To Take This Lord (The Brides of Bath Book 4)

by Cheryl Bolen

  Yesterday when Sally had poured a glass of scotch to ease his pain, George had declined to drink it. As a mother must wean a babe from her breast, George had to wean himself from the spirits. He could not allow himself to become dependent upon them. He had to force himself to conquer the pain on his own.

  As bad as the pain was, he knew it had lessened each week. He would steel himself to learn to live with it. His next objective was to get out of the damned bed.

  The other impetus behind his recovery was Sally. He wanted nothing more than to recover so that he could take her in his arms and love her to completion. Every time he smelled her light scent, his heart tripped. Whenever she would lapse and call him my darling or dearest, he allowed himself the luxury of believing she cared for him as a woman cares for a man. And every time she swept into his chamber directing a bright smile at him, he hungrily watched the smooth curves of her lithe body, and he became aroused. He had even come to appreciate her hair—without curls. His Sally, the Viscountess Sedgewick, had become an aphrodisiac to him.

  Adding wood to Sally's bonfire was her complete devotion to his recovery. Perhaps she did not love him. She most likely did not. But in his entire life, he had never felt so thoroughly cared for. Everything that would make him happy made her happy. He knew without a doubt that at this point in their lives, he was the most important person in her life.

  Perhaps that was not love, but it came dangerously close.

  He asked himself, What if it had been Sally who had been hurt? The very thought of seeing her injured sent his stomach plunging. He would kill with his bare hands the person responsible for hurting her. And he knew that if Sally were the one hurt, he would be as devoted to her recovery as she was to his.

  Is that what being married was about? His heart swelled. Good Lord, Sally was the wife of his heart. Whether she knew it or not.

  When she swept into his chamber that morning, he watched her with a dry mouth and pounding heart. God, but he wanted her. Everything about her intoxicated him.

  "How are we today, dearest?" she asked brightly.

  Wincing, he scooted up to a seated position. To hell with all this damn lying about! He wished Sally to find him manly—not some bedridden bag of bones. "I shall be better with a good-morning kiss," he said with a smile.

  He had never been so bold with her before.

  She gave him a quizzing look, as if she were taken aback. Then a smile tugged at her mouth when she moved closer and lowered her lips to his.

  Oh, the sweetness of her willing lips! It was not a virgin's stiff peck. His Sally knew how to kiss!

  He reluctantly pulled away. Who in the hell had taught his wife how to kiss? He hated the fellow. He took her hand and cleared his throat. "I thank you. For the kiss and for so much more. No man ever had a better advocate than I have in you."

  Color tinged her cheeks as she contemplated his bed covering.

  "I should like you to bring me a looking glass," he said somberly.

  Fear flashed in her eyes. Did he look so hideous she did not wish for him to see himself? Dread choked him.

  "Why do you need a looking glass? I swear that you're as handsome as ever."

  Did she really think so? Hope bubbled within him. Was it possible that she was attracted to him? He could not deny her willing participation in the kiss. "Allow me to reassure myself."

  Her face was solemn when she replied. "Very well."

  She went through his dressing room in order to reach her own adjoining one. It suddenly occurred to him that since they had come to Hornsby neither of them had used the adjoining chamber door. A practice he meant to change.

  A moment later she returned with a lady's hand mirror and presented it to him. His heart pounded. Was he to be a freak for the rest of his life? Was he hideously deformed? He had not been unaware of the unattractive way the skin on his arms and shoulders had healed with a swirling, uneven surface resembling hardened lava. Would the flesh on his face also be twisted in such a manner?

  With the greatest trepidation, he brought the mirror closer to his face. And he gazed at it with a sickening disbelief roiling his gut. How changed he was! And it was not a change for the better. Fortunately, the shape of his face had not been altered. And it was good that the fire had not reached his eyes. The matched set still looked perfectly normal—as did his nose. But there was a disfigurement about the mouth that was most unattractive. Rather like one with a hairlip. In the future, he must be more sympathetic to those so afflicted. He had been prepared for the deformity of the skin that would never again be smooth. The raw, reddened skin on his cheeks and necks much resembled the deformation on his arm.

