Edith Layton (3 page)

He’d been vexed with his problem then—as now. He groaned, thinking about it again. How could he offer for any woman if his heart wasn’t involved? And why hadn’t it been?

One by one his boon companions had fallen in love. It was very like falling, or so it seemed to him. Each of them had been like a man out for a stroll, falling down into a hole and landing in a world he’d never known. One day a friend would be laughing, no more on his mind than the joke he was hearing. The next, he’d be confounded, awash in emotions, ready to change his life forever because of some female he’d met. And each of his friends
had
changed his life. Each had become one of a pair. Not just a matched pair, like two horses pulling in tandem. More than that. They’d each become like one arm of a scissors, purposeless without the other they were matched with.

Drum felt loneliness. He knew restlessness. He wished for a soulmate too. What was the secret? How was it done? Why couldn’t he fall in love? There were females he delighted talking to, others he delighted in dallying with. But none he wanted to devote his life to, and he knew no other way of treating a wife.

He liked women. There was little as delicious as a woman’s companionship, nothing as exciting as her full body and full-bodied laughter. He liked a woman’s point of view, he enjoyed the way she had of civilizing things, and he relished the way she could make a man feel wild too. He had female friends as well as lovers, but the damnable part of it was that they were seldom the same people. He’d actually proposed marriage to one woman, but she hadn’t accepted the impulsive offer he’d made, half in pity, half in desire, all in the spur of the moment. She’d married someone who offered her his soul.
I would too,
Drum thought in anguish,
in a breath, in a heartbeat! If I could only know how one goes about falling in love!

He felt physical pain now too. His leg, his head. The heat made it worse. He was suffocating, stifling. He tried to turn to cast off the bedcovers. He strained. But twist and turn as he might, he couldn’t move.

“There, there,” a soft voice said, “It’s all right. Be still. We’re here to help.”

He opened his eyes. The woman leaned over him. So did the three lads. They were as close as his eyelashes, holding him so tightly he hurt even more. Her eyes were intent, filled with almost as much pain as his own must be. Brown, lovely brown. The boys stared at him from blue eyes, green eyes, black eyes. He must still be dreaming. He shut his own eyes, gritted his teeth.

“I’d be still,” he said, “
if
I weren’t being baked.”

They exchanged frightened looks and gripped him harder.

“It’s damn…deuced hot in here,” he managed to say. “Could I prevail upon you to remove some blankets before I’m completely cooked?”

“Oh!” the woman said.

“Told you,” one of the boys said to her.

“Got him swaddled,” another said. “How many blankets are there on him?”

“Five,” she said, then added defensively, “We’re supposed to keep him warm.”

Their silence was eloquent. But they loosened their grips on him. She lifted off a blanket, then another, and another. “There,” she asked him. “Is that better?”

He nodded and grimaced as he did because it sent his head spinning. He felt his vision waver. He fought back. “Thank you,” he said, but it was definitely growing darker in the room.

He felt an arm around his shoulders and smelled her perfume.
Honeysuckle,
he thought, taking a deep breath of it, as comforted as he was aroused by it, remembering high summer and all its sweetness.

“Drink this, please,” she said softly, in his ear. “It will help the pain.”

He doubted her. Nothing could ease this pain. It had teeth. He felt an arm behind his head, and a cup at his lips. The stuff tasted bitter enough to be medicine, so he drank it all and lay back, exhausted, on his pillow.

He was sliding away again when he heard her voice at his ear, low, urgent.

“Please, tell me your name again.”

“Drum,” he said, “My name’s Drum…Drum…
Gads, but my head is splitting. Are you sure that was medicine?”

She left him alone for a minute, a year, he couldn’t tell. The others were talking to her, telling her he was hearing drumming in his ears. He nodded, he was.

“Is there anyone we should send for?” she asked at last. “Anyone waiting for you?” she asked a little more desperately.

It took him a while to answer, because the thinking took that long. This potion she’d given him had begun to blunt his wits. He was pleased with himself when he came up with an answer. He thought of his father, of course. But then he thought about the fact that he might very well die before he could oblige his father by fulfilling his dearest desire. It made him very sad. It was such a soft, easy sorrow that he found himself drifting off into it.

