The Delicate Matter of Lady Blayne (Intimate Secrets Book 1)

by Blackthorne, Natasha

  He approached the bed. The sound of his boots on the floorboards echoed unnaturally loud in the chamber. Had he spoken with his aunts and his grandmother? How much had they told him?

  Did he know the full truth about her now?

  Her heart pounded all the harder.

  Almost to the bed, he stopped, bent and picked up a white garment.

  Her nightdress, where she’d shed and dropped it earlier when planning her seduction of him.

  What madness!

  She’d made a complete fool of herself!

  She wanted to pull the coverlet over her head yet she resisted, trying to slow her fast increasing breaths.

  “Here.” His voice was soft and gentle. “Put this on.”

  He handed her the nightdress then turned his back.

  She hastily pulled it over her head and down her body. “Tis done,” she said, hearing her voice dry, raspy, small.

  He turned back just as she was making to arise. He closed the space between them in two strides and placed his hands on her shoulders and stared down at her.

  She dropped her gaze, unable to bear how he seemed to search into her very soul. Her heart fluttered and she took a shuddering breath.

  He gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “You’re shivering.”

  It was a statement that required no answer.

  “Are you cold?”

  “No,” she said, again hearing the smallness in her voice.

  “Look at me, Sunny,” he said, his voice deep, maybe a little husky.

  She glanced up at him and let him see her eyes. Let him see all the way down into her soul.

  And he did not look away.

  “My God, all that has happened to you. Everything. How does one find words?”

  She caught her breath.

  What did he mean by “everything”? Oh, how much had they told him?

  “How you have been hurt.”

  She opened her mouth, ready to deny the depth of her hurt, but at the sight of the sudden tenderness in his eyes, her wits flew away.

  He slid his hands down to her upper arms then tightened his grip. “I am sorry, Sunny.” He’d sounded strange, as though he might be ready to weep. “I am so goddamned sorry.”

  A lump formed in her throat. She couldn’t swallow it down. Couldn’t speak.

  “I am sorry they have imprisoned you here and robbed you of all privacy and dignity.”

  Her heart’s beat went all fluttery. The lump in her throat grew larger. Her vision went blurry.

  “I am sorry…” His voice sounded a little more strangled. “I am sorry for your loss of Freddy. For all of it.”

  Oh God. Oh God.

  Her throat burnt now. Tears fell from her eyes. She couldn’t hold them back.

  No one had ever said they were sorry for her loss of Freddy.

  Everyone had always said that poor Freddy had suffered too much and too long. Poor Freddy who had died too soon. Poor Freddy who had left a young wife and no heirs behind.

  Everyone had told her how lucky she had been to have been chosen by Freddy, to have been made his baroness. That she was lucky to have had the limited time she had shared with him. That she had been the most blessed of women to have been the object of his chaste love.

  But no one had ever told her that they were sorry for her loss.

  It was as though all the blessings Freddy had bestowed on her should have compensated her for any grief or loss over his death.

  They hadn’t.

  James ran a caressing hand over her hair.

  She sniffed, trying to swallow back her tears. “I am sorry,” she murmured.

  “It’s all right,” he said.

  She stared at his brass buttons, at the muted twinkle of those highly polished buttons in the soft light. If she could find some little thing, some aspect of beauty to focus on, she could manage to stop herself from spiraling into madness. She sniffed again, feeling herself attain a degree of control. “I try not to come undone. But somehow, I am always unraveled. I cannot put myself right.”

  “It is all right, Sunny.” He smoothed the hair off her face. “No one can be strong all the time.”

  Then he put his arms about her and lifted her. “Let’s get you back to your own bed.”

  “No, I don’t want to go back to my chamber!” She spoke sharply. She couldn’t help it. Fear had seized her.

  Freddy would be there. Silent. Distant. Waiting.

  Freddy, who would never shield her from Dr. Meeker’s visit come morning.

