A Lady's Guide to Improper Behavior (9 page)

Finally she had to concede that she was finished. Slowly she wiped the remaining soap from his face with one corner of the cloth. Golden brown eyes opened, gazing into hers. The urge to kiss his slightly smiling mouth seized her so strongly that she had to turn away, busying herself with handing the shaving accouterments over to the valet and hoping the rush of exhilarating madness would pass.

“Thank you, Tess.”

“You’re welcome, Colonel,” she returned, still pretending to dry off her hands and not quite ready to face him. “I’m glad I could help.”

“I would have had no idea that you spent your mornings going from house to house, assisting invalids with their morning ablutions,” he continued.

So now he wanted to tease her. She turned around. “Well, in this instance, at least, shaving has improved your temperament,” she said, lifting an eyebrow at him and still seeking her lost equilibrium. “I can’t imagine what miracles might occur if a barber managed to trim your hair.”

He didn’t even blink, though his eyes darkened with clear amusement. The effect was astounding; handsome before, the warm humor in his gaze now stole her breath. Then he shifted his gaze past her shoulder. “Dr. Prentiss. I’m not dead yet, so my compliments.”

“Hold on to those; it’s early yet.”

As Theresa turned around, the physician approached the bed. “Doctor,” she said, inclining her head and not certain whether to be annoyed or grateful that he’d interrupted wherever it was her mind had been going. She knew better than to fall deeper
into this…morass of impropriety. What was wrong with her?

“Miss Weller. How fares our Colonel today?”

“His hands are unsteady, but his disposition has somewhat improved.”

“Good. Will you give us a moment, Miss Weller?”

For a heartbeat she nearly protested that she’d dipped her fingers in the man’s blood and she wasn’t going anywhere. On the other hand, she had no idea whether Tolly might be naked beneath the sheets. She wished she’d considered that earlier. Ah, well. She couldn’t very well be present then, no matter how abruptly curious she might be. Breaking the rules of propriety seemed to be rather more…exhilarating than she’d thought. “Certainly.”

She sent Bartholomew a last glance that more than likely told him exactly how reluctant she was to go, then retreated into the hallway.

Bartholomew watched her out of the room. Abruptly his semi-pleasant mood fled, and the ache in his leg doubled. He scowled. “How long do I have to stay in this damned bed?”

“If this is an improvement of your disposition, I’m pleased I wasn’t here earlier.” Prentiss untucked the sheets and shoved them aside, exposing his bandaged leg.

At least it was still there—for now. “How does it look?”

“Your knee and calf are swollen, which I don’t like. Can you feel this?” Without warning he jabbed a fingertip into the bottom of Tolly’s foot.

“I can feel it.”

“Really?” Prentiss lifted his hand again, showing off the pin he held in his fingers.

“I felt something,” Tolly growled, uneasiness rising again in his chest.

“Prove it; wiggle your toes.”

Bartholomew did so. It took more effort than he expected, as though the distance between his head and his foot had gone from a bit over six feet to a hundred. A sharp spear of pain ran all the way up his leg and clenched into his spine. “Bloody hell, that hurts,” he rasped.

“More or less than before?”

So now they were judging degrees of agony. “Well, I hadn’t been stabbed in the foot before, but I think it’s nearly the same.” He considered for a moment, then shifted his toes again. “There’s no grinding in my knee now,” he admitted.

The doctor nodded, producing a scissor to cut into the thick bandage and peel it off. “That is good, anyway.” He grimaced. “Others of my profession would disagree with me, but with the bleeding stopped I’m going to leave this mess open for a day or two.” He produced an odd-looking wire tripod and sat it carefully over the knee. “Good. It fits. This should keep the wound from sticking to the sheets.”

“That sounds pleasant.”

“You’ve been through infection once. I don’t think that knee will withstand it again.” Moving with more care than such a large man should have possessed, Prentiss slid a thick cloth beneath the knee, then motioned Lackaby to approach. The valet handed over a bottle of whiskey. “Which is why you’re also going
to have to go through this twice daily,” he continued, and dumped at least half a pint of the stuff over the raw wound.

Bartholomew yelled, lifting half off the bed and yanking the bottle from the physician’s grip. “Damnation,” he panted, light-headed from shock and pain. “You might have given me a drink of it first.” He lifted the bottle to his lips and took several long swallows.

It didn’t help, but he supposed it didn’t hurt anything, either. Halfway through another drink, Theresa charged back into the room, and he nearly choked. Apparently the sharp-tongued damsel had somehow fashioned herself as his knight-protector. It would have been amusing, except he apparently needed her for that very reason.

