by Meara Platt
“Very well, Your Grace.” She unbuttoned the cuff of one sleeve and began to roll it up.
To her surprise, he assisted her. “You may call me Robbie when we’re in private, lass. We’ll soon be family, after all. However, among patients and staff, I must insist on formality.”
“I understand. Please do call me Frances… or Fee, that’s what Lady Brazelton calls me.”
“But you don’t like it?”
“It’s a girlhood name, but I’m quite grown up now.” She shook her head and laughed softly. “At least I thought I was, but this dare is rather a childish undertaking, isn’t it? I deeply regret accepting, but I promise to do my best never to harm your patients.”
“Thank you, Frances. We all behaved foolishly last night.” He released her now that he’d finished rolling up her sleeve. “But I do important work here and I can’t have you treat it as a lark. It isn’t a question of arrogance, though I will admit to being insufferable at times,” he said with a surprisingly charming grin. “Patients tend to trust those whom they believe have earned the trust and respect of their peers and their hired help. No matter how much you dislike me, you can’t let it show.”
He started rolling up her other sleeve, fingering the delicate lace at her cuff. “It’s quite fine,” he murmured. “Here, use this apron. It’ll offer some protection. Wear a plainer gown tomorrow.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You believe I’ll last till then?”
His hand paused on her arm as he tucked the lace of her cuff into the rolled-up folds of her sleeve. “Unfortunately, I know you will.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. I’ll take that as a compliment. And I won’t grumble so much despite your best efforts to torture me.”
“The name’s Robbie.” He surprised her with a warm laugh. “Aye, despite my best efforts. Your simply showing up is a credit to your character. Let’s see how long you’ll last.”
CHAPTER 5
FRANCES DROPPED HER scrub brush into the bucket of dirty water and rose from her knees. For three days now, she’d changed linens, emptied chamber pots, and stocked each examination room with fresh towels and bandages, and she was now cleaning a spill which had left a stubborn stain in one of the examination rooms. Her back ached, her hands were raw, and she felt light-headed from lack of food.
It was only midday.
Another four hours to go.
“I understand you forgot to bring your lunch today,” Robbie said, crossing his arms over his broad chest and studying her as she scrubbed. “Stop that. Follow me.”
He helped her to her feet and led her upstairs. “I took the liberty of having my cook deliver an extra portion of stew. Nothing fancy, but you’ll find it quite adequate.”
“Thank you,” she said, sincerely meaning it and feeling a little tug at her heart over his kindness, “but I didn’t forget it. My parents refused to permit our cook to prepare anything for me. They hope to starve me into conceding this dare.”
He led her into his office and held out a chair. “Then I’ll have mine prepare extra for you from now on.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” She dropped into it, exhausted.
“Robbie,” he insisted.
“Thank you, Robbie.” She began to rub her temples in the hope of relieving her headache.
“I heard you drank too much champagne again last night,” he said with a slow arch of his eyebrow. “No wonder you look like your head’s about to explode.”
“I tried to avoid it, but Charles and my own family were purposely plying me with it. Everyone took a turn offering a toast.” She sank back into her chair and moaned. “I’d never had so much as a thimble full before the night of my engagement party. I really did try to refuse last night. I’m beginning to hate champagne. It’s quite unsettling to the stomach.”
He frowned, though he didn’t appear to be angry with her. Curiously, he seemed to be irritated with Charles, or so she sensed. “When did you finally get to sleep?”
“About three this morning, and you’re right about my headache. I’ve had a dozen bagpipers piping a jig between my ears ever since I woke up.”
“Ouch, that bad?”
“Go ahead and gloat. I know you want to.” She curled up in the chair and closed her eyes. “But I’ll be better rested tomorrow.”
Frances only meant to close her eyes for a moment, but when she opened them again, she could tell by the stiffness in her bones that she must have fallen into a deep sleep. She wasn’t certain how long she’d slept, but Robbie and his striking, slate-gray eyes were staring at her when she awoke to the delicious aroma of country stew.
“You were out for about an hour,” he said, reading her thoughts. “I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”
He had removed his jacket, displaying a pair of surprisingly broad shoulders against the fine white lawn fabric of his shirt. “I thought the scent of stew might wake you,” he said, a smile curling at the corners of his mouth.
She unfurled herself from the chair and saw that he had tucked his jacket about her shoulders. His jacket. His scent. Mmm, nice, she thought, inhaling the subtle aroma of sandalwood.
She gazed at the plate of stew set out on his desk. “Thank you for the jacket. Have you eaten?”
He nodded. “Help yourself. It’s all for you.”
“Thank you,” she muttered again, handing him back his jacket.
“Keep it for now. My office is never warm enough. Well? What are you waiting for? Dig in.”
She saw that his empty plate and used silverware were set aside next to the pot of stew.
“Here,” he said, picking up her fork and stirring the mutton and potatoes on her plate. “But don’t wolf it down or I’ll be admitting you as a patient. There’s cider in the pitcher by your glass.”
She nodded.
“I’ll expect you ready to work in half an hour.”
“Robbie,” she said as he started for the door.
