Persistent Earl : Signet Regency Romance (9781101578841)

by Eastwood, Gail

  She blushed, and that response sent a little thrill of victory through his feeble body. Dealing with this woman was going to be quite pleasurable—a welcome distraction since, apparently, he was going to live.

  “Madam, you are a delight. I must confess that although I am certain we have been properly introduced, I must not have been sentient at the time. Could you find the kindness in your obviously warm heart to tell me who you are? Perhaps you would also enlighten me as to where the devil I am, if you’ll pardon my expression?”

  ***

  The expression on Devenham’s face conveyed an innocence that did not match his tone, Phoebe noted. His voice was deep, rich, and expressive, easily conveying first his suggestive playfulness and then, by subtly shifting tones, a certain cynicism followed by the slightest hint of impatience.

  Oh, he was skilled at this game. In such a brief exchange of words, he had already managed to compliment her, embarrass her, and plant suggestive thoughts in her mind that she was not altogether sure she had needed his help to produce. How could he look so innocent?

  She decided that his impatience was the most honest of the feelings she had detected, however, and she felt some sympathy for him. Guilt followed quickly. Here she was bristling at a man who could have easily slipped through death’s door in the last few days. How could she be so unfeeling?

  She smiled and dipped a curtsy. “I am Lady Brodfield, Lord Devenham. You are in the home of Sir Edward Allington and his wife.”

  The earl’s lopsided grin appeared again for a moment, this time even broader than before. “Ah, Edward. I knew I could rely on him. Old friendships are more precious than diamonds, Lady Brodfield. Too many in the world fail to learn that.”

  He paused, as if searching his reserves for more energy. “New friendships, of course, are golden. Shall we be friends? I am honored to make your acquaintance, albeit under these rather regrettable circumstances. I must thank you for the time you have already given to my care. Will you forgive a sick man’s curiosity if I ask if you are related to Sir Edward?”

  She nodded, clasping in both hands the damp cloth she had used earlier to wipe the perspiration from his face. “Sir Edward’s wife is my sister,” she said simply. She preferred not to volunteer any further information.

  Lord Devenham rolled his head back on the pillow to his original position and closed his eyes.

  “Our conversation is tiring you,” Phoebe said in alarm. “It is time anyway for your medication. You must rest.” She thought it just as well, for she was uncomfortable with the personal direction of their conversation.

  The earl opened his eyes again. “My dear woman,” he said, “by your account I have just spent something like seventy-two hours sleeping. I do not wish to rest any more right now. What I do desire is to sit up.”

  Phoebe hesitated. The doctor had emphasized the importance of rest. Furthermore, she doubted that the earl could sit up by himself. “I do not think that is a good idea, my lord.”

  “What kind of nurse refuses to assist her patient?” He raised himself up onto his elbows and glared balefully at her from under a dramatically lowered brow. She almost laughed.

  “I see I shall be forced to exhaust myself doing this without your help.” He raised himself higher and began to pull his body up beneath the sheets.

  Phoebe could see the effort it cost him. His arms shook, and perspiration trickled down his temple. “If you would just wait, I can get Edward or a footman.”

  “That is not necessary. Would you at least be kind enough to reposition my pillows?”

  With a sigh of defeat, Phoebe closed the distance to the bed, depositing the cloth on the table that stood beside it. She reached rather stiffly for the earl’s pillows and placed them up against the headboard. “All right, my lord. I will try to help you, but I have not the strength that is really required.” She hesitated, her hands suspended, for she truly did not know quite how to begin.

  “Do not try to pretend that you have been my nurse for three days without touching me,” said the earl.

  Phoebe was embarrassed to feel the betraying tingle of a blush creep up her cheeks for a second time, which of course only intensified her reaction. When the fever had been at its worst, she and Mullins had needed to bathe Devenham’s entire upper body, clothed now so properly in a shirt. She knew all too well that the golden hair just visible in the earl’s unfastened neck placket covered most of his well-muscled chest with downy softness. But touching him now, while he was awake, seemed quite different than touching him when he had not known she was there.

  Lord Devenham grinned at her. “Don’t pretend either that you are missish, for then you would never have been given the job of nursing me. I promise you it will require only a moment.”

  She nodded, biting her lip.

  “All right, then, just put your arms around me.” He seemed to take great delight in her discomfort. “Put one arm behind my back and the other around my chest. When I say the word, try to help me slide up. I will push with my good leg.”

  Phoebe did as he said, her face burning. Her breasts were pressed against his upper arm. The flame of her embarrassment seemed to race through the rest of her body. Thank God they would be done quickly.

  She waited for his signal, but he said nothing. His eyes were closed. His face showed only a hint of a smile. Was he summoning his strength or savoring their highly improper contact? Under any other circumstances she might have slapped him, but as she debated, he opened his eyes again. “Now,” he said.

  She pulled, and he pushed, and between them they managed to get him into a position that was close to sitting upright. She withdrew hastily.

  “Your shirt is soaked,” she observed, straightening the dampened sleeves of her chemisette.

  “Yes, it is. I should like very much to change into a fresh one.”