  His own reflection sickened him. He handed her back the mirror.

  Sally must have sensed his disappointment for she ran a loving hand over his burned cheek. "How fortunate we are that it's still the same loved face."

  Loved face? His heart drummed. Her words were so wildly welcomed, he almost forgot his great disappointment. His eyes misted. "I'm ugly." Though, thankfully, she doesn't seem to agree.

  She scowled at him. "How dare you say that! Are you impugning my judgment?"

  "Sally, I have eyes that, thankfully, still work."

  She angrily thrust her hands to her hips. "So, what are you saying?"

  "I'm saying my scars are quite noticeable, and they're ugly."

  "Don't ever say that!" Tears came to her eyes, and her voice gentled. "I've never told you this before, but I still remember the first time I ever set eyes upon you. I thought you were the most handsome creature I had ever seen." She thrust out her chin defiantly. "I still think so."

  Before his choked voice could respond, the chamber door was thrown open and a familiar voice boisterously greeted them. By Jove, it was his sister Glee, sweeping into the room, vibrant jade skirts trailing behind her – and her husband, Blanks, was with her. Damn, but it was good to see them! How good it was of them to come.

  Glee scowled at Sally for a fraction of a second. "I'm upset that you did not notify me immediately of my brother's serious injuries, but I know, dearest sister, you had other things on your troubled mind." She took both of Sally's hands and smiled broadly.

  Sally's eyes moistened. "We did not even know if George would live."

  If only he could get out of this damned bed and comfort her! Every time she recalled that wretched day, she cried. And it tore at his heart to see his strong little Sally in tears.

  Blanks came to set a hand on his wife's shoulder. "Then it's best you weren't here, my love. You're much too sensitive." Blanks faced George. "I must say, I expected worse, old fellow. You look awfully good to me."

  Now Glee turned her full attention upon her brother. "Oh, dear me, I am so happy that you're still the same old George." She came to touch her lips to his forehead. "How are you feeling?"

  "I've made good strides. Before yesterday, I couldn't even sit up."

  Glee's green eyes began to swim in a pool of tears.

  "Now, don't go being a watering pot on me," George chided. He closed his hand over hers. "It's good of you to come."

  "Felicity wanted ever so much to come, too, but Moreland would not hear of it." Glee dropped her voice to a whisper. "She's increasing again, you know."

  George's glance flicked to Blanks, then back to Glee. "Yes, I know."

  "I don't know why you've had to bear so much," Glee said to George. "It's not fair at all."

  George frowned. "My thoughts exactly."

  Sally stepped up to the bed, the mirror still in her hand. "I do not wish for George to use his energies for negative thoughts. Only positive, healing ones."

  "Of course, you're right," Glee said, taking her brother's hand. "When will you be able to get out of that wretched bed?"

  He glanced at Sally.

  "When he feels up to it, I expect," Sally said. "Now that the flesh is healing, his movements are less restricted."

  "I believe by week's end I'll be out of this demmed bed."

  "W
atch your language, dearest," Sally said.

  Bless her! Dearest this, dearest that. At least one good thing had come from this bloody accident. If it was an accident.

  When Sally referred to her husband as "dearest," Glee's flashing eyes met Sally's. It was as if there were some secret between the two women. A secret that had something to do with him. Perhaps he needed a tete-a-tete with his sister.

  Blanks came to stand to the left of his wife. "How long since you've ridden a horse, old fellow?"

  "A month."

  Blanks winced. "I vow, before I leave Hornsby, you'll be in the saddle again."

  George offered a wan smile.

  Miss Primble brought the children for their afternoon visit, and Sam came flying to his father's bed.

  "I'm ever so sorry, your lordship," Miss Primble said, "I did not know you had visitors."

