Read Online The Heart Denied by Linda Anne Wulf - Free Book Online
Authors: Linda Anne Wulf
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The maid clutched hard at her skirts and curtsied, then turned to flee.
"Combs."
She halted, facing the door.
Thorne went to the desk, where a tray lay on the blotter. A puddle of tea surrounded a cup in its saucer. He looked at the maid's rigid back. "This will never do, Combs. Perhaps if you weren't always in a hell-for-leather hurry to leave my proximity...Combs?"
"Aye, M'lord?"
"While there's nothing objectionable about your aft exposure, I prefer seeing your face when I speak to you."
Squaring her shoulders, she turned around, then dropped a stiff curtsey. "Begging your pardon, M'lord."
Thorne regretted detaining her the instant he saw her pale cheeks and puffy eyes. He decided to berate her for her carelessness and pretend not to notice anything amiss.
"Your demeanor, Combs, suggests something amiss...some tragedy in your family, perhaps?" Ah, Neville, you've flipped your nonexistent wig!
"No, M'lord."
"Has some wrong been done you?"
"No, M'lord."
Belatedly, he tried to distance himself. "No doubt Dame Carswell can assist."
An anguished look crossed the maid's face. She dropped her head into her hands.
Distance was forgotten as Thorne came around the desk and offered his handkerchief. "Here now, no need for tears. Sit down for a moment." Daft, Neville. You're well and truly daft!
He shut the door and guided her to a chair, noticing that she dabbed at her tears with the square of linen but refrained from blowing her nose into it. Very dainty, this one.
Her sniffling quieted. Thorne sat down at his desk and regarded her warily. "I assume from your reaction that Dame Carswell cannot be of help in the matter."
The maid took a deep breath. "She is part of the matter, sir. You see, I was ill this morn, as I have been several mornings of late. Dame Carswell has noticed, and today made some very intimate inquiries of me. She thinks"--Combs swallowed audibly--"that I am with child."
Thorne grappled with inexplicable dismay. "And the father?"
Looking as surprised as he at the question, Combs closed her eyes. Tears seeped from under her eyelids and slid down scarlet cheeks. "Toby. Mister Hobbs."
Thorne's stomach knotted. He tried to keep his voice even. "And what has he to say? Have you told him?"
She shook her head. "I dare not. He'll be angry. He'll deny it at any rate."
"Why?" Thorne demanded, scarcely believing he'd asked, or what he was about to ask. "Is there some possibility he is not the father?"
Combs stared at him, a hollow look in her dove-gray eyes. "I swear to you, M'lord, with God as my witness, I have never been with another man."
Thorne looked away, then rose from his chair and strode to the window, hands clasped behind him. "Then Hobbs knew."
"Knew what, M'lord?"
He quietly cleared his throat. "Knew that you were still...a maiden." He could feel Combs' hot blush as if it were his, and wondered again why he'd felt compelled to make such an inquiry.
"Y-yes, he knew," she stammered softly.
"How long ago did he seduce you?" Again he could hardly believe the question had passed his unaccountably dry lips.
"'Twas a fortnight before you returned from university, M'lord."
It was the first time Thorne had detected any bitterness in her voice. He assumed she resented his prying--and why not? He was quite disgruntled by it himself. He turned to face her.
"Please understand, Combs, that my inquiries are not of a seedy nature. I'm neither deviant nor voyeuristic. Nor am I busybody or gossipmonger, in fact I rather pride myself on minding my own affairs and giving those of others a wide berth. I simply ask in the interest of a man who has served my family well for more than half his life." There, that should do. But no, he wasn't finished--and she knew it, judging by the sudden steel in her bearing.
"Were you forced?" he asked, his voice going hoarse. "And was it just the one time? Sorry, Combs, but I must have the lay of the land before charging in"-- o n your white steed ? sneered his
"Combs."
She halted, facing the door.
Thorne went to the desk, where a tray lay on the blotter. A puddle of tea surrounded a cup in its saucer. He looked at the maid's rigid back. "This will never do, Combs. Perhaps if you weren't always in a hell-for-leather hurry to leave my proximity...Combs?"
"Aye, M'lord?"
"While there's nothing objectionable about your aft exposure, I prefer seeing your face when I speak to you."
Squaring her shoulders, she turned around, then dropped a stiff curtsey. "Begging your pardon, M'lord."
Thorne regretted detaining her the instant he saw her pale cheeks and puffy eyes. He decided to berate her for her carelessness and pretend not to notice anything amiss.
"Your demeanor, Combs, suggests something amiss...some tragedy in your family, perhaps?" Ah, Neville, you've flipped your nonexistent wig!
"No, M'lord."
"Has some wrong been done you?"
"No, M'lord."
Belatedly, he tried to distance himself. "No doubt Dame Carswell can assist."
An anguished look crossed the maid's face. She dropped her head into her hands.
Distance was forgotten as Thorne came around the desk and offered his handkerchief. "Here now, no need for tears. Sit down for a moment." Daft, Neville. You're well and truly daft!
He shut the door and guided her to a chair, noticing that she dabbed at her tears with the square of linen but refrained from blowing her nose into it. Very dainty, this one.
Her sniffling quieted. Thorne sat down at his desk and regarded her warily. "I assume from your reaction that Dame Carswell cannot be of help in the matter."
The maid took a deep breath. "She is part of the matter, sir. You see, I was ill this morn, as I have been several mornings of late. Dame Carswell has noticed, and today made some very intimate inquiries of me. She thinks"--Combs swallowed audibly--"that I am with child."
Thorne grappled with inexplicable dismay. "And the father?"
Looking as surprised as he at the question, Combs closed her eyes. Tears seeped from under her eyelids and slid down scarlet cheeks. "Toby. Mister Hobbs."
Thorne's stomach knotted. He tried to keep his voice even. "And what has he to say? Have you told him?"
She shook her head. "I dare not. He'll be angry. He'll deny it at any rate."
"Why?" Thorne demanded, scarcely believing he'd asked, or what he was about to ask. "Is there some possibility he is not the father?"
Combs stared at him, a hollow look in her dove-gray eyes. "I swear to you, M'lord, with God as my witness, I have never been with another man."
Thorne looked away, then rose from his chair and strode to the window, hands clasped behind him. "Then Hobbs knew."
"Knew what, M'lord?"
He quietly cleared his throat. "Knew that you were still...a maiden." He could feel Combs' hot blush as if it were his, and wondered again why he'd felt compelled to make such an inquiry.
"Y-yes, he knew," she stammered softly.
"How long ago did he seduce you?" Again he could hardly believe the question had passed his unaccountably dry lips.
"'Twas a fortnight before you returned from university, M'lord."
It was the first time Thorne had detected any bitterness in her voice. He assumed she resented his prying--and why not? He was quite disgruntled by it himself. He turned to face her.
"Please understand, Combs, that my inquiries are not of a seedy nature. I'm neither deviant nor voyeuristic. Nor am I busybody or gossipmonger, in fact I rather pride myself on minding my own affairs and giving those of others a wide berth. I simply ask in the interest of a man who has served my family well for more than half his life." There, that should do. But no, he wasn't finished--and she knew it, judging by the sudden steel in her bearing.
"Were you forced?" he asked, his voice going hoarse. "And was it just the one time? Sorry, Combs, but I must have the lay of the land before charging in"-- o n your white steed ? sneered his
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