Encounter with Venus (14 page)

George didn’t know how to comfort her. All he could do was say “There, there,” and rock her gently back and forth in his arms.

It was strange, holding her this way. Through her thin nightdress, he could feel the womanliness of her, the softness that he hadn’t been able to see when she was fully clothed. Holding her so closely, he felt moved in a way he’d never felt holding a woman. It was as if she filled an empty place in him, a vacuum he didn’t know was there. As the trembling sobs decreased, he knew she would soon be withdrawing from his embrace. Astonishingly, he didn’t want that to happen. He didn’t feel ready to let her go.

But she didn’t withdraw. When at last her weeping subsided, she lifted a hand to her cheeks and, blushing, wiped the wetness away. “I d-don’t know what came over me,” she said, peeping up at him, her voice still thick. “I seem to be behaving just the way I dislike... indeed, quite like a maiden aunt.”

“Not to me,” he said, and lifted her chin. Her eyes were still wet and red-rimmed and her mouth was swollen from the flood of tears. The sight of her face startled him. In spite of the red-rimmed eyes and the ridiculous bandage over her forehead, that face seemed lovely. How could he ever have thought of it as plain and spinsterish? It was as if he’d been blind, and his sight was suddenly restored.

He could not resist the impulse. He leaned down to that lovely face and pressed those swollen lips to his.

For a long, delicious moment, she did not resist him. In fact she seemed to raise herself up against him so that her breasts pressed against his chest. That little movement sent a lightning jolt through his entire body, reminding him of what he’d felt when he’d glimpsed his Venus all those years ago. Then she stiffened, pushed him away, and stared at him, eyes wide with shock. He, too, was shocked. It was disconcerting, this feeling like a seventeen-year-old.

A distant clock struck five, bringing him back to the here-and-now. Bemused by his own feelings, he did not notice that the shock in her eyes had turned to fury. He grinned at her. “You can’t call
that
treating you like my maiden aunt.”

“No,” she said icily, getting to her feet. “I call it unforgivable.”

The tone of her voice was worse than a slap. It struck him like a douse of cold water. “Unforgivable?” he asked in disbelief.

She looked down at him with what he thought was loathing. “I don’t know why I ever found you kind,” she said. “When it really matters, you are quite heartless.” And, pulling her nightdress tightly around her as if for protection, she ran away down the corridor and out of his sight.

TWENTY

When George returned to his room, he discovered that the fire had died. It was no surprise; what else could he expect in this ill-run household? The room was so icy cold that his breath made a cloud in the air. And after having puttered about the hallways in his bare feet, he was sure his toes were frozen. But all these ills were insignificant when compared to the pain of Livy’s vituperative reaction to his kiss. His usual cheerful spirit had received a severe blow, making him wish more than ever that he’d never embarked on this damnable journey. “Blast Felicia for urging it,” he cursed aloud, “and blast me for giving in to her!”

He wrapped himself up in all the bedclothes he could find and threw himself down on the bed. Mercifully, he fell asleep almost at once. But it seemed only a moment later that he was being shaken awake. He opened his eyes to find Timmy bending over him. “Sorry to wake ye, m’lord,” the boy said, “but ye did say ye wanted to leave ‘ere as soon as we could. It stopped snowin’ last night.”

“What time is it?” George asked thickly.

“Almost seven. I made up the fire, an’ I didn’t wake ye ‘til the room was warm enough fer ye to dress.”

George groaned. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. He could hardly manage a thank you to his eager tiger. He’d had less than two hours of sleep since his encounter with Livy on the stairway. His body seemed to cry out for more sleep, but he fought the urge and untangled himself from his cocoon of bedclothes. In an act of true courage, he got out of bed and padded over to one of the windows. When he opened the draperies, he discovered a world gleaming in brilliant sunshine. Snow, at least a foot deep, covered the landscape like a soft comforter, sparkling white and unmarked by human imprints. The view, though unquestionably lovely, depressed him, for it did not look promising for travel. George wanted nothing so much as to take his leave, especially after Livy’s cold rejection a few hours ago, but from what he could see below the roads would be impassable. “We’d never make it through the drifts,” he told Timmy glumly.

