Sinful Confessions (4 page)

He
dragged his gaze back up to her face, bracing himself for a look of disgust at
his far too obvious perusal of her. Instead she had a glazed look to her eyes.

“Good...
evening...my lord.”

His
brow furrowed. Though her hair was elegantly coiled into some hairstyle that
seemed to defy gravity and a touch of rouge enhanced her cheeks, her skin
appeared sallow. The tremor in her voice and the slight shake of her body made
his scowl deepen.

“Is
all well?” He held out an arm, half-fearing she would collapse. Was she wearing
her corset too tight? His second wife had been a delicate sort and prone to
swooning after being bound in too much whalebone.

She
nodded and took his proffered arm. If it hadn’t been for his concern, he might
have appreciated—or more likely been annoyed at—the way his skin pricked as her
delicate arm curled around his. As it was, he felt the slight weight of her
lean into him and it convinced him all was not well at all.

“Miss
Thompson? Viola?”

She
turned to glance up at him and the pull on his arm increased. It happened too
quickly for him to react properly. In a crumple of silk and petticoats, she
collapsed. He managed to prevent her from hurting herself with his hold on her
arm, but he hadn’t been fully prepared for the dead weight she would become,
and she ended up slumped against the marbled floor. Half-dragged down by her
hold on him, Julian came fully to his knees and turned her over.

“Miss
Thompson?”

Her
eyes were open but glassy. When he put a hand to her forehead, he found her
skin to be clammy. Her eyes fluttered closed and she gave a sigh. The woman was
unwell, and he had no idea how sick she might be. Had she contracted some awful
disease on the journey here?

Julian
pressed an arm underneath her head and legs and lifted her into his arms. Now
he was ready for it, she seemed to weigh almost nothing. Viola remained awake
but docile, as though something was addling her mind. She burrowed against his
chest, resting just above his heart. That very same organ pulsed in response—a
deep, sharp spasm that said he enjoyed having a woman in his arms, trusting
him.

He
took the stairs two at a time and strode through the central part of the house
to the west wing. There he installed her in the Sunflower room—so called
because of its position over the garden and the sunflowers that grew under the
window. Just as he was laying her down on the bed, Jenny scurried in.

She
paused at the sight of her master leaning over Viola. “James said something
about Miss Thompson swooning, my lord.” She glanced at the bed. “Oh dear.”

The
footman was almost right. “Not a swoon as such, but she has collapsed. She is
ill.” He eased to standing and eyed her. She gave a slight moan and rolled onto
her side. He skimmed his gaze over her body. It was no good, the dress would
have to go. Whatever was afflicting her made her breaths harsh and raspy and no
corset or tight gown would help that.

Tentatively,
he reached out and touched the bodice of her gown.

“Oh
no, my lord. You must leave that to me.”

Julian
snapped his hand away. Had he really just been scolded by his servant? He
glanced at the young girl and saw nothing but concern there. He narrowed his
gaze at her and spotted a tiny patch of red on each of her cheeks. He had. And
she was right of course.

Fighting
down the idiotic disappointment, he swivelled on his heel and went to the door.
“I shall send for the doctor.”

“James
has gone for him already, I believe, my lord,” Jenny replied patiently, hands
clasped in front of her in a demure pose.

He
could tell when he wasn’t needed. “Very well. Do all you can.”

The
maid nodded and he stole one last glance at the fitful woman. A deep, churning
sickness ate into his gut. He couldn’t be responsible for another woman’s
death.
Please God, don’t let her die.

***

Something warm and fuzzy tickled her
face. Viola tried to push it away but it persisted on tickling her. She dragged
open her eyes and was immediately seized by a sneeze. She rubbed the end of her
nose and pushed at the fuzzy thing once more. It shifted a little, allowing her
to move her head from side to side.

“You
must be Patches,” she murmured to the cat, immediately regretting it when her
throat felt as though someone had pushed rose thorns down it.

The
tabby ignored her and did a quick rotation before settling back on her pillow.
She peered around and noted she was back in the Sunflower room. Faint streams
of light shimmered in underneath the curtains. It was daytime then. How long
had she slept? And when had she gone to bed? Viola scowled. She certainly didn’t
remember undressing and climbing onto the soft, worn mattress. Though her
aching body very much appreciated the comfort of the bed at present.

A
cold. What wonderful timing. At least her brothers weren’t here, teasing her
for being a weakling. Her head swirled when she tried to sit and make out the time
on the mantel clock. A fire burned in the hearth, releasing fingers of lovely
warmth in her direction but a deep chill sat inside her. She sneezed again and
fumbled for a handkerchief that she spotted on the table next to the bed.

She
swiped her nose with the cotton and noted the embroidery. J.A.R. What did the A
stand for? Augustus perhaps? Alexander? How strange that she didn’t know that
about the man who could soon be her husband. Viola sighed. She hoped he hadn’t
been put off by how unsightly she must be with a runny nose and likely pasty
skin.

The
door opened sharply, making her jolt. Patches took offence at her sudden
movement and darted off the bed to scurry past the intruder. Julian stepped
aside and shook his head. “Some doctor you are,” he said to the tabby.

His
gaze landed on her and a half-smile stretched his lips. “You’re awake.”

“Yes.”
She winced at how awful her voice sounded. “How long have I been asleep?”

“It
is early afternoon now. You slept away the entire night and morning. You must
have needed it.”

“I
must have done. Forgive me.”

He
shook his head and approached slowly as though moving toward a horse that might
startle at any moment. “Nought to forgive. You are ill.”

“If
you send Jenny to me, I am sure I can dress and join you downstairs.” She
pushed herself farther up the bed.

