Then she turned and navigated the familiar corridors of Cheltenham House until she came to her mother's chambers. She knocked at the door and heard a faint "enter," just enough to let her know that someone was still sitting with her mother and that Gibson had not yet arrived. Her timing, it seemed, was excellent.
Pushing open the door, Amy was surprised to see her mother sitting up, a freshly delivered breakfast tray of soft foods at her side, and Connie, one of the upstairs maids, sitting beside her.
"Good morning, miss." Connie rose and dropped into a small curtsey, but Amy waved her off. Proper it might be, but at the moment, she was more concerned with her mother's health than proprieties.
Walking over to the bed, Amy smiled down at her mother, a warm glow suffusing her heart when her mother smiled back ever so slightly. "Mama. How good to see that you are awake this morning. How do you feel?"
"Better." Thea's speech was still slightly slurred, but it was vastly improved from the first morning after the attack when her words were garbled and made little sense. "Still tired." The countess was still working on forming complete sentences once more, but the progress, in Amy's opinion was remarkable. Not to mention that the considerable rest the countess was getting also seemed to help.
Sitting down in a chair next to the bed, Amy offered up a sunny smile, thrilled with her mother's progress. "I imagine you would be. I have sent messages to both Father and Marcus. Michaels is continuing on in his role of steward, and all is well, as it should be."
Thea's mouth tightened slightly at the mention of Michaels' name, but then, considering his views on women, that wasn't overly surprising. It was a wonder he and the countess had been able to work together for as long as they had without incident.
Reaching out, Thea gripped her daughter's hand with more strength than Amy had expected. In fact, it took her a bit by surprise. "Be careful. There is danger." Again, her mother's words were slightly slurred, but their meaning was crystal clear.
With a sigh, Amy picked up a piece of toast and handed it to her mother who nibbled at it delicately. Perhaps things had not improved as much as she had hoped. There was no danger lurking about. This was London, after all, not the wilds of Northumbria or even the Scottish Highlands.
Amy and her mother had been through this same conversation yesterday as well with similar results. Thea insisted that there was danger awaiting Amy, though she could not say why or from whom. Whether that was because she truly didn't know or simply couldn't remember wasn't exactly clear. Amy suspected that the "danger" was probably just in her mother's imagination, a figment caused by the apoplexy that had struck so suddenly at the ball.
The previous morning, the two of them had indulged in a bit of a heated discussion about the danger, or as much of a discussion as Thea was capable of having at the moment. Amy did not want to have it again.
"I will be careful, Mama. I promise. I do not leave the house alone, though you also know that I never would, even if you were completely healthy. If Gibson is not with me, another member of the staff is." She had gone to the bookseller the previous afternoon in the company of both Grace and James, the family's driver, as well as one of the two tigers the family employed to double as stable hands. Three people to guard one debutante seemed like rather favorable odds to Amy.
"That is good," Thea intoned flatly, reaching for her teacup, and once more, Amy wished her mother's voice still held the lively spark it once had. Gibson had assured them all it would return in time. However, Amy wasn't always very good at waiting for what she desired. "Trust Gibson. He is good boy." For Thea, that was as impressive as reciting a poem from memory, something else she had loved to do.
Amy clapped her hands in joy, unable to contain her happiness. "Oh, Mama! Your speech is improving!" There was a chance for a full recovery after all, just as Gibson had said.
Instead of being happy as well, however, Thea's hand thumped down on the bed in a weak fist, anger radiating from her. "Serious. Trust Gibson. Only him. Listen." Then the countess shrank back against the pillows, as if that display of pique had cost her greatly. Her eyes, however, flashed fire and anger, revealing that she was, indeed, serious. Her body might be injured but her mind was still clearly just as sharp as it always had been.
Her heart breaking a little, Amy exhaled slowly, and then reached out to grasp her mother's hand tightly. There was only one reply that she could give that would satisfy her mother. She had learned that lesson yesterday. "I promise, Mama. I will do as you ask. I will trust Dr. Blackwell and no other. If you really must know, I trust him with my life." It was time, Amy decided, that she confide in her mother instead of keeping secrets.
"That is, indeed, good to hear. It makes a gentleman feel special."
Whirling around, Amy wasn't completely surprised to see Gibson there at such an early hour. He had said he was making a commitment to the Cheltenham family, after all. He hadn't told her he was an expert at sneaking up on people, however.
Adopting a slightly haughty air, Amy tilted her head and graced Gibson with her most officious "lady of the manor" look. No need to let her mother know just yet how deeply her feelings for the doctor ran. "Heard that, did you?" That earned Amy a slap on the hand from her mother, but Gibson only laughed.
That sound warmed Amy to the tips of her toes, and she prayed that no one else noticed.
"In time, you will find that I hear everything, my lady." Then he looked at Thea, his face nothing but concern. "Countess, how are you feeling today? Better than yesterday, I hope."
"Better," she sighed, though Amy noted that her mother's voice was not as strong as it had been earlier, before their disagreement. She felt extremely guilty about that. "Tired."
