Читать книгу Regency Temptation - Christine Merrill - Страница 13

Evie watched the London streets passing by outside the carriage window and tapped her foot impatiently on the boards beneath the seat. It was really too much to bear.

Before making her come out, it had been drummed into her by Aunt Jordan that her future depended on her ability to be pleasant. It was almost as important as looks and much more important than intelligence. Men might marry a beautiful ninnyhammer, as long as she hung on their words and did not correct them. But a shrew would be a shrew, long after looks faded.

So Eve had done her best to be good company. And though she could not keep herself from arguing, she always did it with a smile on her face. Perhaps that was why the men in her life were treating her like a child, alternately scolding and humouring her, thinking that they could render her agreeable to what they wanted. Because she did not look angry, they did not believe she was serious.

Father was clearly lying about what he knew of Sam. Sam was equally evasive when it came to the truth of his feelings for her, changing from hot to cold and back again so suddenly that she could hardly understand him.

And St Aldric? She smiled in spite of herself. He would appoint the devil himself as a personal physician if he thought it would bring her any closer to accepting his offer. At least the man was consistent. But since she did not love him, his opinion hardly signified.

The carriage pulled to a stop outside the inn where Sam was staying. It was another piece of nonsense that he had refused his old room, remaining aloof in a place that could not be half as nice as home. Even worse, she had been forced to worm the location of it from the coachman who had taken him away. Sam had left no direction for her and her father had announced that he had no idea where to find the man, nor was he bothered by his ignorance.

Now that she was here, she told her Ban-bury tale to the hostler and was shown to the room where Sam had gone to ground. She knocked smartly on the door and heard the answering ‘come’ from the other side. Perhaps he was expecting a maid with his dinner.

She smiled to herself. He was certainly not expecting her. But he must learn to like surprises. She opened the door and swept into the room, her smart day dress swirling around her. ‘Good afternoon, Dr Hastings. I have come to continue our discussion in private.’

‘Evie.’ He rose from the desk where he had been seated and a prayer book tumbled to the floor, brushed from the table in front of him.

She had not known him to be particularly religious, but people altered with time. He probably did not think of her as a sophisticated débutante. When he’d left, she had been a scapegrace companion with manners no better than his. But the change in her should not have shocked him this much. He was backing away from the door as though he meant to brace his shoulders against the wall. He had the look of a startled animal.

But a thoroughly masculine animal, if she was to be honest. He was out of his coat, with his shirt sleeves rolled up to keep the grime from his cuffs. She could see muscles in those arms, and shoulders more broad and strong than she’d imagined. She swallowed and remembered, for just a moment, why one did not court impropriety by forcing one’s way into a gentleman’s room for a private interview.

But the gentleman was Sam. And no matter what might happened between them, she did not fear it.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, wary. ‘And why were you even allowed above stairs? The innkeeper will think you a common trollop for behaving so.’

‘Nonsense,’ she said and gave him a wink, trying to coax a smile from him. ‘I told him that we were family. Is it not natural for a sister to visit a brother?’

He made a strange, strangled noise, as though he could not quite master his speech, and then said weakly, ‘It was still very wrong of you.’

‘But I could not allow you to leave me in anger. I do not want to part this way. I do not want to part at all.’ She glanced at the sea chest on the floor. It was clear that he was packing again. ‘And I certainly do not want you to go as you did before, without a word.’

For a moment, her voice sounded strange as well. If she was not careful, she would break down in front of him and beg him to stay. Excess emotion was effective against Father. But Sam would likely think she was shamming and put her out of the room.

She conquered the tears, before they could escape. Running down the back of her throat, they tasted very like the ones she had shed when he’d first left her. She did not cry any more. Gentleman might be moved by a weeping woman, but they did not like her nearly as well as a smiling one. She dropped her head a bit so that she might appear demure and properly sorry for getting above herself. ‘I will talk no more of finding you a position. I will not meddle at all. But you promised you would stay for the wedding. Remember? You promised. You cannot break your word to me, just because of a silly misunderstanding. Forgive me.’ She looked up through her lashes and held out a hand to him. Contrition, helplessness, and a hint of flirtation should bring him round.

