And Amy had worried. More than she had ever done in her life. Even more than when she had been a young girl on the verge of her come out. Even more than the night three years previous that she had sat up until dawn with Marcus as he lay in bed struggling to breath, the slices on his chest from the most recent bloodletting still oozing copious amounts of blood. That night, she had been downright terrified.
She had spent much of the previous night lying awake in bed after Gibson had departed, her mind whirling with too many thoughts, each in need of some sort of order. Had it really only been a few hours earlier when her greatest worry had been living a life detached from everything and the pressure to marry this season? In the darkest hours of morning, that had hardly seemed possible.
Amy was ashamed now that she had been so petulant with her mother. Had she known precisely what Thea was facing every day, she might have been a bit more understanding and forgiving. Well, Amy would have liked to think she would have been anyway. She didn't want to imagine that she was becoming as self-centered as those in the ton that she despised. Not to mention that Amy's mother had always been there for her, supporting her daughter no matter what. That kind of devotion deserved better respect and repayment than the whining Amy had done recently. Not to mention that Amy now realized she had been extremely selfish.
Whatever Amy wanted for herself out of life, those dreams had to be put aside, at least for the moment. She had her mother to think of now, as well as all of the tenants that relied on the Evanston estate for their livelihoods. They had to come first in her mind, at least until her father returned or her mother recovered, which ever came first.
She wanted to believe that Marcus would step up to help when he received the news as well, but she doubted that he would. He was, at last report, still far too weak to travel and probably would be for some time. Still, after she posted the summons for Michaels the night before, she had also sent a runner to Bath with the news, hoping that it might elicit some type of reaction from her brother. She could wish, certainly, no matter how unlikely it might be.
It went without saying that her mother's plan to see Amy married by the end of the season would have to be put on hold, as well. There was no possible way Amy could even contemplate courting anyway with her mother so ill, nor would she be at many social functions while the countess was incapacitated. Even if there was a man who had caught her fancy, well, there were considerations to be made and issues to be discussed before the idea of marriage could even be considered. And those were topics that Amy would not even consider broaching without her father, or at the very least, her mother, present.
Despite her desire to flout convention on occasion, Amy was not foolish enough to be outright reckless. Well, at least she hadn't been until she'd met Gibson.
Gibson. There was no possible way that she could manage affairs without his guidance, not to mention that he was Thea's physician. It might have all worked out well, this odd little plan of his, if not for that kiss. That damned, dratted kiss. That lovely, wonderful kiss.
In an instant, all of Amy's good intentions to be circumspect and proper had been tossed aside, every promise she had made to herself to forget him had vanished in wisps of smoke as if they had never been.
When they had kept their respective distances from each other, she had been able to convince herself, at least partially, that the day in the summerhouse had been a fantasy, or, at the very least, not nearly as wonderful as she remembered. She could make herself believe that the perfection of that day was built up in her mind out of wishes and dreams. She might long for Gibson, but she could live without him.
Then, he kissed her again, and it was all for naught. Every good intention she had evaporated like the dew in the morning sun, just as fragile and fleeting as if they had never been.
When they had broken apart the previous evening, both of them breathing hard, Gibson had informed Amy that such a thing could not happen again, that it was merely a moment of weakness on both of their parts. He had reminded her that in London, actions had consequences, and that neither of them could risk another kiss, even as she saw his fingers twitch, longing to reach for her again. He could not want her, he insisted, and she certainly could not want a man like him. They had both known that the words were lies even as he spoke them.
Oh, they both had good intentions, certainly, but Amy could see the need in Gibson's eyes as he looked at her, his wishes written so very plainly on his face. Others might not be able to see them, but she could, probably because she shared them. The truth was that the longer they were in close daily contact, the greater the temptation would become to simply give in and take what they wanted from each other. This time, they might not stop before the final barrier was breached.
And that, she knew, would be a horrible mistake. For so very many reasons. No matter how much she desired him.
Now, sitting in her father's study, watching Gibson converse with Michaels, pressing the steward for minute and seemingly insignificant details, his presence dominating the room, she wondered again...what if
Then she silently berated herself. Had she not just made a vow to be a better daughter? To be strong for her mother and for her family? To stop chasing moonlit dreams that she could never catch? And here she was, fantasizing about a man she could not have. Again. What on earth was wrong with her?
She let out a quiet sigh of relief when Michaels rose and shook hands with Gibson, the meeting finally at an end. She had missed most of what had been said, though she blamed it on her lack of sleep and not because she had been woolgathering about Gibson. No, that was absolutely not the reason. Not at all.
"So we can expect the daily reports to continue so that Lady Amy may have them sent by courier to Bath?" Gibson's words made her quickly return to reality and pay closer attention. Had the steward already agreed to that part of the ruse?
Michaels gave a sharp nod, his gaze whisking over Amy as she sat behind her father's ornately carved desk as if she was nothing more than an inconvenience. That was something else she resented - Michaels' easy dismissal of her as his intellectual equal. However, she kept her lips clamped firmly shut as the steward replied to Gibson's question. "Of course. Normally, I would not countenance such a thing, you realize, but, well, this is an unconventional household, to say the least."