He placed his hand on the knob. “Yes.”
“Why are you being so kind to me?” She dared not trust his motives and wished to imply wickedness to them, for if he was as nice as he appeared, she was in deep, deep trouble. She’d already kissed him and liked it. Yes, very deep trouble.
“I haven’t been all that kind to you, but you’ve borne my demands with admirable grace. I’m not an ogre, Frances. I hope to win the dare fairly.”
CHAPTER 6
“FRANCES!” HER FATHER cried, startling her as she was about to prepare one of the examination rooms the following morning. “Are you mad, girl? Follow me into His Grace’s office at once.”
Frances set down the pile of linens she had just brought up from the storage pantry and followed her father and three hospital trustees into Robbie’s office. Her father drew aside a chair and ordered her to sit down and be quiet, then turned angrily to face Robbie. “I won’t have it, I tell you! My daughter will not serve as your scullery maid!”
“I’m his medical assistant,” she retorted, jumping to her feet. Robbie certainly hadn’t treated her as one, handing her every menial chore he could devise, but she would never admit it to anyone, least of all her father and these horrid trustees. How odd that she should now be thinking of Robbie as an ally, perhaps even a friend, for he hadn’t made this past week easy for her.
Yet he’d shown surprising kindness and compassion in important ways. What other duke would have shared his food with her or insisted that she nap when he noticed that she was dead on her feet?
“I warned you to be quiet, Frances.” Her father was now glowering at her. “Look at you! You’re a disgrace!”
“She’s hardly that, Cameron,” Robbie said, striding to the door and slamming it shut to lend privacy to their confrontation, although her father and the trustees were shouting loud enough to be heard across the city.
Frances doubted a mere closed door would help.
She didn’t care for herself, but raised voices would frighten the patients. She turned to Robbie when he came
to stand beside her and saw that his hands were clenched into fists. “Miss Cameron has done an excellent job as my medical assistant. I’d be proud of her if she were my daughter.”
Her father’s face was a dangerous shade of purple. “She isn’t yours. She’s mine and will do as I say.” He attempted to take her arm but she skittered away. “Come along, Frances. I’m taking you home.”
“No.” She tipped her chin up in indignation. “I don’t intend to lose this dare.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” her father said more gently, running a hand through his head of wavy, white hair. “We were all drunk and obviously not thinking. There is no dare. You’re to put an end to this folly now. Come home before your mother worries herself into an early grave.”
She glanced uncertainly about the room. All the men were scowling at her, all save Robbie, who stood right next to her and not behind his desk where she had expected him to return, his arms folded across his chest in that look of stubborn defiance she was coming to know and rather like.
She couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
He looked angry though.
Her father, a tall man, slender and striking in appearance, stood beside the portly Lord Digby. She sighed. Lord Digby was a bad mix of pompous and mean-spirited. He twirled his gray moustache and smacked his lips, no doubt salivating over her quick defeat. Who knew what lies he’d been spouting to her father to stir his anger? Her father was a decent man and rarely lost his temper.
Behind Lord Digby stood the frail Lord Danvers, current chairman of the hospital projects committee, and Lord Pertwee, a bulldog-looking sort of man.
Robbie remained steadfastly beside her, guarding her with the diligence of Cerberus guarding the gates of Hades. Except Cerberus never looked so handsome.
She cast her father a pleading gaze. “If I do as you ask, will I be permitted to speak at the next board meeting?”
“Of course not,” Lord Pertwee barked.
“Nor will you be permitted to attend our meetings for the next five years,” Lord Digby added. “We wish to be clear about that. Don’t want Lady Brazelton making a fuss when the terms were clearly set out.”
“But I’m not quitting. You’re forcing me to give up. Surely I can still attend your public meetings.”
“No,” said Lord Danvers. “You can’t now that you’ve lost the dare.”
She frowned. “I haven’t lost it yet.”
“But you will if you go home with your father,” Robbie said, easing his stance but keeping ever close to her, so close her shoulder almost grazed his arm. “What’s it to be, Miss Cameron?”
She glanced at him in confusion. “Wait, this isn’t fair.”
“It isn’t a question of fairness,” her father said. “You have parties to attend and a wedding to plan.”
“What about my ideas for—”
“Your wedding is more important,” her father insisted.
“It is important,” she said after a long moment, “but so are my opinions. Kindly send my apologies, Father. I won’t be attending any parties for the rest of the month.”
“Frances!”
She glanced at Robbie, trying to decipher his expression. He wasn’t happy about her presence in the clinic, but he stood beside her and appeared ready to fight off anyone who would attempt to steal her away. Did he want her to stay?
Not that it mattered what any of these men thought. She was determined to see this dare through. “No more parties,” she insisted. “I’ll be too busy working here.” She waved a reddened hand in the air to indicate the duke’s clinic.
“You leave me no alternative, child.” Her father straightened to his full height and shook his head. “Frances, come home with me now or don’t come home at all.”
He was tossing her out? She folded her arms across her chest, crying on the inside but determined to maintain a controlled and confident facade. “I’m sorry you feel that way, but I’m not bending to your threat. Your Grace, might I impose on you to find me suitable lodgings for the remainder of the month? I’ll gladly reimburse you out of my own purse.”
