Read Online The Rake and the Recluse REDUX (a time travel romance) by Jenn LeBlanc - Free Book Online
Authors: Jenn LeBlanc
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off with a gesture. “I have heard, listened to, and understand your concern, Dr. Walcott—but we will not, again, discuss sending her to Bedlam. Is that understood?”
Dr. Walcott cringed, then nodded. “I have removed her bandages. I will return again at a later time to check on her—wounds,” he said stiffly.
“As you see necessary, Doctor.”
“Your Grace.” And with that Dr. Walcott left.
Francine was in a daze as the next days drifted slowly by. She awoke with the sun from the windows, breakfasted in her room, then sat in the private parlor watching the breeze stirring the trees, where she was currently. The most exciting moments were when Roxleigh left on his afternoon ride, though it never seemed as vigorous and fervent as the first time she saw him. She didn’t dare venture outside on the balcony again.
He was infuriating. So pious in his demand for propriety. The fact that his wishes were constantly conveyed to her through Mrs. Weston was equally annoying.
I should run through the house screaming like a banshee simply to get a rise out of him . Force him to confront me personally . She let her mind’s eye take him in—the soft dark brown of his hair; the beautiful deep green of his smoldering eyes; the straight, broad shoulders that cut off the sun behind him; the narrow waist tucked into the fine weave of his trousers. She gasped, catching her train of thought as it barreled down the wrong track. That was not exactly the kind of rise she should be considering.
She slapped her hands over her eyes and shook her head. Maybe if he never opened his mouth—no, actually his mouth was irrelevant, less than irrelevant. She shook her head. But those wide solid lips that more often curved down than up, the arc of his mouth—
She grunted and lay down, turning her face into the soft cushion of the settee. Who was she kidding? He couldn’t possibly be more attractive. Her eyes glazed over and there he was again, standing before her. She desperately needed something else to occupy her addled brain.
Mrs. Weston felt terrible keeping Francine hidden away with nothing to keep her. She poked her head in the private parlor to see how the poor girl was doing and saw her lying on the settee, hitting the back with her fist. “Humph,” Mrs. Weston mumbled. She closed the door quietly and descended to Roxleigh’s study.
“Enter,” he said gruffly.
He was in a mood; she could tell from that single word. She straightened her drab woolen skirts and opened the door.
“Your Grace,” Mrs. Weston said.
He looked up at her warily, one eyebrow cocked.
She approached his desk, suddenly a bit nervous. These days he always seemed to be in a mood, but there wasn’t much to do about that. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, she thought. She panicked like a rat in a trap, the problem being he had her by the tail.
Roxleigh watched. “Out with it,” he said finally.
“Your Grace, it’s Miss Francine, she’s— She’s a might bored. She can’t go anywhere, and the days are a trifle long.”
He leaned back in his chair, holding her gaze.
“I thought, Your Grace, mayhap I can take her to the library, through the passages, so she can select a few books? I think if she’d a book to read it might be—”
“No,” he cut in without hesitation.
Mrs. Weston’s eyelids fluttered at his asperity. “But—but, Your Grace, she has naught to do, can you just imagine? All sh—”
“What I meant was, you may escort her to the library, but you will take her down the main stair. I do not wish her in the passages. I prefer she never see them. You have one hour.”
Her feet stuttered. She wasn’t sure whether to run straightaway, or thank him profusely first. She finally decided she ought to express her gratitude, lest he regret the decision. “Thank you, Your Grace. I’ll see to it immediately.”
“Mrs. Weston,” he said, catching her before she could leave.
“Yes, Your Grace?” She turned back
Dr. Walcott cringed, then nodded. “I have removed her bandages. I will return again at a later time to check on her—wounds,” he said stiffly.
“As you see necessary, Doctor.”
“Your Grace.” And with that Dr. Walcott left.
Francine was in a daze as the next days drifted slowly by. She awoke with the sun from the windows, breakfasted in her room, then sat in the private parlor watching the breeze stirring the trees, where she was currently. The most exciting moments were when Roxleigh left on his afternoon ride, though it never seemed as vigorous and fervent as the first time she saw him. She didn’t dare venture outside on the balcony again.
He was infuriating. So pious in his demand for propriety. The fact that his wishes were constantly conveyed to her through Mrs. Weston was equally annoying.
I should run through the house screaming like a banshee simply to get a rise out of him . Force him to confront me personally . She let her mind’s eye take him in—the soft dark brown of his hair; the beautiful deep green of his smoldering eyes; the straight, broad shoulders that cut off the sun behind him; the narrow waist tucked into the fine weave of his trousers. She gasped, catching her train of thought as it barreled down the wrong track. That was not exactly the kind of rise she should be considering.
She slapped her hands over her eyes and shook her head. Maybe if he never opened his mouth—no, actually his mouth was irrelevant, less than irrelevant. She shook her head. But those wide solid lips that more often curved down than up, the arc of his mouth—
She grunted and lay down, turning her face into the soft cushion of the settee. Who was she kidding? He couldn’t possibly be more attractive. Her eyes glazed over and there he was again, standing before her. She desperately needed something else to occupy her addled brain.
Mrs. Weston felt terrible keeping Francine hidden away with nothing to keep her. She poked her head in the private parlor to see how the poor girl was doing and saw her lying on the settee, hitting the back with her fist. “Humph,” Mrs. Weston mumbled. She closed the door quietly and descended to Roxleigh’s study.
“Enter,” he said gruffly.
He was in a mood; she could tell from that single word. She straightened her drab woolen skirts and opened the door.
“Your Grace,” Mrs. Weston said.
He looked up at her warily, one eyebrow cocked.
She approached his desk, suddenly a bit nervous. These days he always seemed to be in a mood, but there wasn’t much to do about that. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, she thought. She panicked like a rat in a trap, the problem being he had her by the tail.
Roxleigh watched. “Out with it,” he said finally.
“Your Grace, it’s Miss Francine, she’s— She’s a might bored. She can’t go anywhere, and the days are a trifle long.”
He leaned back in his chair, holding her gaze.
“I thought, Your Grace, mayhap I can take her to the library, through the passages, so she can select a few books? I think if she’d a book to read it might be—”
“No,” he cut in without hesitation.
Mrs. Weston’s eyelids fluttered at his asperity. “But—but, Your Grace, she has naught to do, can you just imagine? All sh—”
“What I meant was, you may escort her to the library, but you will take her down the main stair. I do not wish her in the passages. I prefer she never see them. You have one hour.”
Her feet stuttered. She wasn’t sure whether to run straightaway, or thank him profusely first. She finally decided she ought to express her gratitude, lest he regret the decision. “Thank you, Your Grace. I’ll see to it immediately.”
“Mrs. Weston,” he said, catching her before she could leave.
“Yes, Your Grace?” She turned back
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