Courtesan's Kiss (14 page)

“I trust you have a very good reason to be visiting the family suite.”

“The double door was wide open and I knew that meant you were not abed yet,” she explained without guile. “I wound your clock.”

He stared at her. She never said exactly what she meant. He had never caught her in a lie, but he knew that
she bent the truth to suit her whims. When they talked, he spent half his time trying to decipher the truth and her version of the truth. She was bold, but at the moment looked as insecure as a new midshipman.

She had been winding clocks downstairs. But no matter what the truth, David knew in that moment Mia Castellano was a test he would fail.

He stared at her. Just stared until he spoke his thought without censor. “I can see there is no chance on this sweet earth that you will leave me alone, allow me any peace at all. I am bound for hell. You are like a curse I cannot undo.”

If she had stood there one minute more he would have taken her to his bed whether she wanted it or not. But Mia Castellano must have heard the ultimatum implicit in his tone, if not his words, for she curtsied, swooped under his arm as she had at least two times before, and ran down the passage, pausing at the doorway to whisper, “Good night, Lord David.”

David went into his room, closed the door, and leaned against it. He felt more than need. This was hunger, aching, longing, craving, and still something that went beyond those words to a desire that blinded one to honor and responsibility. That drove a man to demand what he needed regardless of the consequences.

The first time he had seen Mia Castellano, at his brother’s engagement ball, he had no idea who she was. He had thought her looks exotic, and when she had waltzed past him, the sound of her laughter had stayed in his head all night.

She had caught him watching her and given him a smile that held all the allure of a courtesan.

Surely she was no more than an adventurous girl, he had thought. His brother would never invite anyone but the best of families to his engagement ball.

He’d watched her flirt her way through the ballroom leaving a trail of charmed fools. Not every eye was on her but no one would forget her; she was like a bee wrapped in butterfly camouflage.

When they were finally introduced and he realized she was engaged, to Bendasbrook no less, he had been all but rude to her and ignored her at every meeting since. He did not need the temptation or the trouble it would cause.

Avoiding her now, however, would be a challenge.

David needed those dreams of Lyn’s vengeance. In vivid detail. He knew he needed something, anything, to quell his libidinous thoughts or he would do something that would define failure in an entirely new way.

C
LOSING HER DOOR
, Mia turned the lock and leaned against it, patting her chest to calm her racing heart. Dio mio,
I have been like a child in five different ways
.

She went into the dressing room and did no more than toe off her shoes before she sank onto the bench. Covering her face with her hands, Mia tried to decipher what had frightened her so much.

He was like a banked fire. And she behaved like a child who had spent the day adding little bits of kindling, trying to coax the fire to life when it had been simmering
underneath and more than ready to flare into flame that would consume anyone fool enough to stand too close.

What she had seen in his eyes so shocked her that she had not even heard what he said.

Disgust and hatred aimed at her, directly at her.

Mia could not pretend that she did not know why, that she had not pressed him, teased him, and played the coquette at a time when he faced a disaster of monumental proportions. Lord David was the one in charge, and no more able to control the situation than she was.

Lowering her hands so that they now only covered her mouth, she stared at the pink and blue patterned carpet. She felt sick, not from some hideous disease but at the thought that he could hate her.

No. She stood and began to undress. He had only needed someone to vent his anger on and she had been standing there. She understood that. She threw things when faced with too much to bear. The hate in his eyes was aimed at the Fates that had put them in this horrible situation.

Leaving him alone would be the best way to make amends. She put her dress on the hook along with her stays and chemise and wriggled into her nightdress, a cool light cotton that was one of her greatest extravagances.

She would spend all day tomorrow reading about the stupid girl at Northanger Abbey. Catherine Morland would be the perfect companion for the stupid girl at Sandleton.

O
N THEIR SECOND MORNING
at Sandleton, Lord David Pennistan woke with a headache and swore. He never had headaches. He considered them the province of women, but he could not deny the dull pulse of pain at the back of his head, just above his spine.

He’d seen the surgeon again yesterday and never thought to ask what kind of pain to expect with the illness or where it would start. If he had asked he would have a better idea if this was a very bad sign or merely the result of a poor night’s sleep.

Damn him twelve times twelve for not making the effort to dose himself with Jenner’s vaccine. David pushed himself out of bed, relieved that a headache was his only symptom. The newly risen sun helped him decide that a walk may be all the treatment his headache needed.

Like the morning before, he found hot coffee with
bread, chicken, and cold eggs on the table in the dining room. Miss Castellano still slept, no doubt. It would be fine with him if she kept to her room for a week.

He had not seen her at all the day before and by evening had wondered if she had run away. Patently impossible, but how else to explain why someone so ubiquitous one day became invisible twenty-four hours later?

Finally, just before dark last night he heard her making the rounds and winding clocks, singing new words to “Barbara Allen.” Not only did she avoid his room but she had not come into the family suite, leaving all the clocks there unwound.

Whether deliberate or not, her absence had made it easier for him to come to his senses. They were a man and a woman in close company, unusually close company. Add to that her inclination to tease any man close enough to see her face.

He knew that from their first meeting, and only had it confirmed in the harshest of ways, when he and William had found her with Lord Arthur.

He needed only time and distance to talk himself round, to remind himself that he was a gentleman and she a woman without scruples eager to test her wiles on the only man available.

