Virtue and Vice (37 page)

Nay! It wouldn’t be too late.
He refused to let her die.

If she died, the sunshine would be gone from his life forever.

“Papa, I don’t want the annulment, I swear. Not anymore. Will you tell Ram for me? Will you tell him that and something else?”

Shaking off his morose thoughts, he concentrated once again on his wife. “Shh, Izzy. You need your strength. Lie back and sleep, sweetheart, and you can tell him yourself.”

She gripped his wrist with unexpected strength. “I will. But you have to promise you’ll tell him for me, Papa, just in case.”

“Tell him what, Izzy?” he stroked the heated flesh of her arm.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I didn’t know Paul would do what he did.” Her voice grew hoarse. “Tell Ram I’m so sorry, and that I love him. I…” her voice trailed off as she slumped back against the pillow, exhausted.

Ram tried to swallow past the lump clogging his throat. “He knows, sweetheart, I swear he does. And he loves you, too. But you’ll soon get well, and you
will
tell him yourself, do you understand me?”

Her lips curved into a small smile, and she nodded slightly, without ever lifting her lids, as though they were too heavy to even warrant an attempt.

Moments later her eyes shot open and she lurched toward the side of the bed. She began to vomit all the broth he had painstakingly fed her.

Leaping to place a receptacle beneath her, he held her in his arms as she retched.

Closing his eyes, Ram began to pray.
Please God. Please, don’t let her die!

***

Ram redoubled his efforts. Though Izzy continued to vomit everything he fed her, he was determined to keep going until she kept something in her stomach. After each feeding he cleaned the mess, then thoroughly cooled her with a damp washcloth, then began the process all over again.

Worry gripped him and confusion too. He’d been by her side for nigh on twelve hours, listening to the sound of her breathing, watching the rise and fall of her chest, anticipating anything she might need to fight her illness.

The day had come and gone. Night would soon fall again.

And still, there wasn’t a single pockmark anywhere on her body. Each time he cooled her with the washcloth he examined her. When shivers wracked her and he climbed under the blankets to lend her warmth, he checked her, and again when the sweat beaded on her brow and he’d lifted her to change the sheets beneath her, after he’d once more bathed her with the damp cloth.

Frustration and fear gnawed at him. He went to the chamber door again, Hawthorne, stoic as a rock and still keeping his vigil, jumped to his feet.

“Send someone for the doctor again! I don’t give a bloody damn where he is or who he’s tending, get him here within the hour!”

“Aye, sir. Immediately.”

Ram watched Hawthorne make his way quickly down the hall, then he retreated back into the bedroom, taking a seat in a chair beside the bed. In the distance he could hear the rumbling sounds of thunder as it grew nearer, the only indication that time was marching forward outside of Izzy’s sick room. She was exhausted from all that he’d forced on her. Her eyes were sunken and purple smudges marred the delicate skin beneath each eye. Nothing he did seemed to help.

Still, Ram refused to give up. He shrugged the stiffness from his shoulders, then once more slid behind her to support her against his chest as he held the goblet of barley water to her lips and forced her to drain it all. Then he lay her back against the pillows and waited, receptacle in hand.

When a quarter of an hour passed and she didn’t vomit, Ram drew his first real sigh of relief, allowing himself to hope.

He went in search of a night rail in expectation of the doctor’s visit, but the drawers and wardrobe were empty. His eyes fell on the valise she’d brought from London that lay where she’d dropped it. He knelt and rummaged through it. His fingers brushed a piece of parchment and he drew it out. Unfolding it, he scanned the contents, then read the note from her father more slowly a second time. His fist clenched at the harsh words, at the heavy burden the Baron had lain upon her.

“Oh, Izzy.” He murmured. The contents of the letter must have devastated her. He frowned, wondering why she had allowed Belinda to believe everything between Izzy and her father was fine.

With the clarity of hindsight the answer came to him. She’d done it so Belinda would believe Izzy had gone to Eric’s as she claimed she would, and Belinda would follow her there. When Belinda arrived and discovered Izzy wasn’t actually there, it would be too late to do anything about it.

Ram returned the letter to the valise, then pulled out a pink night rail and returned to Izzy’s side. Her loyalty to those she loved was absolute. Izzy would tell any lie, willingly sacrifice anything and everything to protect those who’d earned her love, and somehow Ram was lucky enough to be counted amongst those who had. Once given, it was not something she easily turned her back on, which was why she’d continued to defend Huntley, even after he betrayed her. ‘Twas why she’d put herself at risk, gone to White Hall for Ram’s sake, despite the way he’d used her and deliberately hurt her and his callous rejection of her generous offer of love.

