She touched her lips. Why did he kiss her? Why did he kiss her and then bolt?
Would he do it again? Her stomach dived.
Oh, no. I will not feel this again. I won’t.
She grabbed the little bell that had been placed on the table beside the sofa and rang it forcefully. Lise’s door opened almost at once.
“Bring me the book from my chamber, will you?” Elizabeth said with a shade of desperation. “I believe I shall read for an hour and then retire early.”
Despite her determination to ignore what the doctor had made her feel, she woke in the morning with a pleasurable little flutter. It was Christmas Eve and the world was suddenly full of unspecific but powerful hope. It was possible the authorities would find those responsible for Miss Hale’s murder, and then Andreas would be safe for now.
She enjoyed breakfast in bed with Andreas sitting beside her, chattering away. When Gretchen took him away, Lise helped her wash and don the comfortable peignoir. The last pins were just being added to her hair when she heard a knock at the outer door. With an impatient tut, Lise went to answer it.
Elizabeth hoped it was Mr. Winslow with the news that Miss Hale’s murderer was arrested. A fresh upsurge of grief and rage washed over her. Miss Hale would have loved to take Andreas to the beach with the other children, mix with other governesses and ladies of refinement…
“It’s the doctor, madame,” Lise said from the door, causing Elizabeth to spin around too fast and hold onto the dressing table for support. “Shall I show him in?”
Panic soared, but she refused to give in to this kind of cowardice. “Of course,” she said languidly, turning back to the mirror. She placed the last pin while the doctor’s brisk footsteps sounded. He appeared behind her in the mirror, keeping his distance although he met her gaze in the glass.
“Good morning,” he said coolly.
“Good morning, Doctor. How can I help you?”
“I called to see if I could help you. May I look at your wound?”
Her body flushed. She did not want the doctor’s hands on her, not like that.
Liar. They are still his hands.
“Very well,” she said carelessly. “But it feels fine.”
“If you please,” he said, indicating the bed. His tone was short, his face more distant than she had ever seen it.
Perhaps he only had too much wine last night and regrets kissing me. The thought should have made her more comfortable, but it didn’t. It made her unhappy.
Wordlessly, she crossed the room to the bed. He pulled back the sheet for her and covered her when she lay down. With the same care for her modesty as before, he drew open the peignoir under the sheet. This time, she felt unable to breathe as he unbandaged her, his fingers barely touching her.
“That is much better,” he said with satisfaction. “It is healing well, now. I’ll cover it with another dressing, just to protect it for a couple more days.” He cleaned and dried the wound as before and rebandaged it with the same gentle efficiency. And yet, she felt his impatience as if it were her own. He wanted this over and done.
Hurt, she sat up unaided when he had finished.
He said, “I recommend Dr. Bates in Whalen to remove the stitches.”
It felt like another slap, but she had never buckled under physical blows and she would not bow to this either. “Beneath your dignity, Dr. Lampton?” she mocked.
“Beneath yours,” he replied obscurely. He moved more freely as he stood, as though with massive relief. “Concerning other matters. If you wish to take Andreas to the beach with the other children, I have rounded up a few men who will protect you discreetly and keep any strangers away. You need not pay them.”
He had a way—several ways—of stealing her breath. Wonder at his kindness filled her, not least because it came along with his deliberate coldness, his clear determination to be gone as quickly as possible. She could not ask about those things, so instead, she said, “Why need I not pay them?”
“They are doing it as a kindness.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “It’s Christmas. I ask only that you do not run or strain yourself in any way.” He walked to the door and placed a folded paper on the table. “My final account. Good morning, Princess.”
As the door closed behind him, foolish tears rose in her throat. She blinked rapidly to stave them off. He was a physician, no more, no less. Last night had been a drunken aberration, which he did not wish her to misunderstand…or perhaps complain about. There was no friendship. Which was what truly upset her.
She had liked him, his odd humor, his lack of awe in the highest-ranking company, his basic human kindness.
False. All false. She stormed across the room and seized his bill. Yet, even as she unfolded it, she hoped for a crumb of friendship, of shared humor, like his first account should you choose to pay it.
But this one said only, My account. Please pay promptly.
Enraged, she threw open the drawer in the table and grabbed the required coins before she opened the door. “Lise! Take this to Dr. Lampton’s house. Immediately.”
Without protest, Lise took the bill and the coins and seized her cloak on the way out. Elizabeth, too angry to be still, stormed to the window. Dr. Lampton had stopped in the street to talk to an elderly lady. Lise spilled out of the hotel just as he tipped his hat and strode on. Lise ran after him, calling his name.
He turned and waited for her, his face expressionless. Lise thrust the coins at him, wrapped in the bill. He smiled, an unexpectedly dazzling smile, inclined his head, and strode off again quite jauntily.
“Money-grubbing monster,” she said aloud and dragged herself away, walking into the living room instead to go in search of Andreas and explain to him his treat for the afternoon.
Lise came back while Andreas ran around the room in joy.
“What did he say?” Elizabeth asked her.
“He said thank you,” Lise replied, looking puzzled.