  George imprisoned Sam with his arms and made silly noises upon the lad's neck, making him giggle. "It's all right, Miss P.," George said. "Allow them to visit for a spell with their aunt and uncle."

  Glee intently watched the easy camaraderie that had developed between her brother and his son, and her eyes once again filled with tears.

  "Aunt Glee!" Georgette said. "Where is Joy?"

  "I shall not tell you until you present your aunt with a kiss," Glee said affectionately.

  Georgette stood upon her tiptoes and Glee made herself even smaller by stooping low to accept her niece's kiss. "Now let me look at you!" Glee said. "I believe you have grown since the last time I saw you. Country life must agree with you, my precious niece."

  Georgette frowned. "We were very happy here—until Papa got burned."

  "Your mama won't allow us to speak in your father's chambers about the fire. We can only discuss his recovery—which I understand is coming along nicely."

  Georgette nodded.

  "I expect the carriage in which Joy and her nurse are riding will be here any minute. Would you like to go watch for it?"

  "Oh yes, ever so much." Georgette skipped from the room.

  Glee turned back toward her brother's bed. "I expect my nephew has forgotten me completely." She poked her nose into Sam's little face. "Hello, Sam."

  Sam spun toward to his father, then back to her. "Papa sick!"

  "Oh, George, he's talking! I told you not to worry about him."

  George dropped a kiss on top the lad's curly hair. "I'm rather pleased that he chose to speak his first sentence to me."

  "That's because," Sally interjected, "Sam was very worried about his papa. The two have become quite close."

  "You're so fortunate to have a son," Glee said in a thin voice.

  It hurt George when his sister hurt. And, whether Blanks knew it or not, he was hurting Glee with his unselfish love of her, his fear of losing her. George had his work cut out for him in helping to bring Glee and Blanks together again in that most important way. In the same way he hoped to be together with Sally. Soon.

  Chapter 27

  The next morning George decided he would be a cripple no longer. With his valet's help, he dressed. He tried not to think about that blasted cravat pinching against the tender burned skin on his neck. The doctor had said he could not go out in sunlight because the new skin was far too susceptible to more burning. More burning was the last thing in the world he wanted.

  So he would have to content himself with walking down the stairs and busying himself in his library. There were many farming journals he had to get caught up on reading, and then there was Blanks. Just having his dearest friend under his roof sent a smile to George's healing face.

  He had not counted on that slip of a wife of his having apoplexy when she saw him descending the staircase.

  "Oh my goodness, George," she called up to him from the foot of the stairs, "are you sure you're up to it?" Her brows seriously rumpled as she watched him come down each step.

  He would have liked for his progress to have been faster, but the fact was that he was far weaker than he had expected. He became unbelievably winded, like an elderly person who could not walk and talk at the same time for lack of breath. Bloody hell, if he didn't feel wretchedly like an elderly person at the moment.

  Glee came scurrying into the central hallway, her little face alight. "Bravo! George!" she said excitedly, gazing up at him with smiling eyes. "I'm ever so proud of you!"

  His wife, on the other hand, had gone white with fear. "George Pembroke! Why did you not ask Blanks—or your man—to accompany you down the stairs? I declare, in my mind's eye I saw your weak legs giving out, making me a widow." She stomped her slippered foot. "And I assure you, I have no desire to be a widow."

  When he came to the last step, he brushed his lips across Sally's smooth cheek. "Would you be a merry widow, my dear?"

  She thrust hands to hips and narrowed her eyes. "I most certainly would not!"

  He rather liked it when Sally was mad like this. It was a good mad.

  Adams opened the front door, and Willingham came striding into the central hall.

  "My lord! It's good to see you up and about." Willingham's eyes scanned those assembled around George.

  "You remember my sister?" George asked Willingham.

  The steward's eyes flashed. "How could I forget one as lovely as Mrs. Blankenship?" He bowed before Glee, and she offered him her hand.