  That was too much. “Well, I am afraid you will have to wait. Mullins sat up with you all night, and he is sleeping now. I will not wake him before it is time.”

  “I see.” The earl seemed to ponder this, and then he said, “I suppose it will do me no harm to take a chill while I sit here in wet clothing, waiting, while he sleeps.”

  “It is a warm day.”

  “Nevertheless, I feel chilled.”

  “Then perhaps you should lie down again.” Really, the man was insufferable! “I am not your valet.”

  “No, but you are my nurse. Is not my welfare supposed to be your interest?”

  “Not at the sacrifice of all modesty and propriety.”

  “I would be happy to debate that.” Phoebe heard his reply, even though Devenham uttered the words softly under his breath. When she stiffened, he looked at her and smiled wickedly. “It seems to me the nursing relationship is a very intimate one. Would you not agree, Lady Brodfield?”

  “My lord, you go too far. I will summon a footman to assist you with your shirt and sit with you until Mr. Mullins is awake.” She knew it was all a game to the earl, but truly there were polite limits, and he had most definitely exceeded them.

  “Please stay.” The contrite sound of his voice made her hesitate at the door. “I apologize.” As she stood still, debating his sincerity, he went on. “I am sorry I was disrespectful. You have been nothing but kind and generous to me, and I am grateful. If you knew the high regard I have for Sir Edward, you would know this is true. You are his sister-in-law. I just have bad habits that are hard to break, especially in the presence of a beautiful woman. Apparently even illness such as I have been suffering is not enough to break them. Please say you forgive me?”

  Phoebe turned and took a few wary steps back toward the bed. “Can we leave off playing this game?” Would she have to weigh the sincerity of everything he said?

  “Perhaps you would be willing to read to me? That should be innocent enough.”

 
“All right.” Phoebe sighed with relief. A number of books were stacked on the bedside table next to the earl’s bottles of medicine. Edward had selected them from the bookroom himself and brought them in only the previous evening. As she looked for a suitable choice, the earl said, “How long until Mullins returns to his duty?”

  Phoebe glanced at him and realized from his hunched position and the way the sheets were drawn up around him that he really must feel cold. Perhaps she had been unfair, attributing motives to him that were not really there. Now she was the one feeling contrite. “I suppose your bed linens and everything are soaked, besides your shirt. But it is more than I can do to change them without help. Perhaps I can find a blanket to put around your shoulders.”

  “A dry shirt would suffice until Mullins gets up,” Devenham said quietly. “But I will confess I fear a footman’s rough hand in assisting me with the task. My shoulder is still quite stiff from being injured. I have aggravated it a little by sitting up.”

  Phoebe’s first reaction was annoyance, like a parent confronted by a child who will not give up what he wants. Then she wondered again about her fairness. She had rather forgotten about his shoulder. She sighed, resigned to a second defeat. “Very well. But I hope to heaven no one comes in while we are doing this!”

  Devenham chuckled, and she found the sound annoyingly pleasant. “It will look no worse than if they had come in before.”

  She found a clean shirt in the earl’s trunks. Sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed, she proceeded to help him remove his wet one.

  “You can close your eyes if you truly object to seeing me,” he said as he eased his right arm out of its sleeve.

  “That wouldn’t be very helpful, would it?” she replied matter-of-factly. She had to lean closer to work off his other sleeve, for he could not raise his left arm high enough. When finally she was able to lift the shirt off over his head, she swallowed nervously at the fine display of his chest and broad shoulders. She fought the urge to touch the angry red scar below his left collarbone.

  Surely she must be the most wanton-hearted woman who had ever borne her family name. This man had merely to show himself, and she was already conquered, without his uttering a word. But she would die before she would ever let him find it out. Quickly she snatched up the fresh shirt from the bedclothes where it lay and pulled it over his head, reversing the process they had just completed. She was careful to slow down and proceed gently as she worked again with his arm and injured shoulder.

  When they were finished, he lay back against his pillows, thoroughly spent. “Perhaps I will rest, after all,” he said weakly. “Will you read to me later?” A huge yawn nearly enveloped his last words.

  Phoebe rose from the bed quickly. “Of course.” She noticed that despite his fatigue, his hands were restless. “After all this activity, will you have the laudanum now?”

  He yawned again before he answered. “Yes, I will take it. I guess I am still too weak to go without it.”

  His remark puzzled her a little, but she got the spoon and bottle from the bedside and carefully measured out his dose. “You will be glad of this when Mullins comes, for he will have to change your dressing, and I’m sure you will find that uncomfortable enough, if you are still awake.”

  He swallowed the drug and rested against the pillows again, looking at her through half-closed eyes. “You could do it.”

  “What? No, I could not!” The very idea shocked her. His wound was quite far up his leg, almost to his hip, the doctor had said. The idea of any female other than a lover ever seeing. . . .

  She stopped herself. He was doing it to her again, making her think the most improper thoughts! How could he know? Were other women as susceptible as she? Had he known so many?

  Defiantly she met his eyes and too late realized her mistake. His head was tilted provocatively to one side, and his brilliant blue gaze openly challenged her. The Devil himself was visible there. How on earth would she ever resist this man?