When Elizabeth approached the town beach with Andreas and Gretchen, she saw uneasily that the party consisted of more than gently-born children. Not that Andreas cared. He broke free of his mother’s hand as soon as they reached the bottom of the steps and ran to the biggest group. Gretchen hurried after him while Elizabeth scoured the shore for any sign of threat. A couple of seamen loitered in the street, one apparently gazing out to sea, the other watching the quiet street. Dr. Lampton’s men? Or assassins?
And then she saw Dr. Lampton and knew they had to be his, for he showed no interest in them. He and Mr. Grant were encouraging the children in a hilarious race, weaving in and out of a line of adults.
Lady Braithwaite came to meet Elizabeth. “It’s a charitable event,” she explained. “Mr. Grant has brought the children from the orphanage, and Dr. Lampton some of the poorer children from the town. Others have joined in, too, and the older children have come to help. They’ll run around for half an hour, build some sandcastles, and find driftwood to use as yule logs by the look of those lads over there! Then they’ll go around to the vicarage to warm up and guzzle Kate’s mince pies.”
“Kate is not here,” Elizabeth noticed.
“No, she’s at home organizing the tea. I think Mr. Grant is forcing her to do just a little less!”
Elizabeth walked with her toward the children. “Then Dr. Lampton is also given to charitable works?” she said, trying to hide her curiosity.
“Not of the formal kind, unless the Grants rope him in. But I know for a fact he treats a lot of the town’s people without payment. Despite his manner and his acerbic tongue, he is the kindest man I know.”
And that, no doubt, was why the men looking out for Andreas did not need payment. They felt beholden to the doctor who had asked for their help.
Lady Braithwaite smiled. “I am glad to see you are recovered today.”
“I feel much better,” Elizabeth assured her honestly, “and Andreas was so eager to come. He has been too much without the company of other c
hildren.”
But if Elizabeth had hoped to exchange a few words with the doctor, to find any softening in his manner, or an explanation for his behavior this morning, she was doomed to disappointment.
Despite her determination not to notice or care, her heart did beat faster when he strode toward her and Lady Braithwaite. But it seemed he was in fact, en route for the steps up to the street, where a woman in a cap and a cloak was beckoning to him. He only nodded to them distractedly on his way past.
“It doesn’t seem right for people to be ill at Christmas,” Lady Braithwaite observed.
“Let us hope the good doctor makes them less so,” Elizabeth replied lightly. But an all-too-familiar restlessness was forming in her heart urging her to fight despair and fear for the future any way she could.
Last night, she had sat on Andreas’s bed, reading to the distant accompaniment of carols from the street, and Dr. Lampton had sat on the floor beneath the window. An unexpected peace had settled over her, one of those rare moments of gladness that seemed to pop out of nowhere and remind her of the joy in life.
She wanted very badly to recapture that feeling and had every intention of attending the midnight church service to welcome the day of Christ’s birth and rejoice in hope. Only, once Andreas was in bed, contentedly sound asleep after his exciting day, it seemed an awfully long time until midnight.
From the sitting room window, she watched people arrive at the hotel in varying degrees of ballroom finery. The street lights winked on their jewels and silks. She remembered the Christmas Eve ball was being held here. None of the friends she had made in Blackhaven were attending, to her knowledge. She had the feeling it was not one of the most genteel events of the season, and certainly the people arriving were a decided mix of quality and vulgarity. Like an adult version of the children’s beach party, only warmer.
The thought amused her and led to another, feeding her restlessness. I could go for an hour or two before church. At worst, it would pass the time. At best, it might be amusing.
“Lise, help me change,” she ordered abruptly. “The green evening gown will do.”
Half an hour later, she descended the staircase to the sound of merry dance music and crossed to the ballroom at the back of the hotel. Liveried servants jumped to open the doors for her.
The room was not huge for the number of people present, but it clearly had several anterooms and alcoves which relieved the pressure on the dance floor where a lively country set was in full swing. It was rather beautifully decorated for Christmas, with intertwining greenery around the walls and ceiling and dangling from the wall sconces and the central chandelier. It was a blaze of light and happiness, and Elizabeth smiled with something very close to relief as she walked in.
She did not expect to know anyone, but to spend most of her time observing, enjoying, as it were, other’s enjoyment. But almost as soon as she began to stroll around the room, a man detached himself from a group and came toward her. Sir Anthony Cairney.
“My princess!” he greeted her with an elaborate bow. “What a wonderful surprise. I never even hoped to see you here tonight.”
“Well, it’s true, I did not mean to come. It was an impulsive decision, and you all seem so merry.”
“It’s certainly the liveliest event since I came into exile here. But it must be said, the country clods know how to dance. Perhaps you would honor me with the next dance?”
“Oh, no, I am not dancing tonight.”
“Of course, you were so recently indisposed. How remiss of me. Let me find you a comfortable seat and bring you something to drink. There is champagne, you know. And mulled wine, of course.”
Elizabeth accepted both with good grace. However, she had no wish to be in his sole company for very long, and so as the current dance ended, she murmured, “Excuse me,” and strolled away to mingle with those spilling off the dance floor.