"I understand your point precisely," Gibson nodded sagely, his dismissive gaze taking in the darkly wood paneled room as well as Amy herself seated behind the desk in all of her feminine glory. His bored expression indicated that he agreed with the steward's unspoken assertion that too much unconventionality was a bad thing. "However, we do what we must to keep the aristocracy running, do we not?"
Amy wasn't certain she liked the way he allied himself with Michaels in that moment. It smacked of deceit, since she knew full well that Gibson was of aristocratic blood himself. Then again, he was doing what was necessary. He was playing a role, just as she did every day of her life. She needed to remember that and do the same.
"That we do." Michaels' gaze focused on Amy for a moment, and she felt herself blush. She did not like the way he looked at her and never had. She wished she could simply toss him out, but then, she would truly be stuck. "No matter how odd or distasteful we might find it." Then, he turned away, and she could breathe again. She was not normally a shy or retiring woman, but there was just something about that man that unnerved her. She supposed that it was because he reminded her of someone else that she preferred not to think about.
Amy could not allow Gibson to see her discomfort, however. Knowing him, the moment Michaels departed, he would poke and pry in his best medical capacity, and she would, most likely, give in. He did not need to know the source of her fear. Not yet. Most likely not ever.
Then the men were saying their final farewells, and Towson was there to see Michaels out, followed closely by a maid bearing a fresh tea tray, obviously requested by the ever-interfering butler. Not that Amy could be overly upset about something as silly as an un-req
uested tea tray. Her mother's illness had upended the entire household. It was natural that everyone, including the normally stoic butler, would feel the need to find some degree of normalcy.
Once the maid had departed, Amy turned her attention back to Gibson who was still lingering by the door, his hand on the brass knob as if he wanted to run. But he did not. Instead, he stood perfectly still, waiting, though she had no idea for what. He looked as handsome as ever in fawn colored breeches and a dusty blue colored waistcoat, both fitted to perfection on his muscular form. He might not have the means that others did, but his tailor was just as exceptional.
"That was tedious," he finally said, pushing away from an ornately carved section of wall where he had been leaning as he watched Michaels depart. His eyes held a dark look, but she could not interpret it. Then it was gone, and she wondered if she had been imagining things. She was tired after all. "Perhaps I should be thankful that I no longer have an estate to run. It's downright boring."
She snorted, feeling herself relax for just a moment, unafraid to be truly herself now that they were alone. "At least you paid attention. I am certain that I fell asleep at least twice, if not more."
He chuckled at her words, and she watched his shoulders visibly relax. "Four times, my lady, but who is counting? At least you did not snore over much." With the entire situation improving, he felt that he could tease her just a bit. Oh, how he had missed that.
Amy loved the light and almost flirtatious tone in his voice, and for a moment, her heart panged with the injustice of everything. "A gentleman would not mention such a thing." Then she sniffed a little, but smiled so that he would know she was joking as well.
"But we both know I am no longer a gentleman." The words, though laced with humor, were still true, and Amy looked up to see the regret in Gibson's eyes, as if he wished he could take those words back.
She shook her head and rose from her chair to face him, unable to keep from stretching a bit, no matter how unladylike she appeared. "To me, you are more a gentleman than most who lay claim to the title." Then, unable to help herself, she yawned, though she did her best to stifle it.
"I take it you did not sleep well?" His voice was husky, as if he, too, had spent a rather sleepless night, just as she had. His eyes flicked to the well-stocked sideboard that her father kept. "It is rather early, but I can pour you a scotch or perhaps something stronger if you need it. I don't believe that Madeira will be quite enough to calm you."
She pleated the fabric of her skirt once more, a habit she had picked up as a child when she was nervous. "Thank you, but no. I will be fine. The night was passable." Then she forced herself to smooth out the wrinkles in her spring green day dress trimmed with bits of lace. With the matching slippers, it was one of her favorites, and it would not do for her to ruin it with her worrying hands.
Gibson raised an eyebrow and smiled, his lips tipping up at the corners in sensual lines, as if he was unable to help himself as well. "Merely passable? As a physician that is not something that I like to hear. A proper night's rest is essential. For everyone. Even you, my lady. I can assist you if you wish." There was a twinkle in his eyes that she could not ignore, just as she could not ignore the way he shifted his body as if to shield her from anything that might seek to cause her harm.
That was all it took for Amy to lose all of her good intentions once more. One heated look from him, and she was lost. Foolish, silly, sap-brained girl that she was.
Shaking her head, she sat down in the dark blue damask-covered chair that Michaels had just vacated, and indicated that Gibson should take the other chair in front of the desk. "Gibbs, please. We can't. Not yet. This isn't the time or the place. We agreed. Remember?" The she sprang up again as if she was on a spring, and began to pace again, just as she had the night before.
