He cared for her.
But he did not love her.
Our blood runs cold.
Blayne blood.
She shivered.
As though his senses were acute enough to perceive her shiver, he turned from the window. His dark brows drew together tightly. “You’re cold?”
“A bit.”
“You’re nervous.” It was a statement not a question. He went and tugged on the bell pull. “I’ll call for tea and a wrap for you.”
She shook her head. “I am not hungry. I don’t want tea.”
“You should have something warm and sustaining if you are cold.” His gaze sharpened. “You look pale. Have you been sleeping well?”
She knew from his tone that he was really asking if she had been having nightmares. She didn’t want to answer. Yes, she’d had some. But what matter was it of his? He wasn’t really a part of her life now. She couldn’t even let herself imagine that he would be here for her.
She must learn to cope with these things on her own.
He approached her then stood looking down at her coolly. Impersonally.
Her chest tightened. Her eyes burned. She blinked, hard.
He put his hand beneath her chin, touching her lightly. “You still belong to me.”
Did she?
Would he take her upstairs? Would he ask her to service his needs? Would he soften to her and become her tender lover again?
“You must take care of yourself.” He tightened his hold. “Or else I shall be forced to hire someone to assure that you do.”
“A keeper?” She tried to flinch away but he held her fast.
“If necessary.”
“Like Mrs. Tibbs?”
His eyes flashed and he compressed his lips. “You needn’t become truculent with me.”
With her heart hammering in her chest, she said nothing.
“You are well taken care of.”
The tightness in her chest grew until she could barely breathe.
“What do you want from me, Catriona? You needn’t sulk like this. You need only ask.”
She would never ask for what she wanted—what she needed most.
Even after having been virtually sold to Frances Blayne by her parents, even after all the things Freddy had done and said, she still had some pride left.
Or was she just finding her pride?
“Ask, Catriona.” He ground out the words. His silver-blue eyes burned with emotion.
But which emotion?
Lust?
Affection?
Concern?
Or was it just ire because she was being difficult?
What had she expected from him? He was an important nobleman. She had known that there would be times when other duties would require all his attention.
But no…she did know those things to be true. But she didn’t know how it would feel to be shunted aside like a—oh God, like a plaything.
Like a whore.
“You’re trying my patience,” he said, his expression hardening.
A knock sounded at the door.
Irritation flashed in his eyes. He jerked his hand away from her chin and turned on his heel to face the door. “Enter!”
The maid came in.
“Bring tea and cakes for Lady Blayne.”
“My lord, the doctor is here and waiting.”
“Show him in.”
“The tea, my lord?”
“Ready it, but don’t bring it until I call.”
The girl bobbed a curtsy. “Yes, my lord.”
She left. James walked to the door then turned back, his gaze burning into Sunny’s. “Do not think that you can manipulate me with any feminine theatrics or sulks,” he said, his voice low but with an edge that sent a chill through her.
So, she was expected not to feel the sting of his putting her aside?
She was expected to be a doll. To wait for his return and to smile pleasantly at his least attention, even when she was close to breaking apart inside?
What had she expected?
He had not lied to her.
But I can’t live with this.
She would have to learn to live with it.
If she wanted to remain his.
Was being his worth this kind of pain?
“I shall go to my estate for Christmas,” he said. “I will expect you to accompany me. Make sure you have an adequate number of gowns, something suitable for a ball.”
She put her hand to her collarbone and opened her mouth to speak.
“You cannot avoid society forever,” he went on “A country ball will provide an excellent chance for you to be a hostess and to re-enter society. You are my cousin’s widow. It will do you honor in other people’s eyes that I asked to render me such an important service.”
“I suppose, but I know nothing of preparing for such a gala celebration.”
He regarded her for a moment. “I’ll make sure that you have access to someone with enough experience to guide you.”
“Frances…”
He held up a forestalling hand. “I think the less contact you have with Aunt Frances the better.”
Her mouth fell open.
“Yes, your soft heart.” Something glowed in his eyes and there was a momentary easing of his stern expression.
Warmth entered her, centering in her chest.
His expression turned stern. “Remember what she did. She is capable of deceit and is completely taken in by Meeker.”
“You don’t think he would…”
Deadly cold showed in his eyes. “He wouldn’t dare.”
“I miss Frances.”
“Of course you do. But she cannot be trusted. I forbid you to contact her. I’ll find someone suitable. It is not your worry. I have told you to prepare your wardrobe; that and your own mental preparation is all you need concern yourself with.”
“Yes, my lord,” she said, unable to keep her tone from becoming clipped. She didn’t wish to be his polite society hostess. She wanted to be his lover, to warm his bed. To have him warm her. The nights were growing chilly.
“You’ll bring Ailise.”
“But she’s not out,” Sunny blurted.
“Yes, but she will come no matter. It will give an extra layer of respectability to your coming. My cousin’s widow chaperoning my half-sister. No one can look askance at that.”
His tone brooked no refusal.
Nevertheless, Sunny tried to think of the right way to refuse.