  “Shh, shh, don’t fash.” James shifted her weight, settling her into his arms. ”Are you afraid that Dr. Meeker will come?”

  She wanted to tell James all about her fear. About Freddy’s ghost haunting her. About Meeker’s hideous treatments. She wanted to beg and plead for James to protect her.

  Her throat tightened and she couldn’t speak.

  You must trust me. You mustn’t keep secrets and you must give me all of your loyalty, all of your obedience.

  The doctor’s words echoed in her mind. Speaking out against Dr. Meeker, after all he had done for her, it just seemed so ungrateful.

  No, no! Remember the bad parts. The bad parts!

  James went rigid against her. “The bad parts?”

  She gasped. Now she’d really done it. She’d said that aloud. She’d really betrayed Dr. Meeker. Oh mercy, was she really ready to do such a thing? Was it wise? Could she survive without Dr. Meeker?

  No one else could heal what ailed her. No one else could help her. Hadn’t he and everyone else told her that over and over again?

  She needed help. Desperately. She must find a way to regain control over herself again. She must get herself back. What if she alienated Dr. Meeker’s goodwill and he didn’t want to help her anymore?

  No, no, that’s what everyone says, but what is the truth? Please focus. Focus on truth.

  But what was truth?

  Once she had been so sure. Now she hadn’t any faith in her ability to discern truth.

  James leaned away from her.

  She was thankful for the heavy swath of hair that fell over her face. She felt small, vulnerable, exposed. Scared.

  Through the veil of her hair, she covertly observed every line of his hard-muscled, broad shouldered body. He radiated mental strength, self-control, determination.

  Everything she craved for in her life.

  Oh God, she desperately wanted to spill the whole matter to him and see what he would make of it.

  But no!

  You’re a lady, you can’t speak of such matters to any man, much less a gentleman.

  Even speaking of it to your doctor was wrong. But there was no other way to attain his aid. It was a necessary evil.

  But no one else can ever, ever know.

  “What do you want Sunny?” Despite its tenderness, James’ voice held such an undercurrent of strength.

  She touched one of his brass buttons. It felt just as smooth and cool as she’d imagined it would.

  “Anything, Sunny—I’ll do anything that will make you feel safe. You can trust me.”

  Trust him.

  Yes, trust him.

  Why should she? She’d only known him previously for a short period of time. He’d been a young man on shore leave, ill with then recovering from a virulent fever for most of that time, not himself. Then, once well, he had tried to seduce her, tried to make her just one more notch—just where would a naval lieutenant have kept his notches to record his conquests?

  She didn’t know. But she did know that there was no other way to evade Dr. Meeker’s morning visit. That there was no way out of this house, this prison, without trusting in James.

  Well, no other way that she knew of at the moment. Yes, she could simply walk out the front door or even the servants’ door, but then she’d be alone.

  And she did not trust herself alone.

  She needed someone.

  James.

  She closed her eyes and rolled her head to rest on
his shoulder. “I want privacy. I want to be away from here and to find someplace where there are no lady’s maids, no dowagers or doctors.” She took a trembling breath, unable to believe her daring, betraying request. She must get the whole matter out before her better sense prevailed. “A place where there are no eyes to watch over me.”

  ****

  Sitting in the drawing room chamber of Duncan and Donna Carson’s home, James felt the heaviness pressing on his chest grow. A heaviness that two glasses of Sir Duncan’s fine whisky had not been able to ease.

  Christ, two glasses of whisky before noon. He had not indulged himself like that in years.

  Across the chamber, Sunny listlessly lifted a teacup to her lips. Mellow autumn sunshine made the golden lights in her hair glow. Dark purple shadows showed under her eyes. She was so pale. She looked ill. That drab dark purple frock certainly didn’t help.

  “How much opiate have they been dosing her with?” Donna asked in a hushed tone.

  James had said little to the Carsons except that his aunt had been drugging Sunny and that she was in fragile state and he no longer trusted his aunt’s judgment. Long familiar with Aunt Frances and her domineering ways, they had accepted this.