  George did not at all approve of the way Willingham positively drooled over married women. Including his Sally. The man needed to get his own wife and stop hungering after the wives of other men.

  Willingham peeled his eyes from Glee and faced his employer. "Are you up to riding the estate yet, my lord?"

  Sally answered. "He most certainly is not! Dr. Moore said George's skin will be extremely sensitive to the sun."

  George gave a martyred expression. "I shall have to console myself by reading the new agriculture book by Hodson today."

  "I did not know you had it. I was going to order it myself," Willingham said.

  "Allow me to offer you mine—once I've read it."

  Blanks came up and nodded at the steward. "Your servant, Willingham." Then he directed his attention to George. "I didn't know you were able to get up yet, old fellow."

  "This is my first time. Come, let's go to the library." George raised a brow to his steward. "Willingham?"

  "No, my lord, I've work to do. I only came to see if I could be of any use to you, and I see that I'm not needed."

  Glee slipped her arm through Sally's. "I perceive this is your first day free of sick-room duty. Should you like to take a walk?"

  "I would love to," Sally said. "Allow me to fetch a bonnet."

  With unfurling pride, George watched Sally glide gracefully up the stairs. Only this moment did he become aware that she had ceased to curl her hair. A few months earlier he would have thought that straight hair of hers hideously unfashionable. Now he could scarcely remember what she looked like with curls. He had come to love the silvery blond wispiness of her hair. Even if it was as straight as a straw—her description, not his. He chuckled to himself.

  In the oak-paneled library, George closed the door behind Blanks, drew open the olive velvet draperies, and went to sit on a sofa across from his friend.

  "Has it occurred to you," Blanks began, "that someone is trying to ruin you?"

  George gave an insincere laugh. "Is the sky blue?"

  "Do you have any idea who it could be?"

  George shrugged. "I have an idea, but it doesn't make sense."

  Blanks leaned forward. "What doesn't make sense?"

  "Nothing ever happened until a big, strapping fellow named Ebenezer showed up at Hornsby in May. He said he had experience working with horses, needed a job, asked only for room and board—no wages."

  Blanks's brows shot up. "No wages whatsoever?"

  "None. I suppose a bell should have gone off in my head, but it didn't."

  "Why should it? You don't have any enemies."

  "I've combed my brain to think of anyone who has an
imosity toward me, but I can think of no one."

  "I can't, either, old fellow, but it sounds as if someone does hate you and most likely hired old Ebenezer to destroy you. Why don't you just give him the boot?"

  "I've thought of that, but I'm afraid it wouldn't solve anything. He could still get at me. Besides, I'd rather set a trap for him. That way I could learn who my enemy is, who hired him. The problem is---"

  "It would be bloody difficult for you to stay awake four and twenty hours a day to watch the bloke," Blanks said.

  George's eyes flashed. "I know! A Bow Street runner!"

  "An excellent idea. In fact, I believe you should ask for two. That way you could be assured one of them is always awake to keep a watch on the wretched groom." Blanks cleared his throat. "I understand money's rather thin this quarter. Allow me to hire the runners. You can pay me back next quarter."

  "You're a good friend," George said.

  "A brother, too."

  George settled back into the sofa, but it hurt his tender back, forcing him to sit up ramrod straight again. "So Felicity's increasing again?" George said.

  Blanks frowned. "Don't understand that Moreland. Would have sworn he worshipped the very ground Felicity trod. How can he risk . . . ?"

  "They do love each other. Profoundly, I would say." George thought of how much he had come to love Sally. She was every bit as vital to him as Diana had once been. The very thought of losing her was like a dagger to his heart. "When two people love each other, it's only a natural extension of that love to . . . "

  He swallowed hard. To make love to each other. He vowed that by week's end Sally would truly be his wife. His breath began to come rapidly.

  "I know," Blanks said morosely. "I don't even want another woman. I want only my wife." His voice broke. "But I'm so bloody scared of losing her. I would not wish to live if I lost Glee."