In the Arms of an Earl (10 page)

“Would you prefer a walk today?” Lucinda asked, looking as if she’d rather not walk at all. Jane knew she was eager to decide upon what they would wear for the ball.

“We can stay indoors, if you like. I wouldn’t mind playing your pianoforte, if you have no objection.”

Lucinda brightened. “I would like that. You play, and I’ll arrange our costumes for the ball.” She sprang up from her seat, and Jane reluctantly followed. Colonel Blakeney rose from his chair, and Colonel Parker looked up from his newspaper.

“What are your plans today, Blakeney? Jeremy’s got the new black stallion, if you’ve a mind to ride.”

Just as Jane was beginning to reconsider her decision never to ride, he shook his head.

“You know, Robert, I would not mind listening to Miss Brooke play, if my presence will not intrude. I’ve been desirous to compose another symphony, and hearing excellent music beautifully played should stir my imagination considerably.” He bowed to Jane. “If I would not be imposing, Miss Brooke.”

She nearly choked on her tongue to get the words out. “I do not mind.”

Colonel Parker picked up his newspaper and headed toward the door. “I think I’ll rest a bit. I’ll see you both at dinner.” He nodded at Jane and was gone.

They were alone. She wanted to say something, to comment on the weather, or the upcoming ball, but no words would come. Surely, her reddened face, if not Jeremy’s coughing spell, had revealed the truth to him. But if it had, he seemed nonchalant.

“I do not believe in ghosts, Miss Brooke,” he said at last. She opened her mouth to respond but closed it again. No explanation would suffice for her shocking behavior. “But if I am mistaken and such an angel of mercy does dwell within these walls, I am happy to be in her debt.”

His regular good humor had returned, and she relaxed slightly. “Perhaps it was just a dream.” Frantic to change the subject, she indicated the door. “If you wish, I will play something for you.”

She moved away, but he stepped around the table and was beside her so quickly she had no time to react. Shocked by this display, she stared up at him, every nerve on edge.

“Please, Miss Brooke,” he began, his voice an earnest whisper, “assure me I did nothing to compromise you last night.”

Her blood ran cold in her veins. Of course, he would worry she’d point an accusing finger, forcing him to give up any plans he might have of remaining a bachelor. It was what a plain little spinster like herself might do. Tears filled her eyes before she could stop them.

He misunderstood and patted her shoulder.

“I meant no disrespect, my dear girl, but I found an item of yours.” His face flushed, and she wondered whose complexion was darker. “Do not worry, I hid it in the wardrobe and will return it to you unseen. I only asked, not because I thought you are the sort of lady…” He struggled to find the right words. “You are right. I did have a realistic dream. I just wanted to know whom I should thank for my peaceful night—my phantom nurse, or you.”

He seemed to hang on her answer. Her heart raced, her palms itched with perspiration. Perhaps if she spoke the right words, she would be his in a fortnight.

But those words would be lies. No matter how much she wanted to be with him, she could not betray his decency. Reluctantly, she shook her head. Her chest felt tight, as if an invisible force was squeezing her.

“I heard you cry out and thought you might be ill,” she replied, unable to look into his eyes. “I was going to summon Colonel Parker, but I…”
I wanted you to myself
. “You clearly needed assistance, and I gave it.”

He gave her a shamefaced smile. “Thank you for your discretion. I do not often drink spirits, unless the pain is very bad. I wish I had more self-control and will endeavor to find it in the future.”

She should take the opportunity to leave the room before he disclosed more of his personal habits. A girl had her reputation to protect, and, even though she sensed he was not the sort to press his advantage, it was all very unusual. One timid look into his earnest brown eyes settled her decision.

“Have you not tried any poultices for the pain?” She recalled several of Doctor Adams’ remedies. Perhaps the cook would allow her to make some up for him later.