“What happened?” she gasped, her cheeks paling.

“The damned doctor tried to murder me,” Tolly returned, managing to keep his voice fairly level.

“Mmm-hmm. I hope not,” she returned, “or I wasted a great deal of time yesterday.”

“As did I,” Prentiss seconded, wrestling the bottle back and handing it to Lackaby. “Every twelve hours. Can you manage that?”

The valet nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” The physician gently probed around the knee again, then blew out his breath. “I’ll be by tomorrow. If you completely lose the feeling in your foot or if your toes stop moving at your command, send for me.”

Tolly cocked his head. “And you’ll do what, precisely?”

“If your leg dies, Colonel, I’m going to cut it off
before it takes the rest of you to the grave with it.” He settled the tripod back in place, then with a nod at Tess, left the room.

Theresa stood staring at his leg as though she expected it to crawl off on its own and beat him over the head. He couldn’t mistake the expression in her gray-green eyes; beyond the dismay, she was concerned. Genuinely so. For him.

Apparently one person now cared what happened to him. His family didn’t count in that, because they were obligated. And they were also good people. He cleared his throat. “Don’t you have another barber appointment somewhere?” he asked. Considering the likely outcome of all this, the best way to keep from further troubling Tess Weller would be to have her go away. Even if he liked having her there. Even if she lightened his soul just a little with her presence. Because he wasn’t certain he was prepared to have his burdens all lifted away. Being without them troubled him.

“I’m quite exclusive,” she answered easily, sitting in the chair Stephen or someone had placed at his bedside last night. “So the remainder of my afternoon is free.”

He regarded her for a long moment. “You’re the one who keeps mentioning propriety, Theresa. Which means I have to ask, what are you doing here? Truthfully.”

Her gaze lowered briefly to her hands before she looked up at him again. “I don’t know why I’m here. I just am. So unless you ask me to leave, I suppose for the moment I’ll stay.”

She tilted her head, a strand of her summer-colored
hair escaping from its pins to glide softly along her cheek. Absently she brushed it back again. He followed the motion, his fingers twitching with the abrupt desire to perform that service, himself.

“Do you want me to go?” she pursued, a half smile on her face as if she knew that any man in his right mind would never send her away.

No, I don’t
, he acknowledged. “Yes,” he said aloud. “Thank you for your assistance, but I’d prefer to sleep.”

“Then sleep. I think you’re attempting to appear to be a stoic loner, and you’re upset because I’m denting your facade.”

A laugh erupted from his chest before he could stop it. At the surprised delight in her eyes, he abruptly felt better—despite the fact that his knee throbbed and he hadn’t laughed in so long that that almost hurt, as well. “That might be part of it,” he admitted.

“And what is the other part of the reason you wish me gone? Because propriety doesn’t seem to concern
you
at all.”

He gazed at her. There were so many things he could say, and yet he sensed that if he said the wrong thing, the flip thing, she
would
leave. “You make me feel…lighter,” he stumbled. “I’m not certain I’m comfortable with that.”

Color touched her cheeks as she nodded. “Perhaps you could put it to fever and delirium. That’s what I intend to do. Because if you were sound, I wouldn’t be able to visit with you here.”

Abruptly she stood and walked away. Before he could protest her departure, though, she stopped in front of the bookcase. He had no idea what she might
be looking for, but asking questions seemed to encourage her to do the same. Nor did he want to delve into when he’d gone from wanting her gone to needing her to stay.

“Ah. This should do,” she said after a moment. Theresa pulled a book from the middle shelf and returned to his bedside. Gracefully she sank into the chair, her light blue muslin skirts draping around her legs.

Tolly flexed his toes. The pain seemed to be the only thing that could keep the wire tripod as the only tent of his bedsheets. “Are you intending on reading to yourself, or to me?”

“Reading to myself would be rude.” Her eyes dancing, she cleared her throat. “
Golden Sun of the Serengeti
, by Captain Bennett Wolfe.” She looked up as she opened the cover. “He’s actually Captain Sir Bennett Wolfe now,” she said. “He was knighted because of this book.”

He knew that. He’d also both met the man and read the book. “Hmm,” he said aloud. “That sounds impressive.”

“I am not ignorant of the fact that this book comes from your bookshelf, you know. And fall asleep if you wish. I intend to remain here until four o’clock, regardless.”

“What happens at four o’clock?”

“I need to return home and dress. The Saunders dinner is at seven.”