A knock sounded on the door, startling her out of her deep deliberation.
****
James sat at the desk in the study of the house that he had purchased for Catriona, nursing a brandy. Earlier, he had stood at the window, his back decently turned whilst the doctor made his more intimate examination of Catriona. If the doctor had thought James’ presence was peculiar, he didn’t have the impudence to indicate it by gesture or remark. A concession for which James was damned glad. He’d had enough truculence from Catriona.
She didn’t understand, that much was clear.
They mustn’t reveal the fact that they were lovers, not even by the mere brushing of fingers or a too-lengthy gaze. At least not here in London where there were so many prying eyes.
Not only did he have to keep his distance from her for the sake of both of their reputations, but he was presently consumed with pressing business.
It wasn’t his way to be idle, and he had neglected his affairs for far too long. Now back in his old life, he had fallen into his regular patterns. After the distractions of the previous weeks, the unsettling nature of his tormented, irrational passions for Catriona, he had found those patterns to be a comfort.
His mind was full of so many things, far too many to list them all. But most pressing was a business venture in India that might prove very lucrative. He also had been attending to his political contacts, hopping from event to event, spending the evenings in endless tedium as the little season played out. And he had to make preparations for s
pending December at his estate.
He knew Catriona did not want to play hostess for him. That was unfortunate. But everyone had duties they found distasteful. He had catered to her for quite a while now. It was high time that she put the past behind her and accepted her role as a dowager countess.
She could be useful to him. To the Blaynes.
She would have to be useful in order to have an excuse for remaining close to him.
In the country, they would be amid squires who were eager to gain, and most of all, to keep his favor. Simple genteel folk who held less power, who were less likely to influence the gossip of Mayfair. Things would be more relaxed, more informal. There would be times when he could allow himself to steal private moments with Catriona. They would have to be careful, oh so careful. There would be those few servants, those closest to himself and Catriona, whom he must pay handsomely to keep their eyes averted and their ears closed.
When he took a wife, he would no longer be able to take Catriona to his estate.
However, when he had a wife, he would also be less personally responsible for contributing to the social whirl of the community connected with his estate. His wife would shoulder most of that. He would have more time to spend on a private life, apart from the estate.
This year and perhaps the next, as a bachelor without his own mother at hand, he faced a singular situation.
But he really must try to find a wife during the coming season. He was thirty-six, a good deal closer to death than not. And he had likely used up all the luck at cheating the reaper that he had possessed during the war.
Five years. That was what he needed. Time to marry and to fill his nursery with an heir and a younger son. Perhaps a daughter or two into the bargain, perhaps not. God would decide.
A sinking sensation in his gut made him tap his fingers on the glossy desktop.
What chance had he of holding on to Catriona whilst he wedded and bedded his noble, well-connected wife? Catriona would grow weary of waiting. She would flee.
Five years, Catriona, just give me five years and then I shall be all yours.
A knock sounded on the door.
He let his breath go in a long exhalation, attempting to release his tension. “Enter,” he said.
Catriona had been with Ailise whilst the physician examined her as well. Now the tall, thin doctor came into the chamber.
At James’ offer, he took a seat, folding his slender, elegant hands in his lap then regarding James with serious hazel-brown eyes. “The Lady Ailise seems well.” He paused with a delicate pursing of his lips. “She is possessed of a shy, nervous temperament, but, then, so do many young women her age. She may well grow out of it.”
Thankfully, she was healing. Physically at least. However, James doubted she would simply grow out of the abuse. But he said nothing. He merely nodded. “And Lady Blayne?”
“She seems to be a normally healthy young woman. I see no reason for her excessive pain with her courses.” He wrinkled his forehead. “May I suggest something, shall we say, unconventional, my lord?”
“You may suggest anything that you feel will help.”
“Perhaps it will not help. But it may. As you know, I spent many years in India and China. I learned quite a bit from their medical methods. They believe food can be a medicine, or, in the case of unwise choices, a poison.”
“That’s an interesting view,” James said, though he didn’t believe Catriona made especially unwise dietary choices, at least not compared to any other healthy young noblewoman he knew.
“Lady Blayne might try abstaining from strong teas, coffee and chocolates.”
James raised his brows. “Tea? But surely tea is the mildest of drinks for a lady?”
“These are stimulating drinks. They contain some element that is not harmonious with the female nature—at least for some ladies. I have seen the elimination of these drinks to be a great help in some cases.” He held up his hand. “But I can make no guarantees.”
“It is certainly worth a try.” James’ heartbeat increased with his sense of trepidation. But the next question must be asked. However, he wasn’t sure which answer he wished to hear. “What about the possibility of her conceiving a child?”
“I have no reason to believe her current difficulties will prevent her from conceiving a child. A pregnancy would give her respite from her regular miseries, and if the proposed treatment proves beneficial to her, there’s all the more reason to believe that once introduced into a normal married life, she will easily conceive.” The doctor paused with another slight pursing of his lips. “It is perhaps indelicate to mention it, but she has nice, wide hips. She should easily bear children.”