He shrugged. “Nothing seems to work. I distract myself, but…”

A new sense of purpose came out of nowhere. She was on a path to relieving his pain any way she could. “If you like, I will go to the kitchens and find something for you. There is a lavender infusion we can try, or perhaps one with rosemary.”

He seemed amused at her enthusiasm. “You are very kind. But I do not wish to trouble you.”

“It is no trouble.” She clenched her hands at her side, scolding her eagerness. One of the servants approached to clear away the breakfast things, and they stepped into the hall.

“You are a true angel to think of it. In the meantime, may we proceed to the drawing room? I have found there is nothing better than music to soothe my aches. Do you have any compositions of your own?”

“I have a few songs, but nothing you would—”

“I would love to hear them,” he interrupted, his smile so charming she could not deny him. They walked together to the drawing room, and she sat at the bench, her heart fluttering with the realization it was only the two of them. She played a simple piece she’d composed the previous year, inwardly berating her trembling fingers and expecting criticism any moment. But he remained silent.

Once she looked up and met his gaze. She had no idea how long he’d been watching her. A brief smile crossed his lips, and he turned toward the window again.

Chapter Ten

Jane gulped twice before knocking on Colonel Blakeney’s door.

“Come in,” he barked.

Clutching the fake hand she’d made out of his evening glove, she inhaled sharply and opened the door.

“It’s about time, Parker,” he muttered, lost beneath the twisted folds of a snowy shirt.

Jane froze. He stood with his back to her, wearing only his buff-colored breeches, stockings, and shoes. His broad back was bare, and she stared, fascinated, at the muscles rippling with his every movement. His left arm ended abruptly at the wrist, in a rather ugly scar and stump. A rushed battlefield surgeon was to blame, she thought, unconsciously echoing Doctor Adams’ sentiments on the subject.

He threw the shirt to the floor with an oath, turning at the same time. His face blanched, and he gasped in shock.

“Miss Brooke!”

Heat rose instantly to her face. Torn between fleeing the room and staying, she chose the latter and closed the door quietly behind her. She focused on the painting above the mantelpiece, as his attempts to hide his battered arm rent her heart.

“Mr. Parker’s gone ahead to the ball with some of his friends. I can fetch Colonel Parker for you.”

“No, thank you. He’s not well and lies abed as we speak. I’d rather not have any of the wide-eyed servants, either.” He regarded her keenly and lowered his right hand from his stump. “This is rather shocking to you, I’m afraid.” A note of apology lingered in his voice, as well as a veiled challenge.

She hoped he couldn’t hear her pounding heart.

“I am not shocked, Colonel Blakeney.” She stepped forward boldly and placed her shawl and the glove she’d stuffed with sawdust beside his hat on a table. “I will assist you, if I may.” Her words hung in the air between them.

Finally, he nodded, his expression showing he was just as startled by her offer as she was.

“My man has been detained in town, so I am at your mercy.” This last was added with a twinkle in his eyes. He handed her his shirt. “I’ve been making do with Jeremy’s help, but he often has other, pressing engagements.”

His sarcasm was thinly disguised. She hated to think Jeremy’s sudden disappearance was a purposeful slight toward his father’s guest.

She straightened his shirt around his neck while he slipped first his left arm into its sleeve and then the right. Unsure of what to do next, she remained until he murmured, “Buttons are a little difficult…” She buttoned his shirt, and when she reached the top, his throat flushed. “This is very…awkward for me, Miss Brooke. I’m not used to being helpless in any way.”

“You are not helpless.”

When had her voice changed to a breathy whisper? She stared at the hollow in his throat, catching the scent of his shaving soap and other related scents lingering on his clothes and body. He had a clean, fresh scent as if he’d just come out of his bath. An evocative image stirred her senses and she blinked to change the picture before her eyes. Her fingers lingered on the topmost ivory buttons. She didn’t want to move, though every ounce of sensibility urged her she must. She hadn’t realized how close they were until his warm breath misted her forehead.

