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Authors: Dawn Thompson
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London?”
“To assess my bothersome anemia, which we both know is nonexistent, and to enjoy the hospitality of Ravencliff—a working holiday, if you will. He’ll be with us a fortnight . . . if all goes well.”
The valet hesitated. “As it is now, your . . . condition is between us,” he reminded him. “The more who know—”
“What other choice have I, Mills?” Nicholas cut in. “Dr. Breeden is my last hope. I have read his papers. His credentials recommend him to my ‘condition.’ If he cannot help me, I cannot be helped.”
“What then, my lord?”
“God knows. The old man’s in his grave, and I am damned with the legacy he’s left me.”
“It wasn’t his fault, my lord.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Nicholas snapped. “The knowledge doesn’t make it any easier to live with. He should have done as I am doing—embrace celibacy—but no, he would have his damnable heir.”
“I’m worried that this doctor will not be discreet, my lord.”
“I will make certain he will before I confide in him, old boy. His oath subjects him to doctor-patient privilege. He would have to keep my confidence. To break it would ruin him professionally. I think I’m safe enough.”
“But
this
, my lord!”
“ ‘This’ is why the man was chosen, Mills. We shall just have to wait and see.”
The valet was silent apace. “Have you told my lady of the doctor’s visit?” he said at last.
“It never really came up, what with all the rest,” Nicholas said. “I’m glad it didn’t. The woman is curious to a fault, she wouldn’t have let that go—a doctor living in with all theother strangeness hereabout? Take my word for it, old boy, she’d have pounced upon that like a tigress. I’m just not prepared to deal with a barrage of questions over my health at the moment. She knows we are to have a houseguest, nothing more.”
“What will you ever tell her, my lord?”
“I will tell her the same as I have told Alex, now let that be the end of it.”
The valet said no more, and Nicholas sank into the herb-scented water to his neck, raking his wet hair out of his eyes. Mulling over the day’s blunders, he let his breath out on a long sigh. He hadn’t meant to hurt Sara, but maybe it was best that he’d been abrupt. Better to arouse her anger than her ardor. Better to keep her at arm’s distance, for both their sakes. Still, it went against his nature to be boorish. It offended his sensibilities—opposed every principle that knitted him together as a gentleman—to be the cause of a lady’s tears. He hated himself for it, and yet he would probably do it again. It was his only defense mechanism against betraying himself, against exposing his heart—and hers—to hope when there was none to be had.
Mills was watching him, the faithful servant. How did he deserve such a loyal friend and mentor? It certainly hadn’t been easy for the valet in such a place as Ravencliff, where the walls had ears, and it was up to Mills to see that nothing untoward occurred within the others’ hearing. This was why they never discussed it openly, why they never spoke a word out loud that could be interpreted—even here in the sanctuary of his third-floor suite so far removed from the rest in residence. This was why, when they did speak as they did now, their speech was for the most part encrypted. The valet had never once slipped up in all the years he’d served. How he had ever managed that was a mystery, and a miracle. Nicholas made a mental note then and there to have his conversations with Dr. Breeden out of the house altogether.However discreet the man was, he wouldn’t be equal to such as that.
“Get me out of this, will you, Mills?” Nicholas charged, surging to his feet. Water ran in rivulets the length of his body, and sloshed out onto the floor, puddling on the parquetry. Moving with the agility of a man half his age, Mills spread a thick white towel on the floor for him to step on, and Nicholas
“To assess my bothersome anemia, which we both know is nonexistent, and to enjoy the hospitality of Ravencliff—a working holiday, if you will. He’ll be with us a fortnight . . . if all goes well.”
The valet hesitated. “As it is now, your . . . condition is between us,” he reminded him. “The more who know—”
“What other choice have I, Mills?” Nicholas cut in. “Dr. Breeden is my last hope. I have read his papers. His credentials recommend him to my ‘condition.’ If he cannot help me, I cannot be helped.”
“What then, my lord?”
“God knows. The old man’s in his grave, and I am damned with the legacy he’s left me.”
“It wasn’t his fault, my lord.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Nicholas snapped. “The knowledge doesn’t make it any easier to live with. He should have done as I am doing—embrace celibacy—but no, he would have his damnable heir.”
“I’m worried that this doctor will not be discreet, my lord.”
“I will make certain he will before I confide in him, old boy. His oath subjects him to doctor-patient privilege. He would have to keep my confidence. To break it would ruin him professionally. I think I’m safe enough.”
“But
this
, my lord!”
“ ‘This’ is why the man was chosen, Mills. We shall just have to wait and see.”
The valet was silent apace. “Have you told my lady of the doctor’s visit?” he said at last.
“It never really came up, what with all the rest,” Nicholas said. “I’m glad it didn’t. The woman is curious to a fault, she wouldn’t have let that go—a doctor living in with all theother strangeness hereabout? Take my word for it, old boy, she’d have pounced upon that like a tigress. I’m just not prepared to deal with a barrage of questions over my health at the moment. She knows we are to have a houseguest, nothing more.”
“What will you ever tell her, my lord?”
“I will tell her the same as I have told Alex, now let that be the end of it.”
The valet said no more, and Nicholas sank into the herb-scented water to his neck, raking his wet hair out of his eyes. Mulling over the day’s blunders, he let his breath out on a long sigh. He hadn’t meant to hurt Sara, but maybe it was best that he’d been abrupt. Better to arouse her anger than her ardor. Better to keep her at arm’s distance, for both their sakes. Still, it went against his nature to be boorish. It offended his sensibilities—opposed every principle that knitted him together as a gentleman—to be the cause of a lady’s tears. He hated himself for it, and yet he would probably do it again. It was his only defense mechanism against betraying himself, against exposing his heart—and hers—to hope when there was none to be had.
Mills was watching him, the faithful servant. How did he deserve such a loyal friend and mentor? It certainly hadn’t been easy for the valet in such a place as Ravencliff, where the walls had ears, and it was up to Mills to see that nothing untoward occurred within the others’ hearing. This was why they never discussed it openly, why they never spoke a word out loud that could be interpreted—even here in the sanctuary of his third-floor suite so far removed from the rest in residence. This was why, when they did speak as they did now, their speech was for the most part encrypted. The valet had never once slipped up in all the years he’d served. How he had ever managed that was a mystery, and a miracle. Nicholas made a mental note then and there to have his conversations with Dr. Breeden out of the house altogether.However discreet the man was, he wouldn’t be equal to such as that.
“Get me out of this, will you, Mills?” Nicholas charged, surging to his feet. Water ran in rivulets the length of his body, and sloshed out onto the floor, puddling on the parquetry. Moving with the agility of a man half his age, Mills spread a thick white towel on the floor for him to step on, and Nicholas
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