He ignored the hand, back still firmly against the wall. ‘There is nothing to forgive. What you did was out of concern for me and I thank you for attempting to help, even if I must refuse. I will do as you ask and stay for the wedding. I will even buy a new coat and have my neckcloth properly tied for it, so that I do not shame you before St Aldric.’

His expression was frozen and his tone wooden. He looked and sounded as false as she felt, trying to snare him with her feminine wiles. He paused, wetting his lips before speaking again, as though it had been necessary to prepare himself for the answer. ‘Now when is this wedding you are so eager for me to attend?’

She smiled in triumph. ‘I really have no idea. I have not said yes, you remember. But if you mean to leave as soon as I am wed, I suspect it shall take me some time to decide.’

He lurched forwards as though about to give her a good shaking for her impudence, then regained control and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Evelyn, I swear, your behaviour is enough to drive a sane man to madness.’

‘So I have been told,’ she said with another smile. ‘It is good to see that you are not unaffected by it.’ She took a step closer to him, pressing her advantage. ‘We were quite close at one time, though you work very hard to deny it.’

‘Like siblings,’ he said firmly.

She shook her head. He must have known how she’d felt about him. She had made no effort to hide her love. But he had given her no chance to elicit some promise from him, before he went off to school, so that she would know to wait for his return. Now that they were alone, there would be no better time. ‘You were always more than a brother to me, Sam.’

‘But you were always my dear little sister,’ he said, stubbornly. ‘And I am very proud to think that I will soon have to call you “Your Grace”. Or I will once you stop stringing poor St Aldric along.’

‘I cannot accept him while there is still a question as to where my heart might lie,’ she said.

He flinched. ‘Surely such questions were answered long ago, Evelyn.’

‘When you left me with no explanation?’ she supplied.

‘You knew I was to go away to school.’

‘But I did not expect you to run the whole way. Nor did I expect you to run again today, in the middle of a simple conversation about your future.’

‘A future you wished to choose for me,’ he reminded her.

‘And you are seeking a different one?’ Perhaps it was with some other girl that felt the same way as she did. If it was another woman, why could he not just tell her? If it was to spare her pain, he had misjudged the situation. A simple answer for this rejection was bound to be better than not knowing.

And if there was another, the key to his absence was right here in the room with him. The other woman, if she was smart, would not have wanted him to forget that someone waited for his return. There must be a lock of hair, a miniature or some other token of her affection. Eve had but to find it and understand. And there before her was the sea chest and doctor’s bag, waiting to be explored.

She trailed her fingers along the edge of the open chest and then turned to it suddenly, dropping to her knees to examine the contents.

There was no sign of another woman here. The box in front of her contained nothing but the tools of his profession.

It was novel enough that he had a trade, for most gentlemen did not. Eve tended the folks around their country home quite efficiently without a doctor’s help, but she did it with little more than instinct, herbs and a needle and thread from her sewing box. It was charity and not real work at all.

But here before her were all the things that a trained physician might have at his disposal. To Eve, it was a revelation. She had read about the uses of such instruments in the books on medicine that she had got, but she had never seen them.

These were arrayed neatly, carefully, immaculate in their cleanliness and as ordered as idols in a temple. Lancets with smooth tortoiseshell handles, the gleaming steel of bone saws and drills, the terrifying razor edge of scalpels and the curved needles threaded with silk and gut. Beneath them, in neat rows, were cobalt-blue medicine bottles and the weird globes of the leech jars.

The third layer was a collection of more esoteric items, harder to pack, but obviously well used. A syringe made of hollow bone, ivory-and-silver medicine spoons and forceps. She examined each one in turn.

‘Are you searching for something, Evelyn?’ Sam had been so silent that she had almost forgotten him as she explored. But it seemed that her curiosity had relaxed him. He was no longer pinned to the wall, but standing just behind her. His voice had changed as well. The strangled desperation had changed to a familiar combination of disapproval, amusement, resignation and affection.

She wanted to turn and answer honestly. Yes, I am searching for the key to understanding you. Instead, she was almost as truthful. ‘I am curious about your profession.’ She turned to face him and sat on the floor, her legs tucked under.