  However, they had exchanged a lingering and rather askance glance upon first seeing his face. The scratches. Damning evidence.

  Most damning.

  Thank heavens they had the good sense—or was it taste?—not to ask any questions.

  Things were uncomfortable enough as it was. It had been a short jaunt from Blayne House to Carson House. He had carried Sunny, wrapped in a blanket with a flap of it draped over her face, from his chamber to his carriage. And, holding her in his arms, he had been aware of the lushness of her generous curves, aware of her body’s heat.

  Aware of her scent, part lavender and citrus perfume, part tangy-sweet feminine sweat, spiced with the unmistakable, lingering aroma of her sexual arousal.

  Or had he just imagined that last part?

  Certainly, he still tasted her kiss. Still fought to keep his mind off of what it had felt like to restrain her whilst she had fought him.

  He had ridden with the driver, because God knew he couldn’t have borne sitting with Sunny, trapped with the sensual temptation of her, alone in the closed carriage.

  A man’s self-control had definite limits.

  To avoid an unpleasant departure for Sunny, he had left with her whilst Aunt Frances and Grandmother lay sleeping. He had penned Aunt Frances a brief note. But he would have to return before sunset and explain the new situation to her personally.

  He had brought Sunny here because he didn’t know what else to do. Being a decisive man, he wasn’t comfortable with feeling unsure.

  Women’s matters.

  Devil take him, what did he know of a woman’s life?

  Of Society?

  Save for the regiment and pomp of naval life, he knew damned little of the polite side of life.

  He also wasn’t used to allowing his emotions to dictate his actions. But he’d been unable to deny her.

  Yes, logically, he shouldn’t have removed Sunny from Blayne House. He should simply have dismissed Dr. Meeker’s maids and found new ones.

  He could certainly protect her against the likes of Meeker.

  But then he’d seen the fear in her eyes, heard it echo in her voice. Felt her body tremble with it in his arms.

  Fear not just for the odious physician, but for those whom she should have trusted the most.

  He’d been compelled to take drastic, decisive action.

  He no longer trusted Aunt Frances or Grandmother Blayne or any servant loyal to them. Women’s ways were often underhanded and cunning, especially when their hearts were involved and they believed their cause to be just. Best to remove Sunny from that house, and from his aunt’s sphere of influence. Immediately.

  He turned to Donna. “I don’t know how much they were giving her. But it was a fair amount.”

  “She’ll have to be weaned off of it. Slowly and carefully, James.”

  James nodded. He intended to consult with a doctor here in Edinburgh, whom he knew and trusted. But there was no need to explain himself to Donna. She simply believed this to be a woman’s matter and wished to insert what she felt was her natural authority over such a situation.

  Under other circumstances, he might have gladly handed Sunny over to her.

  But trusting in women’s judgment was what had led to this current coil. He wasn’t about to make that mistake again.

  “You’ll need a woman to care for her,” Donna said. “I can send you some recommendations. Someone with skill as a nurse.”

  I want privacy. I want to be away from here and to find someplace where there are no lady’s maids, no aunts or dowagers or doctors.

  His stomach tensed. The memory of the emotion in Sunny’s voice was like a strike to his gut. His neglect had resulted in her being hurt—how deeply, he wasn’t yet sure, but deeply enough that he was determined to act with caution. He must be personally responsible for her.

  He took a quick glance at Sunny. God, she looked pale. And she still wasn’t eating.

  His sense of inner agitation increased.

  “James?”

  He returned his attention to Donna.

  “Do you want me to find some women to care for her?”

  ”No. No maids. No servants.” He heard himself speak the words, heard the finality in his tone. But his mind had just begun to grasp the enormity of what he had just said.

  The potential for scandal was considerable.

  His stomach tightened even more. He couldn’t afford any scandal. His reputation must be spotless. The risk was too great.