Theresa flipped past the title page and the nonsense about the publisher, while he reminded himself that he wouldn’t have been invited to or attending the Saunders dinner even if he hadn’t been confined to
bed. The distinct jealousy creeping through him was therefore both uncalled for and ridiculous.

“Ready?” she asked.

Tolly settled into the pillows. For effect he should probably close his eyes, and in fact he could barely keep them open as it was, but for at least a few minutes he wanted to watch her read. “Ready. Transport me to Africa.”

Her lips curved in a soft smile, and she began to read. And for the first time in better than eight months he fell asleep thinking of something other than India and regret.

T
heresa played the two of hearts, then feigned a frown as Jane Redmond and her partner proceeded to thrash her and Grandmama Agnes at whist. Yes, she should likely have been paying more attention to the game, but she happened to be more concerned with other things. At the moment her main worry was the relentless way that Sarah Saunders was flirting with Michael.

Her brother generally knew better than to be impressed by batting lashes and compliments to his broad shoulders, but tonight he’d scarcely looked at anyone else in the room. Under different circumstances the idea that her brother might be intrigued by someone wouldn’t overly trouble her, for she
would be more than happy to add a sister-in-law to their small family. But quite simply and quite uncharacteristically of her, she didn’t like Sarah Saunders. Not one little bit.

They were of nearly the same age, but Miss Saunders had somewhere decided to become a horrible gossip. And the information she most enjoyed hearing and repeating was the bit with sting. Theresa had never been the recipient herself, but then she made being proper the main focus of her life.

She drew a breath. “Grandmama, I seem to be utterly destroying any chance for victory. Shall I see if Mrs. Wingate would care to replace me?”

Grandmama Agnes snorted. “If we weren’t blood relatives, my sweet, I would have cast you aside thirty minutes ago. Yes, for heaven’s sake, find Jenny.”

Grinning, Theresa excused herself from the game. Jenny Wingate had been sending the players glances all evening—Lord Saunders’s sister was an inveterate gambler. In less than a minute Theresa found herself replaced and utterly forgotten. And that, thankfully, left her free to meddle.

At least that was the plan. When she reached Michael’s side, she wrapped her hands around her brother’s arm. “What are you up to?” she asked with a broad smile.

He glanced down at her, his gaze surprisingly serious despite the grin he bore. “Just attempting to decipher the mystery of the ages—why Sarah Saunders remains unmarried.”

Sarah giggled. “It’s because I am so very particular.”

“Well, it’s certainly not for lack of beaux,” Theresa
added with another unfelt smile. “Might I steal my brother away for a moment?”

“Certainly.” Sarah sketched a curtsy. “Pray don’t go too far, Lord Weller.”

As soon as she and Michael crossed the room to stand beneath the pretty garden window, Theresa pinched the back of his hand. “What are you doing?”

“Ouch,” he exclaimed, jerking his hand free. “Stop that, Troll.”

“That didn’t hurt.”

“It hurt that you thought I needed to be rescued.” He sent a glance at Sarah, already busily chatting with another trio of her friends. “That chit is dangerous.”

Theresa stopped her frown. “Why? What did she say?”

“She said that her maid heard third-hand from someone at James House that Colonel James tried to kill himself yesterday.”

For a moment, she stared at her older brother. “That’s ridiculous.”

“That is what I was attempting to imply when you dragged me away.” He tapped the tip of her nose with one forefinger. “I am not, contrary to your thinking, a complete imbecile.”

Finally she gave a genuine smile. “I never thought that. It’s only that you frequently baffle me.”

“Mmm-hmm.” He took a step closer, looking out the window to cover the motion. “We need to speak with Amelia. Whatever the colonel’s troubles, the family doesn’t need their servants bandying tales about London.”

Her smile faded. “Michael, Bartholomew James
did not attempt to kill himself. He asked a physician to re-break his leg, so it would have a chance to heal correctly.” She folded her arms across her chest. “And I know that for certain, because I was there. In fact, I assisted with the surgery.”

Michael whipped back around to face her, his expression startled and his complexion paling. “What?”

“You heard me.”

He continued to glare at her. “Thank God Sarah hasn’t heard about that. Troll, you cannot go about assisting surgeries willy-nilly. You’re a viscount’s sister, and a duke’s granddaughter.”

“I never do anything willy-nilly,” Theresa protested. “Captain James is our cousin-in-law.”

