She shook her head. “You wouldn’t dare risk exposing her to the sickness.”

“Do not test me, Catriona.”

“You can no’ treat me as though I were a child,” she snapped. “I am not made from spun glass.”

His expression hardened. “Benjamin Neil is not your concern.”

“He is Freddy’s natural son.”

“He is.”

“He ought to be living with the Blaynes.”

“He is not a Blayne.”

Fury swept through her. “He is your blood.”

“Catriona, I repeat, this is not your concern.”

“I am a Blayne by marriage. It
is
my concern.”

“No, it is not. And you should not have contact with him. I have provided for his comfort and well-being. I am seeing to his education, planning his career. It is all that can be done for him.” James frowned. “The wreath on the door, your wearing black, it is all neither needed nor proper. His mother was not a member of the Blayne family.” He paused for a moment, regarding her sternly. “Nor is he.”

Sunny stared.
“I can no’ believe my ears.”

His eyes were cold as stones. “I didn’t make the rules.”

“You don’t have to abide by them so callously, either. He just lost his mother, yet you speak of him in such inhumane terms.” She swallowed back the burning in her throat. “His mother was all he had in this world. Have you any notion what it is to be alone?”