Pointedly, he looked at the chair she had just vacated as she flitted about the room nervously. "The settee, if you please," was all he said, and she found that she had no choice but to do as he asked. She was simply too tired to argue.
Gibson looked vaguely like a jungle cat as he stalked across the room towards her, and it occurred to her then that she had never seen him in his natural setting - a man's study. Or it would have been his natural setting had his father not been stripped of his title. Yet watching him now, she had some idea of just how predatory he would have been, how strong and powerful, how completely in command of everything and everyone around him. He would have made a marvelous viscount. He could have possibly been considered the catch of the season.
This man, the one now gazing at her with inscrutable golden eyes, was a peer of the realm. He flirted with grace and skill, as if he'd been born to it, which, she realized, he had been. He commanded every situation, including her mother's care, which was, at the moment being overseen by one of his younger partners so that he could attend to estate business with her. This man was one to be respected, possibly even one to be feared if he was angry. Because there was something inside of him, something simmering just below the surface that told her he could be deadly if he chose to be.
The role of affable Dr. Blackwell was just that she realized suddenly. A role. It was meant to charm and disarm, particularly the high sticklers of the ton. It was meant to garner acceptance from everyone so that people, particularly men, would not view him as a threat. It was how he had survived for so long flitting just at the edges of society but never truly being a part of it.
The man before her, however, this one that slowly strolled across the thick Aubusson rug and watched her with a shrewd, all-knowing gaze? This was the real Gibson Blackwell, the one that nobody saw. Perhaps had never allowed himself to be seen. How had she not known, considering what they had shared? There was, it seemed, a good deal she did not know about the man she had nearly given her body to once upon a time.
"You know that we cannot continue to indulge the way we did last night. There is too much at stake for us to be so careless." She needed to make that perfectly clear. In the hours before dawn as she lay staring up into the darkness, Amy had come to that decision. It was time to grow up and leave her dreams behind. That included the dream of Gibson by her side, growing old together.
The predator's smile shifted, and once more, Amy saw a new facet of the man she thought she knew. This man was serious, all business, the teasing, flirting man of mere moments earlier gone as if he had never existed. "I agree, despite my actions moments ago. Please forgive me. When I'm with you, I tend to forget. So much." Gibson did forget. He meant that more than she could ever know. Amy treated him as an equal, not someone beneath her. For that, he owed her a great deal. He would do whatever she asked, including staying away from her if that was what she wanted. "I will not take such liberties again."
Though once he informed her of what he had learned that morning, staying away from her might not be possible even if that was her heart's desire.
"Fine. Excellent." Amy had exacted the promise she wanted from Gibson with no fuss, so why did she feel as if she had somehow been cheated? "What comes next? I need to know so that I can get about the business of running Cheltenham. That needs to be my priority."
He moved farther away from her, back towards the window and her father's heavy oak desk, allowing the early morning sun to catch the dark highlights in his hair and the slight smile on his lips. Suddenly, he was the good doctor again - a little sad, a little stiff and clearly aware of his position in life. "Now I study the documents Michaels has left us. There doesn't seem to be much that requires immediate attention. Most of what he provided are status updates, as your father was far more hands-on in his management than most lords tend to be. Still, I want to be certain that the estate can function on its own for a few days, or possibly longer if necessary. I gather that your father wanted a say in nearly every decision made, rather than leaving them to his steward as most lords do."
"Is that a bad thing?" Amy honestly had no idea but to her relief, Gibson merely shook his head in the negative, though he would
still not turn to face her.
From her position on the settee, she could not see his face, but she could see his profile. His lips were pulled taut in a thin line, and it appeared as if he might be grimacing, though she could not be certain. It was the same look he had given her the night before when discussing her mother's health. What was he not telling her?
"No, but it is not common. It simply means that he cares a great deal for those he is responsible for. Once I make certain that there is nothing hidden in these documents that we are not aware of, I think it will be safe to allow Michaels to run the estate as he has been, providing the daily updates."
Then Gibson frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Amy wondered if he might be suffering from a megrim. She supposed doctors could have them, too. "I am not certain what your mother was doing that caused her so much stress, but from what I can see, whatever it was is not contained within these papers. Or if it is, it is written in such a way that I do not see it for the threat to her health that it clearly was."
Finally, he turned back to her, and she expected to see his normal, smiling face. She didn't imagine he would be happy, precisely, given her mother's still-tenuous medical condition. But she had expected at least the same sad smile he had offered her earlier rather than the grim slash of line that was his mouth.
Amy was momentarily at a loss, and above all, confused. There was something not right, a piece of the puzzle she was still missing. Gibson was distant now, and still standing apart from her, the teasing side of him vanishing the moment she mentioned the estate and its operation. Did he require something of her that she did not know to offer?
"What do you need from me?" She paused and waited for him to reply, but when he did not, she continued on. "Obviously, the estate is in capable hands and shall remain thus. But there is something you are not telling me, Gibbs, and I need to know what it is. Or, if it is not the estate, then what? Are you worried about how I shall survive for a time without my mother?"
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