“There’s no such thing.” Michael blew out his breath. “Isn’t it enough for you just to enjoy the Season?” he said more quietly. “You’ve been out for nearly five years. If you’re bored, agree to one of the million proposals you’ve been handed, and marry someone.”

Bother. It always boiled down to marriage, lately. “It’s closer to a dozen proposals, and several of those were from the same men. And I imagine I’ll settle down and marry once I begin to have less variety from which to choose.” Lifting her chin, she walked away from him.

She supposed she might have mentioned that he was three years her elder and hadn’t married, either, but truthfully she didn’t feel much like having that argument tonight. As long as he wasn’t seriously flirting with Sarah Saunders, he could do as he pleased. With three of her current suitors in attendance she could
likely do some flirting herself, but flirting well took concentration, and tonight her thoughts remained rather scattered.

Tomorrow she would have to inform Tolly that at least one rumor claimed he’d attempted suicide. He wouldn’t much like that. In fact, it might make him wish to withdraw even further from Society—if that were even possible. But from what she’d learned of him, he would prefer to know what was being said behind his back to remaining blissfully ignorant. Not that she could imagine him being blissful about anything.

“Tess, Tess,” Miss Harriet Silder called as she fluttered up, “there you are. Do you have any idea how many men have stopped me tonight to ask whether you would like to go riding tomorrow?”

Theresa grinned, taking her friend’s hand. “They might ask me that question and save us all a bit of bother.”

“Yes, but if they ask me, then they haven’t been turned away by you.” Harriet pulled her in the direction of the open balcony doors, and together they made their way through the crowd.

The air was much cooler outside, and Theresa took a deep breath as she leaned her elbows on the railing to look across the Saunders House carriage drive. “How long do you think we could remain out here before we’re missed?” she asked, slipping one foot half out of her shoe and flexing her toes.

Harriet shook her pretty dark curls. “I think it might be more worrisome not to be missed.”

With a laugh, Theresa kicked out of her other shoe. “It might be worth experiencing.”

Her friend leaned beside her, knocking into her elbow. “I called on you this afternoon. Ramsey said you’d gone to visit an ill friend. Who’s ill?”

“Oh, drat. My apologies, Harriet. I shall make it up to you.” Theresa studied the outline of the stable for a moment. This morning she’d crossed out two paragraphs of her new guide and rewritten another. Whatever was afoot, she didn’t like it. Well, she wasn’t supposed to like it, anyway. “I was actually visiting at James House. You know Amelia’s brother-in-law is crippled.”

She felt rather than saw Harriet looking sideways at her. “So Colonel James is the ill friend?”

For a second she hesitated, and then was angry with herself for doing so. Yes, he was far from being one of Society’s favorites, and yes, he was abrupt and occasionally insulting. But he’d done nothing wrong. Nothing other than being the subject of Sarah Saunders’s latest gossip, anyway. Nothing other than kissing her—but no one else knew about that. “Yes. Amelia said he wasn’t feeling well, so I decided to stop in and cheer him up.” Not quite the truth, but Tolly might very well not wish anyone to know the particulars of his recent injury. Re-injury, rather.

“I heard that he—”

“He didn’t,” she cut in. “Please don’t tell me you actually listen to Sarah’s gossip.”

Harriet sighed. “I do try not to, but she’s so very good at it.” She smiled. “So, what is Colonel James like? I saw him years ago, and I thought I glimpsed him at the Ridgemont soiree the night before last, but I can’t say we’ve ever been introduced.”

“He’s…interesting. And very witty, which I have to say surprised me a bit.”

“And handsome. I did notice that.”

For a second Theresa reflected that she didn’t much like other ladies—even good friends like Harriet Silder—noticing how handsome Tolly was. Then she decided she was being absolutely ridiculous. “Yes, he is very pleasing to the eyes.”

“Do you…Hmm. Speaking of pleasing to the eyes,” Harriet muttered, leaning forward to look more closely at the horse one of the grooms was leading from around the front of the house, “isn’t that Montrose’s animal?”

“Yes, it is. Topsy. I hadn’t realized Alexander would be attending tonight.”

“Well, he’s certainly missed the dinner. I wonder what the lure could be?” Harriet grinned at her.

“Very amusing. If he’s here, it is because Sarah or her parents invited him. I had nothing to do with it.”

“Ah. So he’s pursuing Sarah, then, is he?” Harriet elbowed her again. “What’s troubling you?”

Other than rumors that a hero for whom she felt a very troubling attraction had attempted to do himself harm? “Nothing,” she said aloud. “I’m a little surprised at myself for coming here, I suppose.”