“Blast it, Fee! You… this… it ends now!” Her father, no longer in control of his temper, reached out to grab her by the elbow, but Robbie moved between them.
Without looking back at her, he nudged her safely behind him. “No one sets a hand on her. She’s under my protection now.”
That sounded awfully nice to her ears.
Quite shocking, too. She held her breath and refused to let it out, for he was speaking to her father. The trustees were grumbling and gasping and feigning offense, which she considered ridiculous since they were the ones attempting to cheat on the dare by forcing her to find lodgings in the first place.
Lord Pertwee stepped forward. “Miss Cameron, if you do not leave with us now, you will henceforth be known as the Duke of Kintyre’s kept woman!”
Heat rose in her cheeks. She was startled by the remark, but even more startled by the wild thoughts now rattling about in the empty space between her ears. She wondered what it would be like to be his kept woman, to share his bed and fall asleep while held in his muscled arms.
Quite wonderful.
No! Never. Not to be contemplated. No, indeed! “But you gentlemen—and I use the term loosely—have left me no choice. Where am I to go if my father won’t allow me to come home?”
“Impertinent child!” Lord Pertwee shouted. “You’ve brought this on yourself!”
Robbie gently nudged her behind him once more. “Watch yourself, Pertwee.” He then turned to face her father. “Will you allow these men to bully Frances into submission? She’s your daughter. She obviously loves you.”
“Do you think I don’t adore her? She’s my little sweetheart.” Her father shook his head and turned to stare at her. “But I don’t recognize you, Fee. What happened to the endearing, obedient child who made my heart burst with joy whenever she was about?”
“She’s here, Father. Right here. But this is important to me. Why can’t you understand that?” She sighed and closed her eyes a moment to hold back tears, for she couldn’t bear her father’s disappointment. It would have been so much simpler if he were still raging and unreasonable. “Lady Brazelton will take me in. Yes, I’m sure she will. That settles the matter of my residence. Father. Gentlemen. If you’ll excuse me, I have an examination room to restock.”
Frances marched to the door, intending to fling it open and demand they leave. But this wasn’t her office, it was Robbie’s. Would he allow her to toss them all out?
Lord Digby scowled at her before turning to glower at Robbie. “Your Grace, I warned you about this impertinent girl. Do you see the trouble she’s caused?”
Frances held her breath. Would he finally give in and bend to the will of these men to have her tossed out?
“She is impertinent. A pile of trouble. Irritating, too.” He shrugged his massively broad shoulders. “Even so, she stays. Go ahead and kick these gentlemen out, Miss Cameron. Wouldn’t dream of stopping you.”
Robbie knew their visitors were not above abducting Frances from his clinic, so he escorted them downstairs and personally ushered them out. “Miss Cameron has made her decision and it must be respected. Gentlemen, good day. Come along, Miss Cameron. We have patients to see.”
Lord Danvers was not ready to give up yet. “But she—”
“Is not going to back down from the dare today.” He drew her close once more, ignoring the heat surging through his blood. The girl had a way of setting him on fire even when he was not touching her outrageously tempting body.
“She will in time,” Lord Digby said, his mouth curling into a sneer. “Work her hard. Work her until she begs for mercy.”
Robbie stifled the urge to pound his fist into the man’s face. “I’ll do no such thing.”
“But—”
“If I’m to win this dare, I’ll do it fairly.” It was of no moment that he’d been an ass to the girl for an entire week now and she’d borne it wi
th regal grace. Still, he felt a pang of remorse, for he held all the power in this dare and yet she’d managed to hold her own.
Her father stepped forward. “Thank you, Your Grace,” he said, the anger seeming to drain out of him. “Can’t say I approve of this nonsense. I love my daughter despite her stubbornness. I won’t allow anyone to mistreat her.”
Robbie nodded. “You’ll have her safely home soon, Mr. Cameron. Just when, I cannot say, but if she’s as stubborn as we all believe she is, I think it will not be until the end of the month.”
He held open the front door, encouraging his visitors to step onto the street and climb back into their carriages. Lord Digby sneered at Frances. “Give it up, girl. You’ll never best the duke.”
“Goodbye, Lord Digby.” She cast him a generous smile. “Send my regards to your wife. I believe she’s wagered in my favor. Tell her that I won’t disappoint her.”
Robbie remained beside Frances until the men climbed into their carriages and drove away. He wanted to throttle her and at the same time lift her into his arms and—no, he couldn’t do what he was thinking. But he wanted to cheer her on, for she was a fine competitor, and he didn’t like the way their visitors had tried to intimidate her.
“Thank you,” Frances said, gazing up at him with the softest expression, one he did not deserve. He’d treated her little better than these men had, probably worse, for he’d purposely given her the most menial of tasks. He felt like a cur, for she was now regarding him with gratitude and admiration. “Why did you defend me?”
“I didn’t. When you fail—”
“If I do so, which I won’t.” Her pretty chin shot upward in that expression of indignation he was coming to know quite well.