After a hasty breakfast, David hurried up the steep attic stairs on the first of his thrice-daily visits to the sickroom. Basil, the healthy groom whose name David finally thought to ask, sat with John Coachman and Ralph, the other groom. The coachman looked feverish and seriously ill.

“Ralph’s awake, my lord, but he says keeping his eyes closed makes it less likely that he will be sick again.”

“It’s good news that he is on the mend.” Neither one of them mentioned the coachman, who showed no sign of improvement.

“Mrs. Cantwell left to sleep for a few hours. I’m to run for her if either man takes a turn for the worse.”

“Very well. I’m going out for a walk and will stop back when I return.”

“Very good, my lord.”

“Does your head ache, Basil?”

“No, my lord.” The boy shrugged. “My back hurts from all this bending over but my head is clear.”

“Good, good.”

“Yes, sir, my lord.”

David made his way down the narrow stairs. Pressing his fingers into the back of his neck relieved some of the tension, if not the pain. Passing through the dining room again, he grabbed some of the bread and a leg of chicken.

The front door was still bolted from the night before. He pulled it open and stepped out into the sunshine of an already warm day. As he ate, he felt summer fully upon them. He hated the heat and, worse, the damp. It reminded him too easily of Isla Mexicado. The constant steaming humidity had been the only thing worse than the blazing sun.

David headed down to the gate from habit before he remembered that he could not walk to town today. Something rested on the ground just outside the gate and he decided to keep on in that direction.

Two baskets.

He picked up both after checking the contents: some meat pies and a loaf of bread with no indication who had sent them.

As he stood there considering the gifts, David recalled the time in Isla Mexicado when the village chief had been poisoned by an anonymous gift of his favorite fish. The man had been arrogant and stupid to eat the food, or else he had no concept of how much his slaves hated him.

The townspeople here had always seemed amiable and none were beholden to Sandleton or the Pennistans for their income. Most of the land had been sold off years ago and the house kept only because the fishing was so good.

Surely this food would be safe to eat; no villager would be inclined to poison them to eliminate the possibility of contagion. England and Mexicado had more in common than any Englishman would believe, but surely that kind of barbarism was not part of it.

“What a generous offering.”

Still mired in an internal debate, David had not heard Novins approach. Today he drove a two-wheeled dog cart with a single horse. He slowed and stopped on the other side of the gate. Several packages heaped beside him explained the need for the conveyance.

“Yes, very kind.” David opened the gate, but stood back.

“I am coming in.” Novins urged the horse through. “It is impossible to know what illness we are fighting without
seeing the patients. I’ve made arrangements for the surgeon in Pegford to call on anyone who has need of care. I will quarantine myself at my own home, which is outside of town anyway. My servants have been sent away for the week.”

“Well thought out, Novins.”

“Thank you, my lord. Would you care to ride up to the house with me? These packages are for you and Miss Castellano, my lord. Sent from Pennford.”

Lord David put the two baskets he had at hand next to the others and hauled himself up into the seat next to Novins. “The packages are for us? I didn’t think Cantwell would be back until tomorrow at the earliest.”

“And you were right, sir.” Novins urged the horse into a trot. “Mr. Cantwell will start back today. The duke sent one of the stable lads with these items. Since the moon is full, the boy offered to travel by night. There are letters as well. They arrived less than an hour ago. Since there seemed to be some urgency I came up immediately.”

The ache in David’s head ratcheted up a notch. What could be so urgent that the boy had to travel at night? Their arrival at the kitchen door precluded any more conversation. David helped Novins unload the cart. In the kitchen, the surgeon shed his hat and began to organize the packages.

He handed David two letters and a weighty satchel similar to the ones that the mail courier used to transport estate papers from Pennford to London.

David accepted the bundle and dropped them on a
chair nearby. “Novins, take a minute and tell me who sent these baskets.” He lifted one and nodded at the other.

Novins’s cheeks reddened, though David had no idea why.

“The bread could be from Miss Horner.” The surgeon’s voice hinted that all bread looked the same. “I do not recognize the other, though they look like meat pies.”

“Yes, they do. Surely a thoughtful gesture on someone’s part.” David left the slightest question in his voice.

“Yes, indeed, the people here are generous.”

“Novins, given your work you must know the truth.” David rubbed his forehead. “Generosity lasts only as long as people do not fear for their lives or their livelihood.”

“Indeed you are wrong, my lord. Some people are selfish through and through, no matter if they are happy or ill.” He put his hand on the basket that held the bread. “Some are so generous they give despite their own want to strangers. There are those who would risk their lives to care for others. It is my work and to be expected, but Mrs. Cantwell’s loyalty is her only motivation.”

“That’s a singularly noble assessment.” For his part David remained skeptical. “I will ask Mrs. Cantwell if she can identify the senders.”

“Very well, my lord,” Novins said, though David could tell the surgeon did not understand why.

“I know someone who was poisoned by such a gift. I remain cautious. Would it not be easiest of all to eliminate all of us who might be contaminated?”

“Including me and Mrs. Cantwell? For how are the senders to guarantee that only the visitors eat the pies?”

“Hmm” was all David could think of to say as he mulled over what Gabriel called his “paranoia.” His man-of-science brother had pointed out he behaved that way whenever he felt ill or threatened. Both, in this case, if you counted a headache as illness.

“Your silence makes me hope I have convinced you, my lord. I will leave you to your letters and visit the patients. With your permission I’ll report to you before I return to my own quarantine and a year’s worth of books waiting to be read.”