Her friend straightened, taking Theresa’s arm to return her to the drawing room. “You’re here because your grandmother asked you to come,” she said with a smile. “Now be your usual charming self, and Montrose will never know you’re less than pleased to see him.”

“It’s not that,” Theresa protested. “For heaven’s
sake.” All she needed was to gain a reputation for being some kind of disapproving ice queen. It was only that tonight she felt as though there was something else she would rather be doing.

“Then I shan’t set my cap at Montrose,” Harriet whispered, grinning.

Theresa didn’t think she would mind all that much if anyone else did pursue the marquis. Not that she didn’t like Alexander—she liked all of her suitors. It was just the feeling that they shouldn’t be wasting so much of their time waiting for her.

“Tess,” Lord Montrose said, grinning warmly as he met them in the middle of the drawing room. “And Harriet. How pleasant to see you here this evening.” Glancing at the scattering of guests around them, he deepened his smile. “If I’d known how many lovely young ladies would be present tonight, I most certainly would have put my estate manager off until tomorrow.”

“Everything is well at Montrose Park, I hope,” Theresa responded, taking his arm when he offered it.

“Yes. Just a few questions about which fields to plant. Thank you for your concern.”

“Well, you’ve told me several times how lovely it is there. I would hate to learn that it’s been overrun by rabbits or squirrels or something.”

The marquis laughed. “That might ruin the crops, but it would improve the hunting.” He placed his free hand over hers where it rested on his sleeve. “You could be Montrose’s mistress, you know,” he continued in a lower voice. “All you need do is tell me yes.”

A nervous flutter touched her stomach. Then she
set a smile on her face. “You are very kind, Alexander. And you know I’m simply not yet quite ready to marry.”

He nodded, his expression not altering a jot. “Knowing the eventual outcome, I remain patient.” His fingers tightened briefly, then released hers. “Though you do realize that at least announcing our engagement would save me from invitations to dinners like this one. And it would save you from having to dance with the likes of Francis Henning.”

“Suffering builds character,” she returned, then had to push away the unbidden image of Bartholomew James lying pale and unconscious in his bed. By all rights he should have the most character of anyone she’d ever met. “Speaking of which,” she continued aloud, freeing her hand from his arm, “our hostess didn’t invite you here to flirt with me.”

With a mock scowl he sketched a bow and retreated across the room. For the remainder of the evening Theresa wandered from group to group—not so much to avoid monopolizing anyone, but rather because she couldn’t escape the restlessness beneath her own skin, the sensation that she would much rather be elsewhere. Finally she couldn’t stand it any longer. The moment her grandmother finished a game, and before they could begin another round, she hurried forward.

“Grandmama,” she leaned down to whisper, “I’ve a terrible aching head. Would you mind horribly if—”

Grandmama Agnes slid approximately two pounds’ worth of coins off the table and into her palm. “I am being a scoundrel,” she announced, standing, “taking my winnings and leaving.”

“You’re a cruel woman, Agnes,” Lord Wilcox returned with a grin. “Promise me a chance to win back my losses.”

“We shall have to see about that.”

She took Theresa’s arm as they went to find Michael. “You are so coy,” Theresa whispered with a smile.

“In all these years I’d like to think I’ve learned how to entice a man,” her grandmother returned. “Michael? Michael. Escort us home. Your sister doesn’t feel well.”

Dash it all
. At her grandmother’s pronouncement everyone began crowding in, asking whether she felt ill and if they might call on her tomorrow. Generally she would have felt guilty for pulling attention away from the party’s hostess; she’d never been much for petty dramatics. Not since she was ten, anyway. Tonight, however, what she most felt was impatience—she was impatient to be home with her own thoughts, and she was impatient for tomorrow when she could go chat with Colonel Bartholomew James again.

“I’ll have Mrs. Reilly send you up some tea,” her grandmother said, giving her a brief hug as they walked into the Weller House foyer.

“I don’t think she needs tea,” Michael put in, stooping to scoop up one of their grandmother’s newest acquisitions, a fluffy white kitten they’d named Cotton. “I think she was trying to separate me from my new beloved, Sarah.”

Theresa grimaced at him. “Please don’t even jest about that. She’s horrid.”

“She is my dear friend’s niece,” the family’s matron put in, plucking an additional cat, brown Mr. Brown,
from the hall table. “Though truthfully I don’t think Jenny is terribly pleased with Sarah’s wagging tongue, either.” She eyed the butler. “Why are my cats all over the foyer?”