A
hand came to her shoulder and she stilled. She stared at the hand and it
withdrew abruptly. From the look on his face, it seemed he couldn’t quite
believe he’d touched her. A slight warm sensation ate through the chill in her
body where he had rested his hand all too briefly.

“Rest.”

She
tried to struggle up again but a sneeze had her fumbling for the handkerchief
again. Julian thrust it out for her and she blew her nose, giving him an
apologetic look. “I don’t know what happened.”

“The
rain most likely.”

“I
was so fatigued after the train journey. When did I come to bed?”

“Shortly
before dinner. You collapsed, Viola.”

Viola.
Her name on his lips, so etched with concern had her heart thumping like
gunshots in her chest. He was still Julian to her but should she be bold enough
to say it aloud? The fog in her head prevented her from making serious
decisions, like how soon after meeting was it acceptable to address a lord by
his given name and how did you appear refined and ready to be a marchioness
when your nose was running and your voice sounded like gravel?

“I’ve
never done that before. I fell asleep shortly before dinner but I don’t
remember that at all.”

“You
had a long day,” he said simply. Julian leaned in to peer at her and a crease
of concern sat between his brows. “You feel better though?”

“Yes,
though my throat and head are sore.”

She
supposed that wasn’t all that better really, but she didn’t feel on the verge
of collapse anymore. The sleepless nights of travelling and the long boat
journey here must have taken their toll. Add to that being soaked to the skin
and bathing in that awful tin tub and she supposed she could almost be forgiven
for swooning.

“Excellent.”
He stepped back and his body seemed to shake loose. “I’ll request that the
doctor visit as soon as possible. He came last night but you were very
unresponsive.”

“I
am sorry.”

He
shook his head. “Don’t be foolish. What have you to be sorry for?”

Viola
thought back to her father’s annoyance when she was sick as a child or how her
brothers would tease her that she was making it up so she could stay in bed and
avoid working on the farm. But Julian didn’t seem at all annoyed with her, in
spite of her missing dinner and being quite the inconvenience. His mood had
certainly improved since the previous day. Perhaps this was the Julian to whom
she’d been writing and he had simply needed time to emerge.

“I
hope I’m not an imposition.”

A
moment passed before he shook his head again and a sinking feeling wiped away
the slight warmth that had filled her chest at the idea of seeing the true
Julian. She was an imposition. He just didn’t want to say as much.

“Once
you are better, we’ll discuss your stay in Warwickshire.”

Her
stay in Warwickshire. Not in his house. Did he still want her out of Lockwood
Manor? Was it really so shameful to have her here? Unfortunately even reading
Debrett’s over and over and picking up books on etiquette couldn’t erase the
farm girl or the American in her. She simply didn’t understand the rules and
regulations of English society well enough.

A
tiny throb in her chest made her long for the more relaxed rules of the
families she knew in New York. Not that there wasn’t snobbery. Being new money
didn’t ingratiate them to many people but New York society were steadily having
to accept that there were men out there making their own way in the world and
working hard for their money. These men were leaving their mark and it was
either accept them or fall behind.

He
rocked back on his heels, looking as though he couldn’t decide whether to stay
or leave her be. “You must be hungry.”

She
considered her stomach. “Yes, ravenous actually.”

His
eyes widened a little. If she thought hard, she recalled one of the books
stating ladies did not speak of their bodily needs. But how did you ever get
fed if you didn’t declare your hunger? She might waste away for the sake of
etiquette. Oh, would she ever learn to fit in with English society?

“I’ll
have Mrs Whittleworth arrange for something to be sent up as soon as possible.”

“Thank
you.”

The
air grew thick and cloying as silence lengthened the minutes. The tick of the
mantel clock emphasised the awkwardness. How she wished for the easy tone they
had in their letters.

Lord
Lockwood cleared his throat. “Well, I am glad to see you are well. I shall
just...” He gave a jerky bow, righted himself and retreated.

Leaving
Viola staring at the door and pondering him. He really was quite different to
how she’d imagined him. Admittedly, her dreams had been a little foolish, but
his letters had been so beautiful and heartfelt.

A
tickle in her nose prevented her from thinking any further on Lord Lockwood and
his puzzling behaviour. A rash of sneezes seized her, continuing so that when
Jenny entered the room, she looked a little taken aback.

“Oh
my, you really do have quite the cold, miss.”

Viola
nodded and blew her nose on the hanky before one last sneeze attacked her. She
sank back against the pillows and winced as her head pounded in response to the
outburst.

“I
brought you up some soup.” Jenny placed the tray down on the table and helped
Viola to sit up before laying the tray across her lap.

The
scent of chicken and herbs managed to work through her stuffy nose and she
sighed. “It smells wonderful.”

“Miss
B works wonders in the kitchen.” She waited for Viola to take a sip and nodded
approvingly. “I’m glad to see some colour in your cheeks. Lord Lockwood was terribly
worried for you. Thought he was going to have to bury another woman, I reckon.
Though I told him it seemed to be just a cold.”

“Oh,
yes. Did his wife die of illness? I am sorry I put him through so much worry.”
She supposed that might explain a lot of his rigid attitude. He might have even
been reliving his wife’s death. How awful.

“Well,
the first one did. The other two—”

“There
were three?” She paused with the spoon partway to her mouth.

“Oh,
yes, I thought you knew what with always writing to him. All three went to
their graves, I’m sorry to say.”

Viola
lowered her spoon and sank back against the pillow a little. “Goodness.”

Jenny
strode over the fire and stoked it with the poker before laying out a blanket
at the end of the bed. “Just in case you need it,” she said. “And do ring the
bell if you need anything else.”