James thanked him, and the doctor bid him a good day. James saw him to the door, then went straight back to the study for a strong drink. But having he’d downed it, he still felt no better.
Catriona was likely to be able to have children.
If he continued to keep her as a mistress, he would prevent her from finding a husband.
He would be denying her a normal life as a wife and mother.
But he couldn’t bring himself to let her go.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sunny stared at the newspaper that lay in her lap, unable to wrap her mind around what she had just read. James had been officially invested with the title of the Earl of Greythorn. And she had found out through the notice in the London Gazette.
She hadn’t expected to attend the investiture ceremony. Nor had she expected for James to even ask her out of politeness. She had never been to court and to the world, she was only his cousin’s widow. But she expected him to at least mention such a momentous event to her. Instead, the letter she had just received from him had been filled with instructions on preparations for the trip to his estate for Christmastide.
“Uncle James! Uncle James!”
Sunny jerked her head toward the open chamber door where the child’s voice echoed in the hallway.
Uncle James?
Her heart began to beat hard.
“Oh, you little miscreant! When I catch you, you’ll have hell to pay!” The housekeeper’s voice boomed.
“Come here this instant,” commanded the cook.
Sunny tossed the paper onto the settee, jumped to her feet and raced out the door into corridor.
A young boy with an unruly shock of raven hair came to a sudden halt in his dash down the hallway. His clothes were of good quality, the style like that of someone from the merchant class. He was ten, maybe nine. He looked at her and she found herself staring into wide grayish blue eyes, no, not gray—silver blue, like James’. Those eyes struck straight into her heart and for a moment she was transfixed. The boy’s visage became fierce as a thundercloud. She had seen an expression just like that, in the gallery at Landbrae, on Grandfather Blayne’s face in his portrait.
Her own child might have looked very similar, if only Freddy had been able to consummate their marriage.
Mrs. Johnson had been chasing the boy, with the housekeeper, Mrs. Taylor, close behind. Both women stopped. Mouth open, Mrs. Johnson puffed hard, her round cheeks glowing bright red. Her expression changed from ire to dismay. No, more than dismay, fear.
The cook started toward the boy. “Come now, Benjamin, you’re not supposed to be here.”
He retreated several paces. “I told you, I am looking for my uncle.”
Mrs. Taylor paled and jerked her gaze onto Sunny.
“What is this all about?” Sunny asked.
Mrs. Taylor lunged forward and seized the boy’s arm. He cried out, but she held firm. “He meant no harm, my lady. We’ll deal with him. ”
Sunny looked at the boy. “Benjamin is your name?”
Mrs. Johnson stepped up on the other side of the boy. “Lady Blayne, we will take care of this rude interloper.”
“Rude interloper?” Sunny repeated. “The boy says that James is his uncle.” Uncle, her mind repeated. But how—
“You need not concern you
rself,” Mrs. Johnson said.
Sunny ignored her and addressed the boy. “Why do you believe your uncle is here?”
The boy’s eyes darted nervously from Sunny to Mrs. Johnson, and he didn’t answer.
“Your manners are as hopelessly common as a bumpkin!” Mrs. Johnson snapped.
“Mrs. Johnson,” Mrs. Taylor began, but Sunny released a frustrated breath.
“Please be silent,” she snapped.
Both women jerked startled gazes onto Sunny.
Sunny was equally startled at the angry, authoritative tone that had just escaped her lips. She had never reprimanded a servant. Much less an upper servant. Someone older than herself.
She steeled herself against the women’s shocked stares and said, “Who is this child? Where are his parents? Why is he here alone?”
“Oh, my lady, you were not to be told anything about this boy.” Mrs. Johnson wrung her hands in her apron.
“What? What do you mean?” Sunny demanded.
Mrs. Johnson compressed her lips and a helpless light entered her eyes. “Oh, my lady, it is not my place, please do not ask.”
“I don’t know why he’s come here or where his mother is,” Mrs. Taylor interjected. “He won’t answer us. He says he must speak with Lord Greythorn.”
“Obviously, he is Lord Greythorn’s nephew,” Sunny said, wondering why James’ nephew would be here in London. As far as she knew, all his sisters lived in the north.
The two women exchanged a quick glance. Mrs. Taylor bit her lip.
Mrs. Johnson spoke. “Lady Blayne, if you would just let us handle the boy—”
“You have been handling him and it doesn’t sound as though you’ve been all that successful.” Sunny turned back to the boy, “Benjamin, why did you think your uncle would be here?”
“They told me at Greythorn House he had left town for the week.”
Sunny stared in shock. James had left town? He had not bothered to tell her, but had sent a letter, full of dictates and reminders.
“His lordship is now officially the Earl of Greythorn.” Mrs. Johnson’s voice rang with self-importance. “He is too busy to deal with little boys.”
The boy stiffened and jutted out his chin. “Robert said Uncle James had left town to go court a lady. I have come to see him. Where is he?”
The Delicate Matter of Lady Blayne (Intimate Secrets Book 1) Page 37