It was an odd event, a mixture, as she had guessed, of the refined, the not so refined, and the demi-monde. But through it all, there was so much good nature and a sense of innocent fun that the party had the desired effect on her, raising her spirits and filling the allotted hour with other people’s happiness. She exchanged a few words with an actress, a teacher, and a couple visiting Blackhaven for their health, whom she had previously met at the pump room.
Her spirits restored, she decided to slip away again, but it seemed Cairney had been keeping watch, for as she approached the exit, he materialized in front of her.
“What, you are not leaving already, are you?” he exclaimed.
“Indeed, I am, but I wish you a pleasant night and a merry Christmas.”
“But we have not yet had our dance,” Cairney said.
“That is because I choose not to dance tonight.”
“It is a lady’s privilege to change her mind,” he cajoled.
“And to maintain it.” She stepped aside. “Good—”
He moved with her. “No, no. I insist you have at least one dance with me before you leave. Listen—they are striking up a waltz.”
He reached out and took her hand. She tried to withdraw it but he held fast, so she drew herself up to her full height, summoning her haughtiest expression—which had worked even on the lustful Tsar of Russia.
The Tsar, however, had consumed less wine. Too late, she smelled the danger on Cairney’s breath, suddenly too close to her. She could avoid a scene by dancing with him…only she was determined not to risk her wound again. Besides, it went thoroughly against the grain to give in to force, even when perpetrated by a man too drunk to fully understand what he was doing. She dug in her heels and refused to budge.
“One waltz,” Cairney said persuasively, trying to tug her into motion. “Come, you must be as bored in this town as I.”
“Considerably more at this moment, I should think,” a totally unexpected voice said beside her. A hand shot out and closed about Cairney’s wrist, squeezing so hard that his fingers opened and Elizabeth was free.
In confusion, she looked up at Dr. Lampton.
“You again,” Cairney said wrathfully, shaking off the doctor’s hand and rubbing his squeezed wrist. “How dare you touch me?”
“I’m a physician. I’ve had to touch many unpleasant things in my time.”
Cairney was not so drunk that he didn’t understand that. His eyes narrowed. “Jackanapes. You imagine you are safe to insult me because I will not call you out.”
“I wouldn’t come if you did,” Lampton retorted. “Dueling is a ridiculous pastime, childish beyond belief, pointless, and thoroughly wasteful of life.” He offered his arm to Elizabeth, who took it almost blindly. “Good evening.”
Leaving Cairney speechless, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, they walked away.
“Do you wish to leave at once?” Dr. Lampton asked. “Or do you want to sit quietly first to recover?”
“I am not so paltry as to be upset by an over-eager fool in his cups,” Elizabeth said impatiently. “On the other hand, thank you for your intervention. There was about to be a scene.”
Dr. Lampton pulled back the curtain of an alcove. A young couple in an embrace jerked apart and the lady fled, giggling. The gentleman grinned apologetically and pointed upward at the ball of greenery dotted with holly berries which hung in the archway.
“Kissing bough,” he explained and strode off after the lady.
Dr. Lampton shrugged and indicated the chair. “Talk to me.”
She sat. “Actually, I want to know what you are doing here.”
He let the curtain fall behind him. “I went to your rooms and your maid told me you were here.”
“Why?” she demanded. “Did I miss something in your account?”
“Yes.” His lips twitched. “But not any payment.”
“You speak in riddles, Doctor.”
“Oh, I shall speak plainly,” he promised. “I was anxious to be paid off, for I no longer wish to be your doctor.”
“Well, that is certainly to the p
oint,” she allowed, unsure whether to be amused or hurt. Both, probably. “May I know why?”
He met her deliberately mocking gaze. “I kissed you.”
“I remember.” To her annoyance, blood suffused her face and neck. “So, you came to apologize?”
His eyebrow flew up. “Oh, no. But a doctor cannot go around kissing his patients.”
“That is something you should have recalled last night,” she said tartly. “And now, I believe, I am rested enough to go to my room. I should be grateful for your escort to the foot of the stairs.”
As she stood, he took her hand to help her, an almost involuntary gesture that brought her too close to him once more. Almost a repeat of last night. Perhaps it was that memory that heated her body and caught at her breath.
“Of course,” he said at once, although he did not move. Only his eyes flickered, downward to the region of her lips. “I am glad we have cleared up that point of propriety.”
She had the impression he didn’t really know what he was saying. Her heart drummed. She was sure he must notice the trembling of her fingers and, making an effort to break the spell, she stepped forward toward the curtain. He turned with her, taking one pace and then two. He glanced upward, and then without warning, leaned down and kissed her mouth, a short, hard kiss that made her gasp.
“Kissing bough,” he said, pointing at the decoration dangling from the top of the archway, just in front of the curtain. “Holly, ivy, and mistletoe. It’s bad luck to refuse, but now your duty is done.”
He grasped the curtain, but from pure impulse she reached out and snatched back his hand. “That was yours. This is mine.” She swayed into him, stretching up to tip toe and catching his lapel to steady herself, before she fastened her lips to his.
She made it strong and deep, pouring all her confused passion into it, without any thought for the future, only of her need for the maddening, contradictory man so close to her.
A Night of Angels Page 15