“My cravat…”

She started, spinning away to retrieve the items from the table. When she turned, he was sitting so she could better attend him. Hands trembling, she draped the fastidiously ironed cravat around his neck.

“You seem especially good at this.”

“When I helped the doctor, I often assisted those unable to dress. The ladies, I mean,” she added, heat creeping up her throat again.

“I should have healed quickly in Portugal, had I a nurse such as you.”

She wasn’t sure what to make of his comment and was about to leave him to his cravat when she realized that, obviously, it would be impossible for him to tie one-handed.

“Do you prefer any particular knot?” She stood between his knees, which she noticed he’d moved apart so she could be closer. The side of her leg brushed the inside of his, and she bit her lip, hoping he hadn’t noticed. But he had gulped, and she’d heard it, soft as the sound had been.

“You know more than one?” he asked, his voice huskier than normal.

“I have tied my father’s on occasion.”

“You choose for me.”

She fought desperately to keep her eyes focused on the strip of cloth, though she imagined he was staring quite fixedly at the lace just below her neckline. Lucinda had chosen her ball dress—a pale green silk gown, trimmed with flounces of lace that skirted the hem. A slender velvet ribbon in a darker color was tied just beneath her breasts. She had declined any borrowed jewelry, despite Lucinda’s pleadings.

“You look lovely,” he said.

She forced herself to concentrate on her task and finished tying a Mathematical knot, giving it an expert flourish at the end. She resisted the urge to run her hands through his hair, to smooth down a curl, which refused to lie with its brethren.

“It’s Lucinda’s. She was kind enough to lend it to me.”

“I wasn’t talking about the dress.” He stood, his gaze taking her in from the top of her carefully arranged hair to the hem of her gown. “Waistcoat,” he murmured.

“Waistcoat?” she replied dumbly, almost swaying on her feet in a reverie caused by his voice and warm, musky scent. He reached out and picked up his gold brocade waistcoat draped over the chair.

“I can manage this, for the most part. Luckily, the buttonholes are loose.”

Embarrassment flooded her. She had handled his clothes and dressed him as if she were his wife. She should think of an excuse to leave, as he clearly no longer required her help, but he indicated the table.

“Is that my new hand?”

“Pardon?”

“My glove looks like it’s been stuffed with sawdust.”

“Oh, that!”

She was relieved to have something to do. She picked up her creation, which consisted of her thickest, best wool stocking with his glove sewn securely to the end. If Mamma ever found out, she would kill her for abusing it so. She removed a packet of pins and a threaded needle from her pocket.

“I thought I’d sew it to your sleeve. With your coat covering it, no one will be able to tell the difference. I’ll make up my shawl like a sling. I already told Lucinda, and she has agreed to go along with it.”

His black brows shot up. “You are quite a genius.”

“People will see your arm in a sling and look no further. You’ll have all the dancing partners you could want.”

“If I had both my hands, Miss Brooke, I would prefer only one partner.”

He was a kind, perfect gentleman, but was older and more experienced in the ways of the world. Was this how ladies and gentlemen behaved in private? She suddenly realized she’d closed his door. If Colonel Parker or Lucinda should come looking for her…

She hastily fastened the stuffed glove to his sleeve, sliding her stocking over the remaining part of his arm to secure it better. With difficulty, she ignored the dark, curling hairs on his arm and the warmth of his skin as she touched him repeatedly while sewing.

She stepped back when she was done. He hefted it admiringly, turning his arm to examine her handiwork.

“It just might work, Miss Brooke! Let’s put on my coat.”

She helped him into his black wool coat and fastened the buttons so only the triangle of his gold brocade waistcoat was revealed. He hugged the fake hand to his body, and she made the sling out of her shawl. He stood before the mirror, a look of excitement brightening his face.

“I shall keep this, if I may. It will make traveling a great deal easier.”

Longing filled his voice. Lucinda said it was more than physical pain he’d suffered since losing his arm. But, if he was happy, she was more than satisfied she’d contributed a little.