“Is there anyone who’ll be worried at not hearing from you?” she persisted.

He frowned. He knew what she meant; there was no need for her to talk to him as though he were a child.

“Is there anyone who’ll miss you if you don’t return?” she asked again.

He sighed. “Yes, and no. That’s the problem, you see.”

And then it got too dark for him to hear what she answered.

“N
O,”
HE SAID, PUTTING A HAND OVER THE CUP
. “No more medicine, please.”

Alexandria looked down at her patient in surprise. He hadn’t spoken in two days.

“I woke early this morning,” he said, “before dawn. While you were still sleeping.” He smiled, wearily.

She clutched her wrapper around her neck. She had made sure someone was always by him, even being certain someone slept at the side of his bed, since the doctor advised he never be left alone. She had come straight from her own bed to relieve Kit when the first faint stains of dawn touched the sky outside the window. When Kit left, shaking his head to let her know their patient hadn’t stirred, she’d settled in a chair and must have fallen asleep again. She woke, surprised at her lapse. But then, she’d had little sleep since he’d arrived. She went right to the bedside to see if her guest still breathed.

But he did more, he spoke.

“I had time to think,” he went on. “I realized every time I opened my mouth you put a sleeping draught in it. I’d rather be awake now.”

He still looked pale and ill, of course. But she had to admit he didn’t look as though he were dying anymore. He’d obviously been in excellent condition before his accident. Slender as he was, he projected a sense of strength. The doctor and the boys had gotten him into one of their father’s old nightshirts. His shoulders stretched the shirt tight and the sleeves ended high above his wrists. Alexandria could only blush to think how short the garment probably was elsewhere on this tall gentleman.

He’d been carefully groomed before his accident. Now his beard had begun to grow in, shadowing his face. His straight, jet-black hair flopped every which way around that long face because he’d been tossing and turning. But his eyes, those astonishing bright azure eyes, were clear and sane as he gazed at her. There was entreaty in them too.

“The doctor said—” Alexandria began, but he cut her off.

“Yes,” he said with a faint smile, “he said I must wake in order to drink soup and take my medicine, and sleep in order to heal. I heard him,” he said, noting her surprise. His lips twisted. “Sometimes. Between the drinking and the healing. I promise to be good, not thrash or run to delirium as the boys seem to fear I will do. Will you take me at my word? I’d rather not be drugged into submission anymore.”

His smile was so winsome and wan, filled with humor and understanding, that she’d have allowed him anything in that moment.

He saw it in her expression. “Good,” he sighed. “Now, if I may wash? Brush my teeth? And perhaps shave? It’s trivial, and the least of my woes, I know. But being unkempt makes me feel less like myself. I kept feeling this Methuselah’s beard of mine this morning. I was afraid I’d wake you the way my hand scraped over it.” He ran a hand over his chin again. “I could use a shears now, I think. I’m amazed how fast it’s grown. Or has it? How long have I been here?”

“Two days—three now,” she corrected herself. “But of course. I’ll just go get you some water and shaving soap,” she said, glad of an excuse to leave the room, dress properly, and set herself to rights before she saw him again. She could feel her hair had come down, and she still wore her night robe and a wrapper.

“I have razors in my kit,” he said quickly, “so you needn’t trouble your husband, or father, or brothers for theirs.”

“I have no husband or father, and my brothers don’t shave yet,” she said. “But they will. This very morning. Because I’m not at all sure your hand’s steady enough to do the job yourself.”

He smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ve done it under poorer conditions—in the dark, without water or soap, and aboard rocking ships. The worst I can do is lop off a bit of nose, and that might be an improvement.”

It
was
a very long nose, with a high arch. But she thought it was impressive rather than ugly, and it suited him. “You’d look foolish with a button of a nose,” she said impulsively. Then, realizing how rude it was to make such a personal remark to a stranger, she quickly asked, “How do you feel, aside from untidy? And please,” she added, “What is your name, sir? We asked,
but all you kept saying was that your head was drumming.”

Now he laughed. And winced a second later. “Ouch. I still have a broken head, don’t I? If I’d said ‘trumpets,’ you’d have reason to call the doctor double quick. As it is, I was only telling the truth. The name’s Drummond, but everyone calls me Drum.”