But Timmy didn’t agree. “Yes, we can, m’lord,” he chortled. “Mr. Shotton, the coachman, tole me he could take off the wheels of the phaeton and put on a pair of runners—like a sleigh.”

“A sleigh?” George’s eyes widened. “He can convert the phaeton to a sleigh? What a wonderful idea!” The possibility that they might be able to depart was as intoxicating to him as a drink of aged port. “How long do you suppose it would take him to do the job?”

“Don’t know, m’lord, but I’ll get ‘im right on it. After all, he don’t ‘ave anythin’ else to do, whut wi’ the roads closed.”

“Good man!” George clapped him on the back, considerably cheered. After all, it was Monday. If they could start today, he might still make it back to London in time for the ball. “Give him all the help you can, Timmy, and if the two of you can get us ready to leave by noon, there’ll be a handsome vail for each of you.”

Later, dressed and ravenously hungry, he went down from his tower room to see if he could find McTavish. He had not yet determined how meals were provided in this peculiar household, but if he found no breakfast laid out in the morning room, he intended to coax the butler to provide him—and promptly, too!—with something edible.

As he approached the morning-room door, he heard voices from within. He paused, not wishing to intrude. But neither did he wish to lose an opportunity to eat. While he hesitated, he heard Livy’s voice. “But, Dr. Evans,” she was saying, “he was doubled over in pain.”

“That may be,” a man’s voice replied, “but I could not detect any sign of abdominal distress. Nor any other symptom of illness. It’s the same as the past half-dozen times I’ve examined him. I can find nothing wrong.”

“I can’t understand it,” she said, her voice full of concern. “There must be
something ...”

“It could be merely imaginary,” the doctor said.

“Imaginary?”

The doorknob turned, and the door opened. George, embarrassed at the prospect of being caught eavesdropping, stepped back out of the way. The doctor—a short, stocky man with a ring of gray hair circling an otherwise bald head and a pair of formidable eyebrows over bright, shrewd eyes—came out of the room, shrugging himself into a heavy overcoat. “Yes, my dear,” he was saying over his shoulder to Livy, who was following him, “there are many who suffer from imaginary illnesses.”

“But is it safe to merely
assume
his pains are not real?” she asked.

“I feel quite sure, in this case. He suggested to me that his symptoms might be caused by stomach gout. The term ‘stomach gout’ hasn’t been used for fifty years. He probably heard the words from his father. Since no one ever quite knew what the symptoms of stomach gout were, I think it’s safe to assume he’s imagining the disease. Much as he imagined in the past that he suffered from putrified blood, fatal consumption, and dropsy.”

At this point, Livy noticed George standing against the wall. “Oh,” she said, her expression changing from worry to surprise to awkward stiffness. “My lord... er... good morning.”

“Good morning, ma’am,” George answered with equal awkwardness.

Livy turned to the doctor. “Dr. Evans, this is our... our house guest, Lord Chadleigh. My lord, this is our physician, the good Dr. Evans.”

“How do you do?” George put out his hand. “You must be a good doctor indeed, to come out in all this snow. How did you manage it?”

The doctor looked with interest from George to Livy and back again. Then, with a wide smile, he shook George’s hand heartily. “A pleasure to meet you, my lord,” he said. “I came on horseback. My old nag is accustomed to picking her way through snowdrifts.”

“I hope my horses will do as well,” George remarked.

The doctor’s heavy brows rose in surprise. “You don’t mean to leave today, do you?”

“I’m afraid I do. I’m expected back in London the day after tomorrow.”

The doctor, who’d been in the act of pulling a fur hat down over his ears, froze for a moment and threw Livy a look of disappointment. Then he shook his head. “You’d have to do some miraculous driving to make it,” he muttered to George as he turned to leave. “It’s a three-day trip.”

