The Lord’s Highland Temptation. Diane Gaston

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      Lucas’s answers were terse and he hoped the boy did not notice the trembling of his hands, the stiffening of his shoulders. It was the anguish of remembering. Enough of this. He wanted out of this place. The boy forced him to remember and the sister made him care when all he wanted was to shut off his emotions and be alone.

      There was a knock at the door.

      ‘Come in,’ Niven called as if this was his room, not Lucas’s.

      Miss Wallace peeked in, her gaze riveting on her brother. ‘Niven! I was afraid you were here.’

      Lucas rose to his feet, but braced his hands on the table. She gestured for him to sit down. He wanted to remain standing, but his legs threatened not to hold him. He sank back into the chair.

      Niven lifted his chin. ‘I brought Lucas some tea and biscuits. I’m keeping him company.’

      ‘He is still ill, Niven,’ she scolded. ‘You should leave him in peace.’

      Niven seemed to ignore what she said. ‘Did you know? He was in the First Royals! Fought at Waterloo. That’s a cavalry regiment, you see. He was in the charge with the Scots Greys.’

      Her gaze caught Lucas’s briefly and he fancied she could somehow see the pain he wanted to hide. From himself as well as everyone else.

      ‘You should not trouble him, Niven.’ She peered at Lucas even more closely and crossed the room to him. ‘Are you feverish again, Mr Lucas?’

      He felt hot and perspiration dampened his face.

      She placed her bare hand on his forehead. ‘You are a little warm.’

      Her touch filled him with yearning, but he did not wish anyone to care about him—or to care about anybody himself. Obviously seeing to his care merely added one more burden to her slim shoulders.

      ‘I am well enough,’ he insisted.

      Her brows knitted. ‘You should rest.’ She turned to her brother. ‘Let us leave Mr Lucas now. I need your help in the garden. Cook wants some turnips and onions.’

      Niven stood. ‘How delightful! Digging in the dirt.’ He smiled at Lucas. ‘I’ll bring your dinner later, Mr Lucas. Do not be surprised if it includes turnips and onions.’

      Lucas’s stomach revolted at the thought.

      ‘Thank you.’ Lucas rose. ‘I will rest a while.’

      Miss Wallace gave him a worried look before she and her brother walked out of the room.

      * * *

      When Niven had returned some time later with the dinner tray, Lucas had simply told him to leave it on the table, but he fell asleep before touching it.

      He woke again when the clock in the room struck eleven. The door opened and, through slitted eyes, Lucas watched Miss Wallace enter, her face illuminated by a candle. Her brother was behind her.

      ‘See, he is still abed,’ Niven said to her. ‘I do not think he ate any of his dinner.’

      Miss Wallace approached and gingerly placed her palm on his forehead. Her hand felt soft and cool and he was taken aback with how much he desired her touch.

      He opened his eyes and she jumped back with a cry.

      ‘Miss Wallace?’ He sat up.

      ‘Niven was concerned. You did not eat dinner,’ she said.

      ‘I was not hungry.’ He’d made up his mind. He’d leave in the morning.

      ‘You still feel warm.’ Her brows knitted.

      He refused to worry her. ‘I just need sleep.’ Their gazes caught as before. She needed sleep as much as he did. ‘Please. Return to your beds.’

      She stared at him a while longer. ‘Are you certain?’

      ‘Go to bed, Miss Wallace,’ he murmured. ‘Do not trouble yourself with me.’

      * * *

      The next morning, Lucas woke as dawn was just breaking. His fever continued, but he was clear-headed. All he needed to do was walk to the nearest village and seek a room in an inn. Then he need not impose on this family—on Miss Wallace—any further.

      He’d slept in the clothes he’d borrowed from the departed butler, so he rose and bathed his face in the cool water from the room’s pitcher and basin and shaved his face. Wiping his face again, he searched for his toothbrush and brushed his teeth, rinsing the foul taste of illness from his mouth.

      As he turned away from the basin, he noticed his untouched evening meal still on the table. His stomach was no better than the night before, but he knew he must eat and drink something. He buttered the bread and drank the ale. It would have to be enough until he could purchase a meal from an inn.

      If his appetite ever returned.

      He dressed in his own clothes and repacked his satchel, then picked up the tray so he would not leave extra work for Miss Wallace. He carried the tray to the door and managed to open it. In the hallway, he could hear sounds from what he presumed was the kitchen. Butlers’ quarters were typically near the kitchen. He followed the sounds and entered a large room where the odours of cooking meat and bread made him nauseous.

      ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said.

      A red-faced, grey-haired woman turned from the pot she was tending on the fire. She smiled kindly. ‘Ah, you must be our patient, Mr Lucas.’ The woman bustled over to him. ‘Here, let me take the tray.’ She turned away and called, ‘Evie!’

      A very young kitchen maid emerged from what must have been the scullery. ‘Mrs MacNeal?’ The girl blinked when she spied Lucas.

      Mrs MacNeal handed the girl the tray. ‘Here.’

      The girl carried the tray back to the scullery.

      The cook gave Lucas a scolding look. ‘You did not eat much of your dinner.’

      ‘I slept through it, I’m afraid,’ he responded.

      ‘Then will you be wanting breakfast?’ The woman began to look stressed. ‘I am not quite ready for cooking breakfast.’

      Lucas’s father’s kitchen would have been bustling with kitchen maids and footmen at this hour. He saw only the cook and one helper.

      ‘I am quite satisfied with what I ate from the dinner plate this morning,’ he assured her. ‘I merely wished to return the tray.’

      ‘That was good of you, sir.’ She returned to tending her pot.

      He left the kitchen and met a footman in the hallway.

      ‘You must be the visitor,’ the young man said.

      ‘I am.’

      The footman eyed him up and down. ‘I hope your clothes СКАЧАТЬ