“Well then, welcome, Drum,” she said with relief, “We’ll find out more about you later, I’m sure. Speaking of that, is there anyone you’d like us to send for? Your wife, your family?”

“I’ve no wife, and no desire to alarm my family. But if you bring me a pen and some paper, there are some people I’d like to write to, if I may.”

“If you can, you may, or else I’ll do it for you,” she said. “I’m sorry you come to us under such circumstances, but we’ll try to make you as comfortable as possible. I’ll send the boys in.”

She left quickly, glad it was a Sunday, so the boys weren’t at school. She was brave, resourceful, and competent. She ran the house and took care of three children. But she’d never shaved a man, and certainly never gone so near to a strange one. Shaving him would be an unsettling, intimate act. She didn’t know if her hands would have been any steadier than her patient’s. At least, not with those wise and knowing eyes of his on her every movement.

She hurried down the narrow stair, and ducked her head into the kitchen. The boys were having their breakfast and looked up at her in alarm. “He’s awake and in his right mind!” she said, smiling. “But he needs some help. Kit and Vin, go up, please. He’s asked for his shaving tools. So bring him a basin, some warm
water, and soap, and make sure he doesn’t cut his throat trying to make himself presentable. And Rob? When you’re done eating, go tell the doctor. I’ll get dressed, then see what else we can do.”

The house felt different, Alexandria thought, as she went up the narrow stair again. And not just because she then had to go up the next short flight of steps to the little room in the attic she’d taken since the injured man had been brought to her bed. The cottage was small. Suddenly, it felt smaller. His waking presence made him a true guest. They’d never had a guest before. How long would he stay with them? Their budget was carefully reckoned, but adequate. Still, a guest for weeks would surely call for new economies.

She dismissed her worries as foolishness. He’d want to be gone as soon as he was able; he’d already asked to write to his friends. He seemed to be a gentleman. Why would he want to stay a second longer than necessary in a tiny cottage in the middle of nowhere? But first, he had to be well enough to leave. Alexandria was wildly curious to know exactly who he was and how he’d met his accident, but just as eager to get him on his way.

She dressed quickly. It wasn’t easy. The room was tucked under a corner of the thatched roof, and she had to bend double to stand. But there was no sense in making Rob share his tiny room with his brothers. They’d offered, but she told them flatly that the attic room was big enough for her. So it was. Barely. She shared the space with a dress form, trunks, boxes, and a cot, but counted herself lucky it wasn’t yet summer. She’d have roasted up there if it was.

When she was done she pulled a comb through her
hair, then drew it back and tied it with her best blue ribbon to match her best gown. He said he didn’t feel right when he wasn’t well groomed. She felt capable of handling anything when she knew she was dressed well. Anything, up to and including a fascinating strange gentleman.

She had put on her finest clothes. But it
was
Sunday, she reassured herself, and so it wasn’t just because of her interesting patient, it only made sense to dress well today. She bent to look at the result of her preparations in a tiny clouded glass. The gown, which she had made herself, was high necked and tied under the waist like the fashion plate she’d modeled it after. Her hair glowed like polished mahogany even in the dim light of the lone half-moon window. Her face was clean. She looked neat and proper. She smiled at her image. A gentleman was probably used to ladies that looked much more than that.
But it doesn’t matter what he’s used to
, she told herself, and hurried out.

She heard arguing as she went down the stairs. She hadn’t realized how young the boys sounded until she head the new voice, deep, smooth, and very resolute, as it vied with them. As she entered the room the boys were grouped around the gentleman’s bed, looking harassed. Their guest was white-faced and grim around the mouth. They froze, as though in tableau.

Drum was half sitting up, but Vin and Kit had their hands on his shoulders, obviously holding him back. Alexandria’s gaze traveled to where Drum’s good leg extended from under the covers. One high-arched foot was almost on the floor. She noted a light covering of dark hair on that long and muscular limb. When he saw
the direction of her gaze, he hastily drew back his leg and thrust it under the bedcovers again.

“There’s no need to bring your sister into this,” Drum told the boys angrily.

“There’s no way to keep her out,” Vin said. “He wants to get up!” he told Alexandria.

“No,” she said, “he can’t. The doctor said you were not to stir,” she told Drum.

