To Marry A Matchmaker (Historical Romance) (8 page)

‘Surely you are not suggesting that I would play matchmaker?’ Her eyes widened, but Robert wondered if it was a studied look. ‘Despite the provocation, I’m doing nothing of the sort. In fact, I wish to call an end to the ill-conceived idea. I do understand why you did it, but given that I’ll easily win being cooped up now. where is the fun in that?’

‘Where indeed?’ he murmured. ‘Very well. We will call a truce, Lady Thorndike, until you have recovered. I’ve no wish to make it easy for you. The wager is abandoned.’

She gave a brisk nod, but the tiniest of smiles played on her full lips. ‘Did you think Sebastian would remain in London? You should have known that he’d scamper up here once you removed his love.’

‘I misjudged the situation,’ Robert admitted reluctantly. ‘I’d not considered his devotion would be so great. You have always claimed that he’d rather be dead than north of the Humber.’

‘Now that’s a first—you admitting you’re wrong.’
Henri pressed her hands against her gown. First the handkerchief to clean her face and then Robert admitting that he’d made a mistake and readily agreeing to a truce. A lock of hair had fallen over his forehead. Her fingers itched to smooth it away. She struggled to breathe normally and wished her stays were looser.

‘Sophie wrote a letter to your cousin this afternoon. Her maid handed it to me. I suspect she was hoping to have it posted along with your notes and then have your aunt post it onwards, but now I realise she knew he was here.’

‘I know nothing about it,’ Henri replied truthfully. She sat up a bit straighter and lowered her lashes demurely. ‘But Sophie Ravel strikes me as a very determined young lady. Something that is forbidden gains in value. Have you read the letter? Or did your spies simply inform you of its existence?’

‘An expression of piety does you no good.’ Robert’s laughter filled the room. ‘I know you’ll be involved somehow. But having met Sophie, do you truly think she is the correct person for your cousin? Can’t you resist meddling for once?’

Henri put her hand to her head and tried to think clearly. ‘You do me a disservice. Before I meddle, as you called it, I do seek to make sure the couple in question are compatible.’

‘Out with it, Henri. What is the trouble? What do you have against Miss Ravel? Why don’t you think this is a good match? I’m interested to hear your reasoning.’ His eyes danced.

‘Do you intend to marry Miss Ravel?’ she asked in a careful voice. Her insides tightened, waiting for the
response. If she knew he was spoken for, maybe this intense physical awareness of him would vanish.

Instantly he sobered and put the paper down. His brows drew together. ‘That, Henri, is none of your business. You are teetering on the brink of asking a question that could be construed as matchmaking and interference in my private life.’

‘It is a natural enough conclusion. The entire village has remarked on Miss Ravel coming up here when no one knew of her before. They believe she has fled towards love, rather than running away from ruin.’ Henri kept her gaze fastened over his shoulder. With each breath she took the tight fluttery place in her stomach became tighter and more noticeable. She refused to think about the kiss they had shared earlier. Would he have kissed her if he was promised to another? Her cheek burnt. There was no way she could even refer to the kiss.

‘As it happens, village gossip is wrong. I’ve no plans to marry the chit.’ He turned towards the roaring fire, hiding his face. ‘I’ve known her since she was a babe in arms and I made a promise to her dying father. I’ll be glad once she has settled into a good match and is no longer my responsibility. I pity her poor husband, whoever he is, as she will lead him a merry dance. She was the apple of her father’s eye and he only married her governess so that Sophie would have a mother…after her mother died. It would be cradle robbing and my tastes are more mature.’

Henri discovered she could gulp air again. Robert Montemorcy had no plans to marry Sophie Ravel and liked women closer to his age. He sought to honour a promise to Miss Ravel’s father. It shouldn’t be important, but it was. ‘I can understand that. Miss Ravel is awfully
young. It is one of the reasons I suggested that she write to Sebastian with the suggestion that they wait until she reaches her majority. It is good her father thought so much of her.’

‘And furthermore, my dear Henrietta Thorndike, I have no plans ever to marry. I am far too busy with my work. I’d make the worst sort of husband and who would put up with my temper?’ He turned back around and gave her a burning look. ‘You may keep me crossed off that matchmaking list, the one you are preparing to resurrect after our wager is finished.’

