Reese's Bride. Kat Martin

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      “You are aware that overuse of the drug can cause mind alterations and even death?”

      “I am.”

      “May I presume you will be aiding the countess in her recovery?”

      He could barely force out the word. “Yes.”

      “Then you will provide a safe haven until the matter is resolved.” The doctor’s dark eyes assessed him. Clearly the man was concerned.

      Elizabeth would have to stay, but unless her visit was chaperoned, eventually word would leak out and the scandal of her living in a bachelor household would be enormous. For himself, he didn’t care, but there was the boy to think of.

      “I’ll send word to my aunt. I’m sure she’ll agree to a visit while Elizabeth is recovering.”

      Although he wasn’t completely certain. His great aunt Agatha, dowager Countess of Tavistock, had fiercely disapproved of Elizabeth marrying the Earl of Aldridge. Since she had no children of her own, she was wildly protective of her three nephews. And she knew how badly Reese had been hurt.

      Still, he believed she would come, if for no other reason than to protect him from the woman she saw as the viper who had destroyed his life.

      He might have smiled at the notion of needing to be saved from one small, dark-haired woman if he hadn’t remembered his body’s reaction to Elizabeth only that morning. Even now, as he recalled her lying in bed last night, his arousal pulsed to life.

      He needed a woman, he told himself again, vowing to seek out female companionship as soon as it could be arranged.

      In the meantime, he would do a little digging, see what he could find out about Mason and Frances Holloway and something of the life Elizabeth had shared with her husband.

      It was the last thing Reese wanted to do.

      Elizabeth lay trembling, her body bathed in sweat. Twice she had retched into the chamber pot the little maid, Gilda, had placed beside her bed. Laudanum, the doctor had said. He had told her she was suffering a withdrawal from the drug she had probably been receiving on a daily basis but that in a matter of days, she should be fine.

      She had guessed it was something like that, though she still couldn’t figure out how they had been giving it to her. Probably lacing the fine white powder into her food. She had been right to leave, she thought as her stomach rolled, threatening to erupt again.

      She was safe here, no matter Reese’s dislike of her.

      She tried not to think how handsome he had looked that morning when he had walked into the breakfast room, tried not to remember the way her heart had madly started beating. She couldn’t help wondering if the light-headedness she had felt in that moment had been the drug or merely Reese’s presence.

      From the instant she had met him all those years ago, he’d had that sort of effect on her. His aunt, Lady Tavistock, had made the introductions at a ball given in honor of Elizabeth’s seventeenth birthday. Her father, Charles Clemens, third son of a marquess, had hoped Reese’s older brother, Royal, heir to a dukedom, would become her suitor. But it was Reese who attracted her, the dark-haired, blue-eyed Dewar who was unaccountably sensitive and even a little bit shy in the presence of a marriageable young woman.

      Another wave of nausea struck and Elizabeth reached for the chamber pot. If Edmund were alive and hadn’t eventually turned to other women to satisfy his urges, she might have believed she was pregnant, suffering morning sickness as she had when she had carried Jared. She wasn’t with child—she had been drugged, just as she had feared.

      She fixed her mind on her son and how much he needed her and told herself she could survive the next few days.

      Silently, she thanked Reese for setting aside his feelings and taking her and her son into his home.

      The house no longer seemed too quiet, the way it had before Elizabeth’s arrival. In fact, lately, the place was overrun with people.

      Along with Elizabeth and her son and the doctor who had returned several times, another visitor had arrived early that morning. Captain Travis Greer, formerly of the 1st Royal Dragoons, had once served under Reese’s command. At the battle of Balaklava, Greer had saved his life when Reese’s horse had been shot from beneath him and he had been left unconscious on the battlefield.

      Captain Greer had, at great risk to himself, carried his superior officer to safety.

      In the course of his actions, the captain had lost his left arm.

      Reese owed him.

      On top of that, they had become extremely close friends and he was damned glad to see him.

      “Come in, man.” Reese welcomed Travis into the study, feeling the pull of a smile for the first time in days. “It’s good to see you.”

      “You, as well, Major.” Travis had sandy brown hair and a square jaw, a muscular man whose features were softened by the small gold spectacles perched on his nose. He was an interesting, well-educated man, his mother a Russian ballerina, his father, the son of the late Sir Arthur Greer, a professor at Oxford University.

      “I hope you don’t mind my stopping by this way,” Trav said. “I was heading back to London. I’d heard you were here. Thought I’d see how you fared.”

      The men shook hands. Travis’s left coat sleeve was empty from several inches above the elbow. Reese suppressed a feeling of guilt. The injury wasn’t his fault. War was war. Men were injured. Travis had lost his arm. Reese had injured his leg. Both of them were lucky to be among the living.

      “Would you like a cup of coffee or tea? Or perhaps you’d prefer some brandy.” Reese headed for the sideboard. He’d been working on the Briarwood ledgers for the last two hours. He deserved to take a break.

      “Brandy sounds like a fine idea.”

      Reese filled two crystal goblets and carried one over to his friend. “I thought you were living in Dorset. What takes you to London?”

      Travis grinned. “Believe it or not, a job. I’ve been offered a column in the London Times. I’ll be doing a series of articles on soldiering and the war.”

      “Which one?” Reese said dryly, since it seemed as if there was always at least one war going on.

      Travis smiled. “Mostly the one we just fought, but also my thoughts on war in general.”

      “Sounds like something right up your alley. You always wanted to be a journalist. Looks like you’ve finally got the chance.” Reese lifted his glass in a toast. “Congratulations.”

      Travis lifted his. “Thanks.”

      The butler, Hopkins, knocked just then.

      “What is it?” Reese asked as the door swung open.

      “A man named Holloway is here to see you, my lord.”

      Reese’s jaw hardened. He’d been expecting Mason Holloway, sooner or later. “Show him into the drawing room. Tell him I’ll be right there.” He set his brandy glass down on top of СКАЧАТЬ