The Reckless Love of an Heir: An epic historical romance perfect for fans of period drama Victoria. Jane Lark

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СКАЧАТЬ Henry having the freedom of his home. “I am sorry. I did not realise. I should not have come—”

      “Nonsense. Do not be silly,” Aunt Jane chided. “It will do Henry no harm to remain upstairs, and he has been sick most of the morning so I do not think he will attempt luncheon regardless of his state of dress.”

      Susan’s guilt cut deeper. “Has he a fever? Uncle Robert said he was only in too much pain to dress.” She had thought Henry in a lazy, sullen mood. Her instinctive sense of empathy, that she had fought yesterday evening, pulled within her.

      “It is not a fever; he took too much laudanum without eating and is suffering for it. I think he also took a bottle of his father’s brandy to his room last night to help further numb the pain, and of course nor do laudanum and brandy mix. I think now he has had enough of laudanum.”

      Christine and Sarah laughed.

      Laughter gathered in Susan’s throat too, but for the first time in her life she felt wholly in charity with Henry. She could no longer deny her instinct to feel sorry for him, and wish to help. He had been in a lot of pain when he’d come to the library yesterday she did not think less of him for seeking to free himself from it.

      She would not stay long after luncheon, then if he wished to come down and take tea with his family, shirtless, he might. An image formed un-beckoned in her mind of him lying asleep on the sofa in the library, shirtless, an artwork of bruises.

      Once Susan had eaten she returned to the library. She would finish the detail on the flower she was working on and then she would ask Aunt Jane if she might travel home in their carriage.

      A maid came into the room at three. “Miss Susan, Lady Barrington sent me to ask if you wished for tea?”

      She had worked on and on and forgotten the time. “No, thank you, but is my aunt in the drawing room.”

      “She is, Miss Susan.”

      “And has Lord Henry come down?”

      “No, miss, he is taking tea in his room.”

      He must have risen from his bed at least then.

      “Susan.” Christine walked about the maid, entering the room with a quick stride. “Sarah and I are going to take the dogs out as far as the meadow, would you like to come? It is one of those lovely fresh days, with a breeze to sweep away the fidgets and a pleasant sky without the sun pounding down upon you.”

      Susan looked out of the window. It was a middling day, with a light grey sky, and she could see the breeze was strong as the clouds whisked across it. It would be refreshing to go for a walk before she returned home. She looked back at Christine. “Thank you, I would love to join you.”

      Christine smiled. “I am going to fetch my bonnet and a cloak.” She looked at the maid. “Will you have someone bring Miss Forth’s to the hall?”

      The maid curtsied in acknowledgement and left them. Christine looked at Susan. “I shall meet you in the hall, then.” Then she was gone too.

      Susan tidied up her things and thought of Samson upstairs with Henry, while the guilt she had felt at luncheon skipped around her, taunting her with a pointed finger of accusation.

      She shut her paints away in their box, and closed the book. She would not come back until Henry sent for Alethea.

      She had maligned Henry in her thoughts too much. He did deserve some sympathy. Perhaps she could offer to walk Samson, as Henry could not take the dog out. Perhaps she should prize Samson free from his precious idol and give him some fresh air too. Henry would most likely appreciate the gesture, and there was little else her sense of empathy might do to be quietened.

      She decided to go up to his sitting room before meeting Sarah and Christine in the hall. She knew where his suite of rooms were. She did not need a servant to show her up. They had still been playmates at the point he’d moved into his current rooms.

      She left the library and instead of making her way to the family room walked past it and on to the main hall, where the dark, square, wooden stairs climbed upward about the walls. No one was there, the footman had probably gone to fetch her outdoor things.

      Her hand slipped over the waxed wood of the bannister as she hurried up the stairs to Henry’s rooms on the second floor.

      She remembered his huge bedchamber, and beside that a dressing room and a large sitting room, with a desk and about half a dozen chairs in it. He had been allocated the rooms because he was the eldest, the heir—and the most spoilt.

      When she reached the second floor she turned to the right. His rooms were at the end. He’d moved into them one summer when he’d been home from Eton, in his last year there, and he’d made Susan and Alethea go upstairs to look at the space he’d been given solely to show-off.

      She walked to the end of the hall and tapped on the door she knew was his sitting room. If he was out of bed and taking tea, he would be in there. If he did not answer she would presume him undressed and still in bed and go away.

      “Come!”

      Her heart pounded foolishly as she opened the door. She could not see him. But one of the high backed chairs had been turned to face the window and she could see the footstool before it and a tray containing a teapot, cup and saucer, and a small plate of cakes, was on a low table beside it.

      “Henry?” she said as she walked across the room. “I—”

      “Susan…” His pitch carried incredulity as he stood up before her.

      He was not clothed! Who took tea in a sitting room unclothed?

      Or rather he was clothed but only in a loose dressing gown that covered one shoulder and was left hanging beneath his bad arm before being held together by a sash at his waist.

      He held his damaged arm across his middle. It drew her eyes to his stomach. She had thought him muscular yesterday but today she could see all the lines of the muscle beneath his tarnished skin on the exposed half of his body. He sported a variety of shades of blue, black, dark red, bright red and gruesome yellow, and his shoulder was entirely black as she had guessed yesterday, and the bruising ran not only down his chest but also covered his arm.

      “What are you doing here? Being rebellious again? What do you wish for?” His initial tone may have been incredulous, but now his voice mocked her as it always had.

      Her gaze lifted to his face. “I thought you were taking tea?”

      His eyes laughed at her. “I am taking tea, alone, here, in my private rooms.”

      “But, who drinks tea, in…”

      “In what?”

      Embarrassment engulfed her. She had been about to accuse him of being naked, although he was not quite. She looked at Samson, who had risen when Henry had, like Henry’s shadow. He had been on the far side of the chair.

      “You are truly lucky you did not do yourself more harm,” she said without looking at him again.

      “As I said yesterday, believe me, I know what I risked far more than you. I was there. Why did you come up here?” His pitch now lacked amusement and had instead СКАЧАТЬ