He recognized, too late, that if he’d earned even the smallest amount of the loyalty she’d given to Huntley, he was the luckiest man alive.

He stroked her cheek. If only he’d realized the truth earlier, she would have been spared so much.

He had so many regrets, not the least of which that he hadn’t told her he loved her until she was ill, when he didn’t know if she even understood his words.

Gently, he slipped the night rail over her head and arms, then picked up the broth once more and bent to his task.

***

“Influenza?” Ram bellowed in disbelief.

Dr. Norman Sandborne frowned in disapproval at the volume of Ram’s voice. Ram flushed beneath the man’s glower. The good doctor had arrived within the hour proscribed, with about three minutes to spare.

Upon the doctor’s arrival, Ram explained the death of the Princess Royal from smallpox and of the contagion sweeping the court. And then after a thorough examination, Dr. Sandborne had diagnosed Izzy’s illness. Influenza. For the first time in days Ram allowed himself to hope, just the tiniest bit.

“It’s true that smallpox can cause many of the same symptoms as influenza, but were she infected with Smallpox she’d have developed the telltale spots by now.

Ram didn’t know whether to laugh in disbelief or swoon in utter relief. His legs were suddenly weak and his heart pounded as his fear crested, then receded like a giant wave, crashing against the shore and then fading away, leaving smooth calmness behind. “She will recover? You’re sure of this?”

“Influenza is quite serious, my lord, and your wife is very ill. She’ll need to remain abed for at least a se’nnight. You must give her plenty of fluids as well. But she is young and in good health. There’s no reason to believe she will not recover in due time.”

Ram whooped with happiness, this time not caring if the doctor frowned about it. Izzy would be well!

He showed the doctor to the door himself, handing the man an exorbitant fee for bringing such wonderful news. Some of the doctor’s disgruntlement faded as he received his due.

“Should your wife’s condition worsen or you have need of me for any reason, do not hesitate to send your man.” Dr. Sandborne shot a wary look in Hawthorne’s direction, leaving Ram to speculate in amusement what bullying techniques the butler had resorted to in order to rouse the man at this time of night.

With a nod, the physician went on his way. Ram bounded up the stairs to the bedchamber, his spirits lighter than they’d been in weeks.

Izzy would recover; she’d be all right.

He climbed into the bed beside her, took her into his arms, and succumbed to exhaustion.

Chapter 32

Lucien stared at Belinda, sitting across the coach from him, watching her gaze mindlessly out the window.

He’d delayed their journey for as long as humanly possible. Or about as long as it was possible for a man to naysay a woman stoically resisting tears. First he’d insisted she pen a note to Izzy’s parent’s explaining the situation, then he’d come up with a veritable laundry list of things necessary for him to do before he could leave London for an extended period. He’d made sure the carriage driver reported one of the horses was limping and Lucien had insisted they delay leaving until the following morn.

It took six hours the next morning before he finally capitulated, when he returned from a hastily improvised “business errand” and come face to face with a distraught Belinda in his foyer, her eyes glistening with tears of frustration and concern. By then the maid, Meg, had taken ill and was abed, no longer able to serve as a makeshift chaperone. It would be just Belinda and he in the carriage for what would be a very long ride.

They’d been on the road for a few hours now, though they’d spoken very little to one another. Did she feel the tension stretched taut between them in the confinement of the carriage, too?

What a bloody fool he’d been to agree to this. How was he to spend two days in a closed carriage with her when he could barely resist the urge to take her into his arms! They were walking a fine line as it was without a chaperone or even a maid along to properly protect her reputation.

Should her legal guardian get wind of this, it was entirely conceivable he’d have to marry the chit.

He was utterly startled when the normal, full-body shudder that usually accompanied thoughts of a potential marriage failed to materialize. It was generally his belief that anyone or anything who could turn usual into unusual warranted extra time and attention, for it was the unusual that made life entertaining, so Lucien studied Belinda’s profile in careful detail. He didn’t even understand what it was about her that drew him so. There was just something about those exotic eyes when they turned and locked on his, something elusive that made him yearn for things he’d never before desired. Things that were missing, that he’d never before even wanted. Stability. A home. Family. Love.

He shuddered. She was a sorceress and yet didn’t know it.
Innocent witch.

As if she sensed his eyes upon her, she turned to face him. Those beautiful cat eyes of hers were luminous, filled with concern, anxiety, and fear. And could he blame her? He would be sick at the thought of losing his brother. Though she and Izzy were not blood sisters, no two siblings could be closer.