He corrected her. “He told you to hold me still if I thrashed around. I’m not thrashing. I merely want to get out of bed.”

“Your leg is broken,” she said.

“My other leg is not,” he replied through clenched teeth.

“You propose to hop?”

“I propose to move slowly and carefully, while holding on to something,” he answered.

“Then you obviously didn’t hear everything,” she said. She clasped her hands together. He was an imposing man. Even in his current state he had an air of command. And he was of a class of men she’d seldom met but had been taught to respect. She was no one, and moreover, she’d been trained to obey. Still, she knew what she had to do.

“He also said you’d injured your head and maybe your brain and moving would only jostle it more,” she said. “I hate to think what walking—or hopping—would do to it. Please stay in bed. We’ve sent for him. When he gets here maybe he’ll change his mind. But I don’t want the responsibility of something happening to you.”

“It will be my responsibility,” Drum said. “It’s my
head, after all. I think I can walk, and I want to, and I will, you know.”

“It’s my bed and my house,” she said firmly, the way she spoke to the boys when she refused to hear any more nonsense. “When you’re in your home, you can turn cartwheels if you wish.
Not here
.”

He stared at her. Then he lay his head back on the pillow and chuckled. “Oh, lord,” he said. “It hurts but it’s worth it. No one’s spoken to me like that since I was ten! No, I lie. They didn’t dare when I was ten. Eight, then. No. I lie again. My father spoke that way just the other day,” he said ruefully.

“I’m sorry if I seem rude,” she said, because she realized she had been, “but it’s for your own good.”

“Yes, Mama,” he said meekly.

The boys grinned and, with obvious relief, took their hands from his shoulders.

Alexandria smiled. “We’re your hosts, not your jailers. Anything you need you have only to ask—we’ll bring it to you.”

Now he looked hunted. “I can’t,” he said. “What I wanted to do…the short of it is…”

“He wanted to go to the Jericho by himself,” Rob reported. “Vin promised to bring him a thunder mug, but that only made him try to get up faster.”

“Rob!”
Alexandria cried. “That’s not a subject to bring up in polite company!” But it was one they had to talk about. “We do have such,” she told Drum, trying to sound matter-of-fact. In truth, she was trying just as hard not to blush. She’d wanted to show him they were not country bumpkins, and here she was discussing chamber pots with him! It was outrageous!

But what did it matter? Where was her head? Who
cared what he thought of her? She was in charge of the house and family, she reminded herself, and had done everything as she should. She could certainly handle this. She took a deep breath. The best way was to behave as though this wasn’t embarrassing her to bits—to speak as though it were flower pots, not chamber pots, she was discussing.

“We don’t have anything so grand as a close stool, but there’s no reason to be shy,” Alexandria said, avoiding his eyes. “This is the countryside. The necessary is far from the house, so the boys use such things all the time when they’re sick. There’s one in every bedchamber; in fact, there’s one in that table, by the window. The boys can get it for you. Everyone can leave the room if you like, but I really do think Vincent should help you so you don’t fall on your nose.”

“I’m
not
shy,” Drum said with an excess of patience. “We use them in the city too. We seldom discuss them, though. We don’t have to.” He appealed to her. “The thing is that I’ve had worse injuries, I feel better every minute, and I don’t believe in coddling myself. I hate to feel like an invalid.”

Alexandria stayed silent.

“But I suppose I must,” Drum said on a resigned sigh. “Fine. Thank you. And certainly,” he added, sliding her an interested glance, “I’d prefer if you left—unless of course…?”

She was out the door before he could finish the sentence.

Now that Drum could see him clearly, he watched the doctor with interest. The man was thin, white-haired, and stooped, an old man saved from being considered
ancient by the brightness of his eyes and the power of his voice. He shooed Alexandria and the boys from the room.

“So, young fellow,” he said jovially, as soon as he was alone with his new patient, “I’m Dr. Pace. And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

“The name is Drummond,” Drum said, “Derek DeMacy, Earl of Drummond, but friends call me Drum. I suppose, strictly speaking, I should ask the lads here to call me Drummond, but circumstance prevented strict speaking when I came here.”

The doctor’s eyebrows went up. “I’ve heard of you. Quite the ornament of the ton. What are you doing here, my lord?”