He kissed her ear. “Give me a chance to deal with him, Jack. Trust me.”
Dolly was wrapping Georgie in another hot towel. The nursery smelled foul. Gray wanted to open windows but knew it wouldn’t be wise. He also knew if he had to sleep in this room, he’d get ill just from the smells.
Thirty minutes later Georgie was tucked once more into another hot towel and lying on a pallet in front of the fireplace in the Oak Room, a corridor’s length from the nursery.
“Yes,” Jack said, “this was a splendid idea, Gray. Now if she wakes up I’ll be right here to help her. I won’t have to worry.”
He left Jack sitting on the floor beside her sleeping sister, her arms wrapped around her knees. He’d kissed her left ear, lightly stroked his fingers over her neck, then turned to leave. “Don’t forget your gun,” she called out after him. He was thoughtful as he left the Oak Room. He’d never before in his life had someone be concerned specifically about him. No one. He realized it made him feel very good, made him feel as though he was very important in another person’s life—and indeed he was.
He found Sir Henry in his library, drinking brandy, waiting.
“She’s still alive?”
“Yes,” Gray said. “She wasn’t ever in any immediate danger. Apparently you panicked, Sir Henry, but no matter. I’m glad that Jack and I were able to get here so quickly. Dr. Brace is pleased and sees a complete recovery.”
Sir Henry grunted at that, then steepled his fingertips and began tapping them together. “And you, my lord? Are you pleased as well?”
Gray shrugged and studied a fingernail. “The child has as much worth to me as she does to you.”
“According to Dr. Brace, you sped her recovery immensely, perhaps even saved her life, since she hadn’t managed to expel the liquid from her lungs on her own.”
“Jack expected me to do something. The little girl will be fine now. When I take Jack from her in a couple of days, she won’t be bowed by grief.”
Sir Henry was staring into the fire, a sullen blaze. He said finally, “I realize now that Winifrede fooled me quite thoroughly, pretending she didn’t care about Georgina. Ah, but that wasn’t at all true, was it? I didn’t realize until last night just how much she loves the child.” Sir Henry paused, then picked up a quill from his desktop and said, “Don’t you want to please your bride, my lord?”
Gray raised a sleek blond brow. “Please her? She’s my wife. That should provide her with more than enough pleasure.”
“No, you misunderstand me. She wants the child with her. I would imagine you would have to drag Winifrede from her if you refused her the child. What do you think about that?”
“I certainly don’t mind if Jack wishes to visit the child once or twice a year. Doubtless in six months or so I will be sated enough to allow her to be away from me for a week or so.”
Sir Henry flushed. Gray knew he wasn’t mistaken, even though the candlelight wasn’t all that bright. “What do you mean, ‘sated’?”
“I mean,” Gray said, rubbing his finger over his signet ring, “that Jack is a lovely girl. I’m enjoying her youth and her innocence. In six months or so, she will have nothing new to offer me. Thus she can come here to visit.”
The library was suddenly much darker, and airless. It was difficult to breathe—the air was so thick. Gray looked at his boots. His valet Horace was a genius with boots. He could still see his reflection quite clearly even though it had been three days since Horace had nurtured them with his secret recipe. He waited, something he did well but didn’t like to do. Sir Henry seated himself behind a mammoth mahogany desk, leaning back so far that his head was nearly touching the bookcase behind him. He was still holding the quill, threading it through his fingers.
“Mrs. Finch doesn’t like Georgina,” Sir Henry said at last.
“Surely that isn’t terribly important.”
“I’m planning on marrying her. She doesn’t want that pathetic little scrap as a stepdaughter.”
“Ah.”
“Ah, what? Damn you?”
“It isn’t my concern, thank God. Now, I imagine that Jack won’t wish to leave until she’s certain her sister will indeed be all right. We will see you in the morning, Sir Henry.”
Gray nodded and quickly let himself out of the library. He’d planted only a few seeds, watered them only a bit. But all in all, it appeared that Sir Henry wanted to be rid of the child more than he wanted revenge against Jack. He imagined that if Mrs. Finch weren’t in the foreground of the picture, it would be quite a different scene. Now he’d wait a bit, give Sir Henry an opportunity to come to him. Yes, the gift of Mrs. Finch was unexpected, and quite a stroke of luck.
He was whistling as he stepped into the hallway. Jack was on him in an instant, silent as a shadow, slamming her fists into his chest, kicking his shins, her breath harsh and low, saying not a word.
He managed to grab her hands and force them to her sides. He kept his voice low and said right into her face, “Jack, what the devil is the matter with you? Jack, dammit, stop trying to kill me. What are you doing here?”
“You bastard,” she said, breathing so hard she was wheezing. She went on her toes and bit his neck. He nearly yelled, but managed at the last minute to hold it in. The last thing he wanted was Sir Henry flying out here to gape at them.
“You miserable bastard. I should have known you were like all the other men in this benighted world. I hate you, Gray, I hate you.”