  Donna’s dark auburn brows rose. “No servants?”

  Her eyes mirrored the disquiet within himself. He compressed his lips. What the hell was he supposed to do with Sunny?

  “James.” Donna’s voice was sharper. “What are you about here? You can’t simply take your cousin’s widow away from her home and travel with her without some adult woman to accompany the two of you.”

  Then propriety be damned.

  The thought as well as the vehemence of it shook him. He glanced at Sunny again and immediately experienced an odd tugging sensation in his chest, and a tightness in his throat.

  She didn’t wish to be around other women. Yes, women had betrayed her. Over and over again. He understood her anxiety.

  Unbidden, an image of Sunny’s face as it had been years ago, girlish, her lush mouth too wide for her then thin face, appeared in his mind’s eye. Sunlight illuminated gold lights in her brown hair. She had grinned at him, her green eyes and small, white teeth sparkling like precious jewels and perfect ivory.

  Dimples had shown in her cheeks.

  Dimples. He had forgotten about that. There had been no sign of them since he had come back home, for she hadn’t smiled broadly enough.

  She was so very unhappy. His profound awareness of her despondency was a crushing weight upon his chest.

  “Unless you intend to wed her?” Donna’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

  “What?” he said absently.

  “Do you intend to wed her?” Donna said more insistently. Her gaze narrowed on him.

  “Donna,” Sir Duncan said, a warning in his tone.

  Donna leaned forward a bit, frowning. “James, how well do you really know Lady Blayne?” She had lowered her voice to the point where he could barely hear her. “She’s clearly developed a dependency on laudanum, and who knows what other difficulties she may present with.”

  He kept his expression blank, not wanting to delve any further into the matter with the Carsons. “I shall deal with it,” he said.

  “I am concerned for you.” Donna pointed at James’ face. “Those scratches—”

  There was a look he’d developed early on in his career as an officer, a look that at once put the other person into a subordinate position and forbade any further inquiries.

 
He gave that look now to his dear friend’s wife. All because he’d not been able to bear the cool, distrusting tone she’d taken when speaking of Sunny.

  Donna blanched and pulled away from him.

  “Woman, mind your own business,” Carson said.

  Donna stiffened. “He isn’t acting like himself. Someone needs to speak up.”

  Carson nodded at where Sunny sat. “The lass hasn’t eaten much. Why don’t you go and see if there is something she’d like better. Maybe you ought to send out for some cakes?”

  Donna gave her husband a steady stare. “He can’t just take her away, alone. There are proprieties that must be observed. Even for famous naval heroes.”

  “Go on and see to the lass.” Carson glanced at James. “Lord Blayne and I will have a little chat.”

  Donna continued to glare at her husband. “You know what he suggests is madness.”

  “The better part of life is often madness. Now go see to the lass.”

  She arose and hurried away in a rustle of crisp skirts.

  “So, what’s all this?” Carson asked in a confidential, slightly conspiratorial tone.

  James sat stone-faced, suddenly seething at the implied salaciousness in Carson’s tone.

  Carson reached out and grasped James’ shoulder. Gave it a stout squeeze. “You’re talking to me now, not Donna. I have eyes, man. I can see the temptation.”

  “She’s Freddy’s widow.” James ground the words out past his clenched jaw. “I owe her nothing but the highest respect.”

  Carson chuckled softly. “I had not remembered Lady Blayne as being quite so beautiful. I can see your dilemma.”

  Earlier, James had caught the glint of lustful admiration in Carson’s gaze when he had first seen Sunny. That had angered him, though against all reason, and now he wasn’t pleased to be reminded of it. But even more infuriating was Carson’s shameful implication that James would consider Sunny fair game.

  God, had James been gone from so-called “polite” Society so long as to have forgotten the lockstep mindlessness of it all?

  Well, perhaps he had. But he had returned to it to some degree in London. Apparently, he hadn’t readjusted himself to it deeply enough.