Approaching the bed, Gibson put down his bag and began to examine Thea. "That is good news, Countess. Truly. Better than I had hoped for not more than a few short days ago." Then he graced Thea with that sinfully handsome and seductive smile, the one that Amy now knew by heart. "Perhaps we can start reducing your laudanum today. It would be a very good thing if we could. I do not want you to become dependent on it." Then he turned to Amy with his next request. "Is there any honey in the house?"
"I believe so. I will have to check with Cook." Amy was more than a little bewildered at the request, not to mention a bit impatient. She had hoped to speak privately with Gibson this morning, not run errands. However, if the honey was for her mother, she would not hesitate to do as he requested. "Why do you ask?"
Gibson gestured to the cut on her mother's head where she had struck a side table when she had collapsed at the Fairhill's ball. "The injury is looking a bit red at the edges, I fear, and honey is an excellent way to ward off infection."
Were it another physician, Amy would have questioned such an odd request. This, however, was Gibson, and, as she had just informed her mother, she trusted him implicitly. "I shall see to it, Doctor."
Gibson nodded at her and then turned back to Thea, as if dismissing Amy. Then, he glanced back quickly at Amy once more and smiled that same sinful smile, only this time, it was infused with a touch of heat and longing. That smile made Amy's legs weak and her knees quiver. He wanted her, too, and her heart leapt with joy at the realization.
His voice, however, was calm and unruffled, as if her presence didn't affect him one bit. "Thank you, my lady. I am very grateful for all of your hard work and assistance. I forgot to make certain you knew that."
There was something in the look he gave her that Amy could not interpret, but it made her tingle inside the very same way she did every time she thought of Gibson and how magnificent he looked naked. Which was far more often than she should.
As Amy swept out of the room to retrieve the requested honey, she wondered how long she would be able to keep up the charade that she felt nothing for Gibson, and that the most magnificent afternoon of her life had never happened. She didn't know if it was possible much longer. They were both teetering on the edge of reason, and they would have to fall - one way or the othe
r. Something was going to have to change and change soon. Otherwise, it would be her and not Marcus that the ton would demand to have carted off to Bedlam for insanity.
Gibson closed the door to Lady Evanston's recovery room behind him with a soft click, careful not to wake the dozing woman. He had, in fact, reduced her laudanum that day, much to her relief as well as his. The powerful drug was addictive, and he did not like to prescribe it for longer than was strictly necessary. However, it was also rather effective in allowing patients, especially stubborn ones like the countess, the time their bodies needed to rest and recover.
Thea had, in her halting way, asked Gibson how soon she might resume her normal duties. There was a worry in her eye that had gone far beyond the normal care and concern over an estate's management, especially for a wife. Instinctively, he knew Thea was referring to the threat against Amy, whatever it was.
Against his better judgment, Gibson had confessed to the countess that, while he did not know the specifics of the threat, he was aware of its existence and was taking all necessary steps to assure that Lady Amy remained safe. He had detailed his plan to Thea the previous day, well before the excursion to the theater, but this morning, the countess had practically all but begged Gibson to compromise her daughter so that he and Amy would be forced to marry.
Thea's suggestion had shocked him to his very core, and he had almost checked her for a fever before he decided that she was serious. And that she was not out of her head with delusion. The Countess of Evanston truly did want Gibson to compromise Amy so that he might marry her. Quickly. Tomorrow, if at all possible, had been Thea's exact words. It hadn't been a misunderstanding. He still had no idea why she had asked it of him. And that bothered him. Greatly.
It was the most peculiar and bizarre thing, and Gibson had no rational explanation for Thea's actions, other than that her brain was perhaps far more addled than he had initially realized. Yet otherwise, the countess seemed perfectly sane and aware of her surroundings, her health, and the goings-on of the household. She knew the date and that Prinny was in charge of the country, for those were among the mental tests he had administered to Thea only a short time ago. She had answered each question without question.
Was it possible the countess knew of the attraction between Gibson and Amy? Did she know of the afternoon in the summerhouse? He thought it unlikely, as neither the countess nor the earl had demanded that Gibson marry their daughter, and they most certainly would have if the knew the details, no matter that in the strictest sense, he had not compromised her. She was still an innocent.
Yet there was no other logical reason for Lady Evanston's demands. Nothing that made sense, anyway.
That did not mean, however, that Gibson did not wish with every breath he took that he could do just that - marry Amy and claim her as his.
In his mind, Amy already belonged to him. He had given her pleasure, had seen the way her body flushed scarlet all over when she was aroused. And though she would eventually marry another, he knew that the unseen, unknown man would never claim her heart. He would never know Amy as Gibson did. That darkest, most secret part of her belonged to him and him alone. Even if Gibson could not publicly claim her in the way he longed to.
"How is she?"
Now it was Gibson's turn to be caught unawares as Amy suddenly appeared beside him. He did not think he would see her again that morning after she had sent a maid into Thea's room with the requested jar of honey. However, it seemed that she had been lurking about in the hallway all along, waiting for the opportunity to speak to him alone.
"Better. She is doing better." He thought it best not to mention Thea's current thoughts on marriage, lest Amy get the wrong idea, and decided to act rashly and of her own accord. "She is recovering far more rapidly than I had dared to hope. I believe that within a week or two at the most, she will be recovered enough to resume some of her old duties." He paused for a moment as he studied her. "I did not see or hear you approach."