  “Perhaps I should give you more laudanum,” she growled. “I may have miscalculated the dose.”

  ***

  The earl was sound asleep within minutes. Watching him, Phoebe noted that his breathing came easily and his color was good, a far cry from the feverish paleness she had seen the day of his arrival. In sleep, his face bore no trace of insolence, no hint of mockery. Instead, he looked composed—peaceful and almost innocent, his shapely lips curved in a slight smile.

  His expression reminded her of Stephen, on so many nights when she would lie awake beside him, watching him sleep. For an instant, an old, familiar tenderness welled within her, and she almost touched the earl’s cheek. Then she pulled her hand back hastily. What was she thinking? Who knew better than she how deceiving such an appearance could be? What thoughts and feelings really turned in Devenham’s mind? So many nights she had lain beside Stephen in the last months of their marriage, never guessing the torment he must have been hiding. No trace of it had ever shown in his face.

  She set her chair at a distance from the bed so she would not keep looking at Devenham. She took up her needlework, but she was not able to stop thinking about the earl. Truly, she did not think that they could become friends. He was far too attractive, too dangerous, and she was far too vulnerable.

  Needlework, while eminently respectable, was not an activity Phoebe found stimulating. Before long her head dropped, and she dozed in her chair, victimized by the long hours and lost sleep of the past few days. Her rest was fitful and fragmented, as such stolen moments tend to be; she thought she was simply remembering as Stephen came to her, warm and real enough to touch. But when she reached her hands out to him, he turned away, and as her fingers connected with his flesh, he suddenly became Devenham. She awoke in alarm and confusion, to find no one there and nothing amiss save that her embroidery hoop had slid from her lap to the floor. All was silent except for the sound of the earl’s deep, regular breathing, coming from the bed.

  Clearly, the man was having an effect on her, just as she had feared. Phoebe got up and walked to the window, not willing to risk another lapse into sleep. How would she deal with Devenham now that he was beginning his recovery? Insensible with fever, he had been harmless enough. She had been able to bury the attraction she felt to him. Awake, he had been both provoking and manipulative. She was mortified that she had given in to his wishes so easily, and terrified by the physical response he had stirred in her. She did not know how she would get through the weeks ahead.

  She was still at the window when Mullins presented himself and allowed her to make her escape while the earl still slept. She retreated up the stairs to the safety of the schoolroom and the part of her life she knew she could manage.

  “Who would like to go to the park?” she called brightly to Lizzie and the children as she entered, knowing their response was guaranteed. She smiled at the expected chorus of affirmative replies.

  She had assigned the children writing exercises to perform in her absence and now proceeded to check their work.

  “Yours seem rather short, Thomas,” she chided gently. “Even great soldiers must write reports, you know. Where would Wellington be without the dispatches he exchanges with his officers, or the reports he sends back to Prinny and to Parliament? How would anyone know what was expected of them?” With sudden inspiration she said, “How would you like to write me a make-believe sort of military report for later this week?”

  The little boy was clearly delighted. “Oh, Aunt Phoebe, that’s capital! Can it be whatever I want? Oh, I know you will like it!”

  Dorrie made her opinion very clear. “I suppose I have to continue muddling along more lines of Caesar. Aunt Phoebe, why can I not have an assignment in something that is more interesting? Even Shakespeare would be better—at least he wrote plays.”

  “I promise I will consider it,” Phoebe replied.

  Will
iam had played an alphabet game with Lizzie, part of Phoebe’s secret scheme to teach reading and writing to the young maid along with her charges. Now he stood by the long shelf near the windows where the children’s small menagerie was kept. They had fish, a turtle, a frog, mice, and even a bird. William never ran out of questions. “Can we bring Mrs. Finchley with us to the park?”

  David rolled his eyes with an older brother’s typical intolerance, but Phoebe appeared to ponder William’s question quite seriously. Mrs. Finchley was their pet bird.

  “You could take her to the park, William, but let me ask you something. She is used to the schoolroom and her cage. How do you think she would feel when she saw all the open space in the park and the clear blue sky overhead?”

  William’s round, brown eyes were full of childish innocence. “I think she’d like it!”

  “Indeed, so do I. But do you think she would want to stay inside her cage?”

  “No.”

  “Would she be happy when we brought her back to the schoolroom?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Yet, would she be safe if we let her out? What do you think she would do?”

  “Fly away?”

  “And perhaps get into trouble. So, do you think it would be a good idea to take her?”

  “No.” The little lad’s disappointment was clearly expressed in his deep, heart-rending sigh.

  Phoebe’s own soft heart was seldom proof against the children when they were disappointed in something. Casting about for something that would distract or appease William, Phoebe was struck with a sudden impulse. “How would you like it if I were to come with you?”

  It suddenly seemed like the most logical thing in the world.

  Five pairs of eyes turned on Phoebe in surprise. She had never accompanied them on excursions outside of the house, except in their own garden.

  “Would you? Oh, would you?” The children clapped their hands in delight.

  “Are you certain, my lady?” Lizzie’s eyes were as big as William’s at this sudden departure from normal routine.