Against his better judgment he shifted to her side of the carriage, squeezing in beside her.

Her eyes widened and her mouth parted, a slight breath escaping that feathered across his cheek. “What are you doing, my lord?”

Amusement suffused him at her attempt to create an invisible barrier between them by returning to formalities, when he’d held her feet in his hands and kissed her breathless once before.

“I’m distracting you,
Belinda
.” he took her face between his hands and stroked his thumbs across the soft skin over her delicate cheekbones. Her eyes flicked from side to side, the tip of her tongue darted out to tease her lower lip. “You look as if you’re about to cry, and I won’t abide that. So I’ve decided it’s my duty to distract you.”

At this moment she was no sorceress or seductress. Right now she put him more to mind of a skittish kitten. A jumpy little creature that might be tamed by the gentle stroking of his hand. The right touch might even make her purr. A part of him was so tempted to take up the challenge he’d unintentionally thrown down for himself. Could he make her purr or would she hiss and spit at him instead? His breeches were suddenly snug at the thought of Belinda laid out naked on his bed, whimpering and mewling with pleasure as he thrust into her and she sank her claws into his back.
Temptress kitten.

Bloody Hell.

He yanked his wayward thoughts from the path they’d so enticingly wandered. Enough of what was going on his head must have shown on his face though. As if she’d peeked into his mind and glimpsed the same image he’d conjured, a pink blush bloomed on her cheeks beneath his fingers and he found himself fascinated by his affect on her.

Which was only fair, as he was equally fascinated by her effect on him.

“Lucien?” She whispered, his name escaping her lips on a sighing breath, a mix of confusion and longing. It seemed to hang in the air between them. Unable to resist, he lowered his mouth to hers with a groan of capitulation.

For a moment she remained unresponsive. And then a breathy moan escaped and her arms went round his neck, her hands anchoring into his hair. He caressed her lips with his, softly at first, then with growing urgency as she pressed herself more tightly against him.

When her lips parted and he slipped his tongue inside to taste her, it was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. She was fiery innocence, delicious temptation. Heaven in his arms. Need exploded within him and he angled her head so he could fuse his mouth more firmly against hers, take her breath as his own. His tongue swept across her teeth, then dipped to touch the soft inner skin of her lower lip.

When she took his tongue between her teeth and sucked him further into her own mouth, spikes of flaming need coursed through his veins, heating a path directly to his groin. His cock strained against his breeches, yearning for her attention.

He pressed her against the squabs with his weight, felt the luscious softness of her breasts as they flattened beneath his chest. She lay back without a protest, only adjusted herself to fit more snugly to him. He tore his mouth from hers and trailed a hot row of kisses over her jaw and down her neck, tonguing the hollow at the base of her throat. She panted with desire, no remonstration issuing forth from her lips.

Continuing his journey lower, he traced the modest neckline of her gown with his tongue, then moved lower. His seeking mouth found her taut nipple through the fabric, and he latched on to it, sucking hard. Her body bucked beneath his, arching into him, her hands curled into fists on his shoulders.

Her breasts were the stuff of fantasy, round and full, yet uplifted. Perfect. They would be perfect when he released them from the confines of her gown and stays. With that goal in mind his hands crept under her raised arms, around her back, to remove the unwanted barrier of her gown.

Some semblance of control invaded the haze of passion that had formed around them. His hands froze in horror.

Holy Hell! I’m about to make love to a virgin in my carriage!

What the hell was the matter with him?

Feeling like the biggest ass in the world, he sprang off her, returning to the seat opposite, which was as far away as he could get in the blasted carriage. Not nearly bloody far enough for his liking.

Her passion glazed eyes slowly focused. As he watched, a variety of emotions crossed her face, so easy to read. Desire, amazement, then confusion, and finally hurt. When her lower lip started to tremble, remorse tore at him.

“Oh, Kitten. Don’t look at me like that, please.”

She righted herself on the seat, hastily smoothing her hands across her gown to make sure all was in place. Her dark gold hair, which had been so neatly coiffed, now hung in charming disarray past her shoulders. Her lips were swollen and moist from his kisses, her cheeks still flushed from her first taste of desire. It stunned him to discover he wanted her more than he remembered ever wanting any other woman.

“Lucien? I don’t understand”-

Neither did he. “I apologize, Miss Spencer. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of your worry and fear for your cousin. I’m surprised no one yet warned you I have a reputation as something of a libertine.”

The color in her cheeks heightened. “Don’t you want me?”

