Regency Secrets: My Lady's Trust. Julia Justiss

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СКАЧАТЬ Kit, but I didn’t want another day to go by without thanking you for your efforts. Though at times I may have appeared … less than appreciative—” he gave her a rueful grin “—I want you to know mere words cannot convey the depth of my gratitude.”

      She felt a flush of pleasure at his praise even as she set about denying it. “Not at all, my lord. I did only what any person trained in the healing arts would have.”

      “You’ve done a great deal more, as we both know. Left the familiar comfort of your own home, devoted nearly every waking hour and worked yourself nigh to exhaustion in Kit’s care. Indeed, the squire’s since told me were it not for your prompt and skillful action immediately after his wounding, Kit would never have survived the journey back to the hall. And before you deny it, that assessment was confirmed by Dr. MacDonovan himself.”

      Since she had, as he predicted, already opened her lips to demur, she was left with nothing to say.

      “I owe you debt I can never repay. I won’t insult you by offering money, but were it in my power, I’d go to the ends of the earth to grant you your heart’s desire.”

      The quiet conviction of those words somehow compelled her to raise her downcast eyes. She found his gaze fixed on her with such intensity, her heart gave an odd lurch.

      He smiled, his face lightening. “Now what, I wonder, would such a calm and quiet lady desire most in the world?”

      Freedom from fear. The thought flashed into her head on a stab of longing. She struggled to stem it, to summon up a reply blithe enough to match his teasing question. “M-my needs are few, my lord. I’m quite content.”

      The earl chuckled. “A lady with no demands? What an extraordinary creature!”

      “Not at all. Alas, I’m entirely ordinary.”

      The wryness of her rejoinder faded, replaced by a curious mingling of alarm and anticipation as the earl stepped closer. While she stood motionless, breath suspended, his expression once again turned so fiercely intent she could not make herself look away.

      “No, my lady,” he said after a long moment. “Though you may be many things, ‘ordinary’ is certainly not one of them. But you’ll be needing your rest.” He stepped back, breaking the invisible hold. “Suffice it to say you have my eternal friendship and support. If I can ever be of service to you in any way, you have but to ask.”

      He made her a bow. When she continued to stand motionless, he gave her shoulder a gentle shove. “Go on now. If you expire from fatigue in the squire’s hallway, Kit will never forgive me.”

      The unexpected contact sizzled through her. “My lord,” she said faintly, and curtsied. All the way down the hall she felt his lingering gaze on her back, while the imprint of his fingers smoldered on her shoulder.

      Leaving Kit Bradsleigh in the physician’s charge, the next day at first light, Laura slipped from her patient’s room. She turned toward the stairs to her chamber, then hesitated.

      Though she was tired after her long night, a vague restlessness haunted her. Accustomed to daily exercise tending her garden, walking out to gather supplies of wild herbs or to let Misfit ramble, she felt stifled after having been confined to the squire’s manor for nearly a week.

      She considered taking the air in the garden, but unsure of the earl’s schedule, reluctantly dismissed that notion. The intricate arrangement of alleys and shrubshrouded pathways would make it difficult to spot someone far enough away to avoid them, and should she chance to encounter the earl, he would doubtless feel compelled to invite her to stroll with him. Though she might simply refuse, with brutal honesty she had to admit the draw of Lord Beaulieu’s stimulating presence and the beauty of the fall flowers would likely prove a combination beyond her power to resist.

      Why not visit the library instead? She’d become acquainted with its rich treasures two years ago when the squire had offered her a book to beguile the tedium of her long recovery. Given free rein thereafter, she’d been delighted to explore the excellent collection it contained. That decided, she headed for the front stairway.

      Though Kit Bradsleigh was out of immediate danger, he remained seriously ill, and Dr. MacDonovan thought it prudent he still have care both night and day. Quite cleverly, she thought with a touch of smugness as she descended, she’d arranged with the physician to take the night watch while the doctor and Lord Beaulieu provided medical treatment and diversion during the day. She had further requested, since she would be eating at odd hours, that her meals be served in her room.

      Yesterday when she’d returned to her patient, she’d discovered that Lord Beaulieu’s cot had been removed from the sickroom. Naturally, with his brother on the road to recovery, the earl would resume sleeping in his own chamber. So it appeared she would not see him again during his stay, since she’d neither meet him at mealtime nor encounter him in the sickroom during her night vigil.

      Her relief at avoiding his too-perceptive eye mingled with a touch of what might almost be … regret. He affected her so strangely, setting her skin tingling with a sort of prickly awareness, as if some vital essence about him telegraphed itself to her whenever he was near. She found that entirely involuntary reaction both exhilarating and frightening.

      Like that touch to her shoulder, the morning he thanked her for saving his brother’s life. Close her eyes, and she could almost feel it still, his fingers’ imprint branded into the sensitive skin of her collarbone.

      How … peculiar. And a warning to her to be doubly on her guard.

      After peeping ahead to ascertain no one was in the front hallway, she scurried to the library. Safely over the threshold, she paused to breathe in the comforting, familiar scents of beeswax and leather bindings before walking to the bookcase that shelved the complete Milan set of the Iliad and Odyssey. Her self-imposed confinement would seem much more tolerable if, after her rest, she could look forward to an afternoon among the heroic cadences of Homer’s poetry.

      Impatient to inspect the treasure, she selected a volume and carefully smoothed open the manuscript. Just a few pages, she promised herself, and she would slip back to her room.

      Within moments she was completely entranced. Eyes avidly scanning the verses, she drifted across the parquet floor, shouldered open the library door—and stepped smack into the tall, solid body of the Earl of Beaulieu.

       Chapter Four

      Beau was striding briskly down the hall, invigorated by his dawn ride, when a figure popped out the library door and slammed into him. The slight form rebounded backward, a book spinning from her hands.

      Swiftly recovering his balance, he grabbed the maid’s shoulders to keep her from falling. His automatic irritation over the girl’s inattention evaporated instantly as first his fingers, then his brain registered the identity of the lady in his grip.

      “Excuse me, Mrs. Martin! Are you all right?” Delighted with this excuse to touch her, he let his hands linger longer than absolutely necessary to steady her, reveling in the rose scent of her perfume.

      As soon as she regained her footing, she pulled away. “Fine, thank you, my lord. And ‘tis I who must apologize, for not watching where I was walking.”

      With regret he let her go. “Are СКАЧАТЬ