‘I have no such list,’ Henri replied truthfully—she kept her best ideas in her head rather than written down.

‘And I would take it as a personal favour if you did not include Miss Ravel’s name either.’

‘How many times must I say that no such list exists?’ Henri squared her shoulders and stared defiantly at him. ‘Most people marry eventually.’

‘I’m far from most people. Have I asked you why you have never remarried?’

She shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. He was hitting below the belt. Her reasons were private and certainly not something she would discuss with a man whom she had shared a kiss with. Edmund was irreplaceable. No one else had ever had that lovely gentle smile, which made her feel so content. She couldn’t explain about the awful loneliness after he had gone without seeming somehow needy.

He leant forwards, so their breath was intimately laced. The shifting colours of his golden-brown eyes mesmerised her and all she could do was to stare at them and hope.

‘It is a private matter,’ she whispered.

‘As are my reasons.’ He moved away from her. ‘Shall we keep it that way? No attempts at matchmaking on either side. And now, it is time to take you to bed and prevent you from doing any more work. Shall I carry you up?’

The words conjured up an image that she had tried to bury. She focused on the ormolu clock and forced her breathing to be even. ‘I could lean on a stick. I can get up the stairs on my own if I take it slowly.’

‘Sometimes, Henri, you have to let other people take care of you. Allow me to keep you safe.’

Safe. She hated to think how long it had been since anyone offered to look after her; even Edmund had needed her to look after him. She watched how the fire highlighted the planes of his face and the darkness of his eyes seemed to swallow her up. He was going to kiss her again. Her entire being quivered with anticipation.

Suddenly the clocks began whirling and chiming, breaking the spell and calling her back to reality.

‘I think I’m overtired,’ she whispered, clutching the blanket to her chest. ‘Please allow me to stagger. You’ve done enough. I’ve inconvenienced you for far too long today.’

‘I will call the footmen. They can make a chair to carry you up. Pleasant dreams.’ He turned on his heel and left the room.

Henri stared after him and the loneliness inside her ached worse than before.

* * *

The dreams came thick and fast, a result of the laudanum Sophie had insisted Henri take when she came to bid Henri goodnight.

Henri struggled to sit up, sweat-drenched and heart pounding.

In her dream, Edmund watched her with a thoughtful expression and then whispered goodbye before fading to nothingness. She had screamed for him to return, but instead, in a swirl of mist, Robert Montemorcy had appeared, taking her in his arms and kissing her. His lips explored hers, taking their time, slowly but thoroughly, sliding over hers and delving deep. The searing intensity jolted her awake. Edmund had never kissed her in that possessive manner. Edmund’s kisses had always been wistful and sweet.

In the grey dawn light, Henri’s fingers explored her aching mouth. She struggled to control her racing heartbeat. A large part of her wanted to sink back into the dream, but the more sensible part of her told her to stay awake and to try to think about things.

As she reached for the lucifer matches, her hand knocked the candlestick, sending it crashing to the floor.

‘Are you all right, Henri? Do you need assistance?’ Robert’s voice echoed throughout the room.

Henri sharply drew in her breath. She had hoped that Sophie or one of the servants would be sitting up, but her bad luck continued to hold. He would have sat up, wouldn’t he? She pressed her fingers against her temples and bid the traitorous thoughts to be gone. His voice was a laudanum-induced hallucination.

‘Lady Thorndike? Answer me.’

‘I’m all right,’ she called out and hoped it would satisfy him. The thought of encountering him when dressed in a borrowed nightdress with her hair about her shoulders
and soon after her explicit dream made everything worse. ‘Truly, I’m fine.’

‘You sound far from fine. You sound in pain. Martyrdom is an unattractive quality.’ He came into the small invalid’s bedchamber, carrying a candle. His shirt was undone and the golden light of the candle highlighted the shadowy hollow of his throat. The shirt moulded to his chest, leaving little to the imagination.

Against all reason, Robert was here, looking after her instead of delegating the task to a servant. And in a state of semi-undress, carrying the single source of light, a light that highlighted his masculinity, demonstrating how deficient her imagination truly was.