“Not if you don’t stop to sleep,” George said.

As he watched Livy walk away to lead Dr. Evans down to the outer doorway, George wondered why the doctor seemed disappointed at his announcement of his intention to depart. Had the fellow had hopes of some sort of liaison between himself and Livy, hopes that were dashed by his intention to return to London? The good doctor must be fond of Livy, George thought, to show such concern for her personal affairs. But then, everyone, it seemed, was fond of Livy—his sister, the stuffy Horace Thomsett, all the servants in this grim household, and everyone else who ...

McTavish appeared at that moment and led him into the morning room. To his relief, he discovered that a generous breakfast buffet was already laid out While the butler was loading his plate, George’s thoughts turned to what he’d overheard the doctor saying about Sir Andrew.

Perhaps the butler could answer some questions that had been troubling him. “I was wondering, McTavish,” he said casually, “if you know why Sir Andrew can’t walk.”

“Who says he can’t?” the butler hooted. “He can walk, out a doot! Peters an’ me, we once proved he can.”

“Oh?” George’s eyebrows rose. “How did you do that?”

McTavish grinned mischievously. “We put a dose of Joanna’s powder in his tea.”

“Joanna’s powder?”

“ ‘Tis a vile concoction of Alicante soap, mercury, and snails. It stirs up the innards, y’ see. In only five minutes, it worked on him.” The butler’s grin widened at the recollection. “Ye should’ve seen him jump up and dash for the chamber pot.”

George could hardly contain a guffaw. “Then you believe he really can walk?”

“Fer certain. When he has a mind to.” McTavish set a plate of York ham and buttered eggs before him and then heaved a resigned sigh. “And now I’m off to serve him his breakfast. If I’m in luck, he winna throw it at me.

George was not alone long. A few moments later, Livy returned and, glancing at what McTavish had put on George’s plate, went to the buffet. She set a scone on a small plate and spread some jam on it. Then she poured him a cup of tea. Without speaking a word to him, she placed the scone and the tea on the table before him. George threw her a quizzical look. “Do you intend never to speak to me again?” he asked.

“I shall say whatever is necessary,” she answered flatly.

“Will you bid me good-bye when the carriage is ready?”

“Oh?” She seemed surprised. “Then you do intend to leave today?”

“Yes, I do. So, ma’am, will you wish me godspeed?”

“Of course. I haven’t forgotten my manners.” She turned away and lowered her head. “But, my lord,” she said as if forcing the words out, “in spite of whatever has passed between us, I hope you understand that you are welcome to take refuge under this roof for as long as necessary. There is no need for you to battle these snowy roads unnecessarily. I did not—I do not—intend to banish you from the premises.”

“I never thought you would,” he said, taking a bite of ham. “But, as you know, I promised my friend to be back in London by the day after tomorrow. Therefore I shall be taking my leave this afternoon.”

She nodded. “Then I wish you a safe journey.”

“Thank you.” He looked up at her. “Will you sit down and join me for breakfast? There is something I’d like to say to you before I go.”

At those words, her head came up abruptly, and she swung around to face him. “If you intend to apologize for last night,” she snapped, “then you may as well save your breath. I have no intention of forgiving you. Ever.”

“I have no intention of apologizing,” he said calmly. “I wish to speak of another matter entirely.”

“Oh.” Taken aback, she stood motionless for a moment. Then she drew in a breath of surrender. “In that case, I
will
join you for breakfast.” She went to the buffet, took a scone and a cup of tea, and went back to the table. When she’d seated herself, she looked across at him. “Well?”

“I heard what the doctor said about Sir Andrew. About his imagining all those illnesses.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t think they’re imaginary at all. I think your uncle concocts them quite knowingly. For a specific purpose.”

Livy stiffened. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said carefully, lifting a cup to her lips to avoid his eyes.

“I think you do. Look me in the eye, my dear, and tell me honestly that you don’t know what I mean.”

“I don’t,” she insisted.