He clenched his eyes shut. Those were
not
the words he expected. She should be giving him a blistering set-down. Couldn’t she see there was nothing he desired more? Christ, all he wanted right then was to drag her skirts to her waist and thrust inside her tight, hot sheath again and again, lose himself in her wet, quivering depths until he was mindless and she screamed with pleasure beneath him, begging him to bring her release.

He dragged a trembling hand down his face and redirected his thoughts with difficulty. Forcing himself to gentle his tone, he tried to explain. “Belinda, it’s not proper for us to be alone like this. I realize these are special circumstances, but what we just did should never have been allowed to happen. If anyone ever found out about what just occurred between us, your reputation would be ruined.”

Her eyes hardened. “And you might be forced to marry me, and you cannot abide the thought.”

His kitten definitely had claws. For a moment he considered arguing with her that nothing could be farther from the truth, but he sure as hell wasn’t going down that road right now while they were alone in this carriage! Better to let her think that was the way things stood.

“I apologize.”

“Keep your bloody apology, Lord Lucien. It means nothing to me.” She turned bodily to the side, anchoring her gaze out the window.

***

Two hours later they still hadn’t spoken another word to one another. A gentle rain began to fall, but as the evening progressed, the shower turned into a gale. Water clogged the roads and their pace slowed to a crawl, as the driver had to carefully maneuver the horses so they didn’t slip in the mud and injure themselves.

They would not get much farther that evening. Lucien rapped on the ceiling to gain the driver’s attention, then poked his head out into the rain. “No sense in continuing on tonight, Jake. Let’s find the next inn and get dry for the evening.”

“Aye, sir.”

Lucien settled back into the carriage, shaking the rain droplets from his hair. Still Belinda refused to look at him.

He supposed he’d injured her feelings with what she no doubt saw as his rejection of her. But there was nothing to be done for it. In fact, it irked him she didn’t recognize the nobility of his actions. Surely if they had continued on that course, upon waking in the morning she would have regretted with all her heart giving away her virginity on the seat of a coach.
Wouldn’t she?

It was another three quarters or so of an hour before Lucien noticed the gradual slowing as Jake brought the team to a stop. Anxious to put some space between himself and the object of his desire, Lucien opened the door and leaped to the ground. Shielding his eyes from the sting of the rain, he spoke to both Belinda and the driver. “Stay here until I’ve arranged lodging.”

Belinda looked at him but said nothing. Jake nodded.

He picked his way through the mud towards the Tudor style inn. Beneath the oak and plaster would be a place they could get warm and procure food. He could find solitude. It was a haven.

It seemed many a weary and rain-sodden traveler had picked this place to stop for the evening. The stables were filled to capacity while carriages and coaches lined the side of the road.

Upon opening the door, he was immediately assailed with the delicious smell of savory meat roasting and freshly baked bread along with the tangy odor of ale. The eating room was crammed with diners, each table taken by tired and hungry travelers. Still, it would be a cozy enough place to spend the evening.

Making his way to the bar, he asked after the proprietor and within moments was greeted by a short, balding man with a rounded form. He took Lucien’s measure in one glance.

“How may I be of help my lord?”

“I have need of two rooms for the evening.”

The small man winced. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I’ve only one room left to let.”

It suddenly seemed very warm inside the inn. Lucien pulled at his collar. He could
not
spend a night alone in a bedchamber with Belinda.

“Surely you’ve an extra room you keep for emergencies, good sir? If it’s a matter of coin…” his voice trailed off as the innkeeper shook his head.

“It’s the storm, my lord. We are filled to capacity, and then some. The room I can offer you
is
my emergency room. It’s my daughter’s chamber, but I’ll have her stay with me and the wife tonight. There will be hardly any space in the stable for your coachman as it is.”

Lucien groaned in frustration as his plan to deposit Belinda in a room and hunker down in the stables alongside Jake turned to ashes. Could this evening get any worse?

“I’ll take the room, then.” Lucien slid a few coins across to the man. “Could you arrange to bring a meal for two up within a few moments, and arrange for food and ale for my driver?”

“Indeed I can, sir.”

“Many thanks.”

After the proprietor had shown Lucien which room was to be his torture chamber, he took a deep, fortifying breath and went out into the storm again. He trudged back through the mud to the coach. After instructing the driver to seek the innkeeper for food and ale after seeing to the horses, Lucien turned to Belinda.

“Come.” He held out his hand. “I’ve secured a warm, dry, room for the evening.”

For a moment he thought she would ignore his help and leap down by herself, but she seemed to appreciate the dangers of launching herself into the slippery mud, sulk aside. Placing her hand in his, she let him help her to the ground. He couldn’t resist giving her hand a quick squeeze.