Without saying a word he reached down and retrieved the errant candlestick, placing it on the wicker chair beside her bed.

‘Sorry I woke you. My dreams were…very vivid.’ Her hand played with the ribbons of her nightdress. ‘Normally, that is to say…I rarely remember any of my dreams. I must have lashed out in my sleep. A nightmare.’

She stared at him and dared him to say differently. Far better that he think it a night terror rather than some mad longing to be kissed by him.

‘The laudanum.’ He used his candle to relight the one beside her bed, bathing the room in a soft light that did nothing to lessen the feeling of intimacy. ‘It gives strange dreams. I avoid it except when strictly necessary.’

‘You must be right. It can do strange things.’ Henri pulled the blanket higher until it reached her chin. ‘I regret disturbing your sleep.’

‘Someone needed to watch over you.’

‘I would’ve thought one of the servants. Miss Ravel’s maid?’

His eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘My mother always insisted it needed to be a family member who watched anyone who had laudanum or was seriously ill. Everyone had to take their turn, even my father. He complained, but he did it.’

‘She didn’t trust the servants.’ Henri tried to concentrate on his words rather than on his nearness. She could almost reach out and touch the hollow in his throat. Her fingers tightened about the blanket. His looking after her had nothing to do with Miss Ravel and everything to do with his upbringing. It was something he’d do for anyone under his care.

‘Not to look after invalids. It had to be done properly.’ A wistful smile crossed his face and Henri knew that his mother must have been very important to him. She wished she had had a mother who encouraged people to look after family, rather than demanding attention all the time and telling Henri that she was a shamming and ungrateful daughter when she complained of an aching head. ‘Mother was very insistent on such things. To be nursed by her was truly to be taken care of. I only wish I could do the same.’

‘It was very kind of you, but I wouldn’t have minded if a servant sat with me.’

‘But I would have.’

Henri closed her eyes, thinking of what he’d said earlier about his mother dying of an infection. From an early age, she had learnt to accomplish things for herself because no one else would. Her needs were less important than her mother’s, or later Edmund’s or, later still, a host of other more deserving people. Far easier to help out than to be overlooked. But in the middle of the night with her ankle throbbing, the thought he was
there, watching her, filled her with wonder. Intellectually she knew he’d do it for anyone in his care, but she did enjoy that brief instant of feeling special. ‘Men hate nursing—a fact of life.’

‘If the patient is asleep and quiet, it becomes a pleasure.’ His lips quirked upwards and he held out two books—one on chemistry and the other on archaeology. ‘Someday I’d like to find a way to extract aluminium cheaply, but I haven’t been able to find one yet. And I also want to know more about the latest advances in archaeology. I feel a more thorough approach rather than treating it like treasure hunting would work.’

‘Then I apologise for being restless. Far be it from me to interrupt an inventor at his work.’

‘You were a welcome distraction.’ He repositioned the pillow under her ankle and then straightened the blanket, tucking her in like a child. Henri’s heart panged. She hated to think how long it had been since anyone did something like that for her. Even Edmund had wanted her to look after him, rather than looking after her. It was only a little thing, but meant a lot. Someone cared enough to make certain she was comfortable.

‘I promise to be good and not to knock over any more candles.’ Henri concentrated on retying her nightcap, acutely aware of his long fingers and the way they had brushed the blanket. ‘You can go back to your post. I’m fully recovered.’

He remained next to the bed. The candlelight highlighted the planes of his face and the mysterious hollow at the base of his throat. Henri attempted to ignore the way her pulse leapt.

‘You may keep me amused for a little while. Your eyes are far too bright.’

He had noticed her eyes. He understood without her saying that she had no desire to sleep. Henri’s insides trembled with a warm unfamiliar ache.

She raised herself up on her elbows. ‘Miss Ravel has a tender heart. She brought the flowers up before I went to sleep. Thank you for relenting and allowing her to visit me openly.’

He placed his hand on her shoulder. A warm pulse went through her at his touch, but she held her body absolutely still. ‘I spoke with her stepmother and explained. There is little to be gained in actively encouraging Sophie to rebel. I am not so old that I can’t remember how much fun I had with rebelling.’