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Authors: Dawn Thompson
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skin.” He clicked his tongue, laying the clothes aside.
Nicholas held his breath as he submerged himself in the water. He should be steeled against it by now. Somehow, he never was, and doubted he ever would be. Calm and cold, he had to stay calm and cold.
How
, when even the faintest image of Sara ghosting across his memory brought his sex to life, the icy water notwithstanding? It soon warmed to his body heat, to the fever in his blood, the blood that caused the madness that wasn’t madness, at least not the stark, staring variety.
That
could be cured, and if not, mindless oblivion would be release. There was no release from this breed of madness. That was what it was: a
breed
—his erect manhood and raised hackles were proof positive of it. If this could be from the mere thought of her, what would happen if they were to touch? He’d nearly scourged his traitorous body raw, before Mills snatched the sponge.
“Here!” the valet cried. “You’ll have no skin left on you, my lord.”
“Pain is the other deterrent, old boy—that, and death.”
“Don’t talk nonsense,” the valet scolded, dumping a pitcher of water over his head. “We’re making strides.”
“We
were
making strides,” Nicholas corrected, shaking himself like a wet dog. “That’s why I thought the arrangement might work. I was a fool.”
The valet wagged his head, dodging the spray. “You were warned, my lord.”
“You know why this . . . marriage had to be,” said Nicholas. “People were beginning to talk, and the
on-dits
were getting back to me
even here
, entombed as I am in this drafty old mausoleum. Each time Alex returns, there are more rumors. The
ton
is rife with them—an eligible bachelor, titled, with lands and wealth, personable enough to appeal to the catch of the Season in Town . . . in seclusion in thewilds of Cornwall. You know how many invitations to fêtes,
fête champêtre
, routs and balls and teas I’ve refused. The missives arrive daily, and the Season hasn’t yet begun. I shudder to wonder what will be when it does, and I cannot go abroad again. It’s too dangerous. I will surely be found out. Hah! Sara asked if I were a sodomite—not in those words, of course, she was most diplomatic, but that was the gist of it. You know I cannot take her to my bed as I am, and that was what she imagined to be the reason. What am I going to do, Mills? I can’t let her stay, and I can’t let her leave—not now, not
ever
. It’s only a matter of time before she finds me out.”
“You’ve grown fond of her,” Mills said, “—and so soon.”
“Worse than that,” said Nicholas. “The feeling is mutual. It’s more than I dared hope for, and more than I can stand. She is everything I ever wanted—golden, and fair—eyes like Highland bluebells. I saw them once . . . when I was a child. Was I ever a child, Mills?”
“Ahhh, my lord,” the valet crooned. “You mustn’t take on so. You know what it will lead to. Perhaps once Mr. Mallory returns with your houseguest—”
“Ahhh, yes, the good Dr. Breeden, who will surely think I’m addled, some crackpot who’s read his treatise and means to exploit or discredit it, and Alex mustn’t know. I’ve gone to great lengths to keep it from him, as you well know. That would be dangerous. You’re going to have to help me there.”
“Haven’t I always, my lord?”
“Yes, old boy, you have, but this is different here and now. Things are unpredictable.
I
am unpredictable, and Alex is on the prowl.”
“For my lady?” the valet breathed, his steely eyes come open wide.
“She says she has it in hand, but I know Alex, and you know me. If I didn’t need him here to handle the affairs I dare not leave this place to see to . . .”
“I will help you however needs must, my lord, that goes without saying,” the valet responded. “But . . . if I may be so bold as to inquire, what excuse have you given Mr. Mallory for fetching the esteemed Dr. Breeden from
Nicholas held his breath as he submerged himself in the water. He should be steeled against it by now. Somehow, he never was, and doubted he ever would be. Calm and cold, he had to stay calm and cold.
How
, when even the faintest image of Sara ghosting across his memory brought his sex to life, the icy water notwithstanding? It soon warmed to his body heat, to the fever in his blood, the blood that caused the madness that wasn’t madness, at least not the stark, staring variety.
That
could be cured, and if not, mindless oblivion would be release. There was no release from this breed of madness. That was what it was: a
breed
—his erect manhood and raised hackles were proof positive of it. If this could be from the mere thought of her, what would happen if they were to touch? He’d nearly scourged his traitorous body raw, before Mills snatched the sponge.
“Here!” the valet cried. “You’ll have no skin left on you, my lord.”
“Pain is the other deterrent, old boy—that, and death.”
“Don’t talk nonsense,” the valet scolded, dumping a pitcher of water over his head. “We’re making strides.”
“We
were
making strides,” Nicholas corrected, shaking himself like a wet dog. “That’s why I thought the arrangement might work. I was a fool.”
The valet wagged his head, dodging the spray. “You were warned, my lord.”
“You know why this . . . marriage had to be,” said Nicholas. “People were beginning to talk, and the
on-dits
were getting back to me
even here
, entombed as I am in this drafty old mausoleum. Each time Alex returns, there are more rumors. The
ton
is rife with them—an eligible bachelor, titled, with lands and wealth, personable enough to appeal to the catch of the Season in Town . . . in seclusion in thewilds of Cornwall. You know how many invitations to fêtes,
fête champêtre
, routs and balls and teas I’ve refused. The missives arrive daily, and the Season hasn’t yet begun. I shudder to wonder what will be when it does, and I cannot go abroad again. It’s too dangerous. I will surely be found out. Hah! Sara asked if I were a sodomite—not in those words, of course, she was most diplomatic, but that was the gist of it. You know I cannot take her to my bed as I am, and that was what she imagined to be the reason. What am I going to do, Mills? I can’t let her stay, and I can’t let her leave—not now, not
ever
. It’s only a matter of time before she finds me out.”
“You’ve grown fond of her,” Mills said, “—and so soon.”
“Worse than that,” said Nicholas. “The feeling is mutual. It’s more than I dared hope for, and more than I can stand. She is everything I ever wanted—golden, and fair—eyes like Highland bluebells. I saw them once . . . when I was a child. Was I ever a child, Mills?”
“Ahhh, my lord,” the valet crooned. “You mustn’t take on so. You know what it will lead to. Perhaps once Mr. Mallory returns with your houseguest—”
“Ahhh, yes, the good Dr. Breeden, who will surely think I’m addled, some crackpot who’s read his treatise and means to exploit or discredit it, and Alex mustn’t know. I’ve gone to great lengths to keep it from him, as you well know. That would be dangerous. You’re going to have to help me there.”
“Haven’t I always, my lord?”
“Yes, old boy, you have, but this is different here and now. Things are unpredictable.
I
am unpredictable, and Alex is on the prowl.”
“For my lady?” the valet breathed, his steely eyes come open wide.
“She says she has it in hand, but I know Alex, and you know me. If I didn’t need him here to handle the affairs I dare not leave this place to see to . . .”
“I will help you however needs must, my lord, that goes without saying,” the valet responded. “But . . . if I may be so bold as to inquire, what excuse have you given Mr. Mallory for fetching the esteemed Dr. Breeden from
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