rdship is in residence here at Mountvale.”
Charlotte frowned after her son. “It shouldn’t be, Fitz. A man of his appetites and reputation should be surrounded with excitement and action. It would be a travesty otherwise. Poor Susannah. We’re in for a problem now, but perhaps it won’t look so bad. Just think of the romance of it all. Did his lordship not look dashing carrying her in his arms? And so very manly with his chest naked?” There was more than a good deal of satisfaction in her voice. There was ringing pride. Then she frowned. “But she is his brother’s widow. Nothing can come from it, no matter what happens.”
Fitz sighed and gave Augustus his orders again, twice, because Augustus was having a difficult time tearing his attention away from the incredibly beautiful Vision, still garbed in boys’ clothing.
He looked up the wide staircase. The baron had looked distraught. He’d never seen the baron look distraught before. But the baron’s mother was right. A man couldn’t marry his brother’s widow, whether or not she was wearing his shirt and coat.
11
SUSANNAH MOANED. THE PAIN IN HER HEAD HAD BROUGHT her low. She hated it, but it consumed her. She knew she was crying, but she couldn’t hold the tears back.
Rohan wrung the cool water out of the soft linen cloth and laid it on her forehead. “It should be better in a moment. I’m sorry. I can’t give you laudanum yet. The man hit you in the head. We can’t take the chance. Just listen to me, Susannah, try to concentrate on my voice and my words. Breathe very lightly, that’s right.”
He began to talk slowly to her, nonsense really, all about his first pony, Dobbs, named after the astronomer Jacko Dobbs, whom he had admired as a boy. “ . . . I was six years old when I taught Dobbs how to jump. I thought he would jump to the stars, a little jest my tutor appreciated. Even my father was astounded at how high Dobbs could jump, except, of course, that Dobbs had just jumped this rather high bush when my father first saw him, and my father wasn’t alone. He was enjoying a tryst with a lady from a neighboring estate. But my father stopped what he was doing and clapped me on the back for my excellent training before he sent me on my way. As I recall, the lady also applauded my efforts. She said something about with practice and good fortune I might someday be just like my father. As I recall also, my father didn’t have a stitch of clothing on. As for the lady, I think she had pulled my father’s shirt in front of her.”
She stared at him wide-eyed, then giggled. “That’s good. That’s really very funny, yet you recount it like it could be any story in any little boy’s life.”
“It almost could. Well, all right, say the part of the father carrying on a tryst with a neighboring lady.”
She giggled again. He loved the sound of that giggle. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts. Now, sir, a man of your reputation—I suppose you have taken many ladies to that place where your father was. I’ll wager it’s a very romantic spot.”
“Very romantic. You’re right, of course. A man of my reputation would use his private flora and fauna for assignations. Should you like to visit the spot with me, Susannah?”
She moaned.
Where, he wondered, had that bit of nonsense come from? But it wasn’t nonsense. He very much wanted to take her anywhere she wanted to go. He very much wanted her. “A bit of a backward step, but you’re doing fine. Just keep breathing lightly.”
“You’re still naked.”
“Just my upperparts. You’ve seen naked upperparts. You were married. Ah, at last here’s Dr. Foxdale.” He shook the man’s hand, saying, “She was hit on the left side of her face and her head hurts pretty badly. Other than that, I believe she’s fine. Except, of course, for these scratches on her face.”
Dr. Foxdale eased himself down beside young Mr. George’s widow. He just looked at her for a good long time, noting her coloring, her eyes, her rate of breathing. Then he lightly touched his fingertips to the side of her head and began a slow exploration. She sucked in her breath.
“That was a good blow the villain gave her,” he said, not to her but over his shoulder to the baron. “Now, ma’am, how many fingers am I holding up?”
“Three.”
“Excellent. And now?”
She counted his long thin fingers until he was satisfied that her wits weren’t wandering. He had the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. “You’ll do,” he said, then turned immediately to the baron. “She has a hard head. To be honest, most of my female patients do. I’ve often wondered why this is true. Now, I’ll bathe the scratches on her face, but there’s really nothing more. You can give her laudanum, my lord. Let her sleep the rest of the day, it’ll do her good. There will be a good deal of bruising. There’s not a thing I can do about that.”
He rose after he’d bathed her face, then smiled down at her. “There, not too bad. Good day, Mrs. Carrington.”
Never once did he remark on the baron’s bare chest, nor, for that matter, did he ever appear discomfited. She heard Rohan say as he walked Dr. Foxdale to the bedchamber door, “They should be bringing back the man who kidnapped Mrs. Carrington. I shot him in the arm. However, the impact knocked him backward into a tree and he knocked himself out.”
“I’ll stay then, my lord.”
The two men shook hands, each apparently well pleased with the other. And the baron was naked to the waist. She wondered if the doctor would have said anything even if the baron had appeared without his britches. Could he do whatever he chose without anyone caring? With, indeed, everyone appearing to admire him, surely to immoderate excess?
He returned in a few minutes, a glass of water in his hand. She watched him measure out several drops of laudanum into the glass. She watched the play of muscles over his belly as he bent over to put the bottle of laudanum back on the tabletop. She had never before seen a man who looked like he did. George had looked well enough, she supposed, but then again, when she’d married George, a man could have had three of anything and she wouldn’t have known the difference. Now she knew a little bit more. No man should be beautiful, but the baron was. Blondish-brown hair was soft on his chest, slimming down to a straight line of darker hair that disappeared beneath his britches.
She was suffering from a head wound. Even though she had a hard head, she was still ill. All this was an aberration. A woman didn’t overly admire a brother-in-law, no matter what his attributes. This woman didn’t. Well, at least this woman would try very hard not to.
She sighed deeply—wishing he would put a shirt on, wishing he would not—and looked at her blanket-covered toes.
“You will feel better in just a moment.” He held up her head and slowly fed her the water. She felt the warmth of him against her cheek.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice soft and vague. She would not look at him, not ever again. She concentrated on the cherubs that festooned the corners of the ceiling moldings. She felt the pain pulling back, slowly deadening, and releasing her. Her thoughts were blurry, without focus. She heard someone, someone with a soft, woman’s voice that sounded suspiciously like her voice, say, “You look very nice all bare. I never thought a man could look like you do. It makes me feel strangely even though I really don’t feel very good.” From one instant to the next, she was asleep.