Amy offered what he thought was probably her best coquettish smile. "I am just as sneaky as you are, my dear doctor. And twice as quiet." Then she batted her lashes at him, presumably for good measure.
Gibson chuckled softly so as not to disturb the countess, not to mention that he didn't want to put additional ideas in Thea's mind regarding the prospect of marriage and Gibson's amenability to it - which he most certainly was. There was no getting around that, at least not when the proposed bride was Amy.
"Ah, there is The Paragon of polite society." He leaned back against the wall, crossed his arms over his chest, and smiled. "I can see why all of those dragons forgive even your most notorious transgressions. You are difficult to resist. Especially when you smile and flirt like that."
"I try, Gibbs." Then Amy's smile dimmed a bit as if remembering where they were, and that her mother still lay abed. "So you do think that she will make a complete recovery, then?"
Gibson glanced away before looking back at her, not wanting to give her false hope, but not wanting to unduly burden her, either. "I think it likely, yes, as long as she does not overtax herself during her recovery. One false step and all of her progress could be lost." He swiped a hand over his face. "Already, she is hinting that she wishes to resume her normal duties, and I cannot allow that."
"I do wish we would hear something from either Marcus or my father." Amy frowned and shook her head. "By now the messenger should have reached Bath. I instructed him to wait for a reply and then return as swiftly as possible. It is still early, I suppose, but not outside the realm of possibility."
"Patience," Gibson reminded her as they began to walk down the hall and away from the recovery room door so that they would not disturb Amy's mother. "I scanned the daily reports from Michaels before I came abovestairs this morning. Thus far, all is proceeding as it should, the estate is in capable hands, and I believe the stories in the society pages this morning should do well to prove to whomever is watching that we are fulfilling the terms your father laid out in that directive."
Stopping at the edge of the stairs, Amy pulled them both back into one of the unused guest rooms, seeking a bit of privacy. She had to ask Gibson a question that had been bothering her since the previous evening, one that she had been unable to voice, even in the privacy of her own bedchamber. It had kept her up until the wee hours of the morning, and she felt it imperative that she have an answer.
"Why are you doing this, Gibbs?" Amy raised her hand to stop him when he moved to speak. "I know that we are friends, that we have kissed and shared a stolen moment out of time, but is that all we are? You risk a great deal for me, especially given your past, and yet, you claim, on the surface anyway, that is it nothing, a mere trifle. A favor for a friend. Is that really all this is?"
She frowned again, needing an answer to the confusion that dogged her every waking moment. "Somehow, given what I know of you, the pieces do not all add up to a whole. And I, for one, am tired of playing this game. We are open and honest with each other in all things but this. It must stop."
At first, she thought he would not answer her, that he would deflect as he had in the past when he did not wish to answer a question. However, something had changed between them last night after his confession regarding his family's sordid past. There was a new level of trust, and, perhaps something deeper now between them. Yesterday, he might not have answered her question, at least not to her satisfaction. Today was different.
Gibson was tired after only a few days of being almost constantly in Amy's presence. He was tired of pretending that Amy was nothing more than a friend, that they had never shared an incredible afternoon of passion. More than that, he was tired of lying to himself. And to her. When he had departed Cheltenham House last night, leaving Amy with nothing more than a chaste bush of his lips across the back of her gloved hand, he though he would be satisfied. That he had done the right thing. Yet desire for her still churned in his gut, and he could not keep it inside any longer. He simply could not resist her.
Gibson could no longer pretend otherwise. Nor could he lie to himself any longer. He didn't want to, either.
Fate had seen fit to give him one chance to live his fantasy, and by God, he would take it. Even if meant a shattered heart in the end.
"You know very well that what I do is more than simply about friendship. And, quite frankly, I am tired of pretending otherwise, though do not say that I did not try. I am no longer satisfied with our agreement to forget that afternoon and go forward simply as friends, albeit scandalous ones." He never had been.
Reaching out, Gibson pulled Amy closer to him before pushing the door closed behind him so that they would not be discovered and interrupted. "Yet, how can I speak those words to you when London has more listening ears than all of the English spies in France? I cannot risk harming your reputation."
Amy swallowed hard, aware of their closeness and the heat that radiated like pure fire from his body. She was also aware of how much she wanted him to kiss her again. He felt the same as she did. Thank God! "We are in private now, Gibbs. The servants are all belowstairs, as I have barred them from this floor, save for the nurse sitting with my mother. We are well and truly alone. Of that, I can assure you. What do you have to say now?" She had meant to challenge him by adding a teasing and somewhat seductive tone to her voice, and she prayed that she had succeeded.
He arched a single aristocratic eyebrow at her, and she could glimpse the would-be viscount lurking behind the doctor's clothing and demeanor. "Now?" His golden gaze was predatory, and while she did not feel fear, Amy suddenly knew what it was to be stalked like prey. There was no question in her mind now that Gibson did, indeed, still want her, that he was doing this enormous favor out of more than just friendship and obligation. There was truth in the words he had just spoken.
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