‘And once again, you prove that the years have not changed you. You always were a horrible little snoop.’ He relaxed enough to sit down on the end of the bed. ‘Is there anything you wish me to explain?’

‘I know most of them,’ she admitted.

‘You do?’ This seemed to surprise him.

‘I have studied,’ she admitted. ‘I ordered the same texts you used in Edinburgh and read them cover to cover.’

Another man might have questioned her ability to understand them. But all that Sam said was, ‘Does your father know?’

It was difficult to meet his gaze and admit the truth. Eve had not thought of herself as a deceptive person, when he had left her. Although she often disagreed with her father, she never set out to disobey him. But she had suspected in this it would be necessary and had kept the extent of her knowledge a secret from him. ‘You know he does not. He would never have approved of it. He thinks I tend to the sick in the same way other women do, by bringing broth and good wishes, and the sort of herbal tinctures that Mother would have used had she survived. But I prefer to be more scientific about it.’ Then a thought occurred to her. ‘You will not tell him, will you?’

Sam laughed. ‘Of course not.’ And then he grew serious. ‘Nor will I tell St Aldric. I doubt he is expecting a wife with such outré hobbies.’

If Sam loved her as she hoped, he could use the information to his advantage and spoil her chances with the duke. Instead, he was being noble. She sighed. ‘The ways of men are very confusing. They have no care if we women meddle with illnesses, as long as we do it in ignorance. Do they not want people to recover?’ She tipped her head to the side and watched Sam for an honest reaction as she asked the next question. ‘What do you think of my dabbling? Am I wrong to want to practise what I can read clear on the page?’

He thought for a moment. ‘I do not think I approve. There are many things I have seen in the service of medicine that I would not wish upon you. But I also know how difficult it is to dissuade you when you take an idea into your head. You have your own mind, Evie. No amount of disapproval on my part is likely to change it.’ But the fact of the matter did not seem to frustrate or anger him. He was looking at her with the calm acceptance that she had hoped to see.

‘Do you think I might make a decent physician?’

‘The colleges will not train you, of course,’ he said. ‘But if they would, you are quick witted enough. You say you know the contents of my bag?’

She nodded. ‘Of course.’ She held up a tool. ‘Forceps, to deliver babies. They are unnecessary, you know. The majority of births can be sorted out in other ways, if one is patient and has small hands.’

His eyes widened. ‘You speak from experience?’

‘Do you not remember our old country home? Thorne Hall is quite remote. The nearest doctor is miles away and we have learned to manage without a physician. I have grown to be quite a capable midwife, Dr Hastings.’

‘And you limit yourself to that?’ She had feared censure from him. But the question was asked with good-natured resignation, as though he already knew the answer.

‘Perhaps I am more deeply involved in care than some people would wish,’ she admitted. ‘And perhaps I go more frequently to sick beds and birthing rooms than propriety requires. It is not as if I take money for the things I do.’

‘Well, then …’ he said, with an ironic smile. ‘As long as you are no threat to my business.’

‘No threat at all. And I suspect you have little practice with childbirth, if you have been on a ship full of men.’ She set the forceps aside. ‘Especially if you rely on these things. There is a place for them, of course. But most times I can do without them.’

He bowed his head to hide his smile. ‘Then I yield to your superior experience in that part of the field. What else do you think to teach me?’

She pointed to the drill. ‘This is for the trepanning of the skull. And here are the implements that scrape away the scalp and lift the bones from the wound.’ She picked it up and gave the handle a turn. The thought of saving a person by drilling holes into their head was really quite amazing. ‘Did you ever have to do such a thing?’

He laughed again. ‘You have not changed at all, Evie. Your curiosity is as gruesome as ever. Yes, I have used it. Once successfully. Once not.’ As though he wished to change the subject he advanced to the chest and pulled out an ebony tube. ‘But I am sure you will not recognise this.’

She turned it over in her hands, looking for some clue to indicate its purpose. ‘I have no idea.’

‘That is not surprising. I suspect I have one of the few in England. I got it off a French surgeon on a prize ship we took. It takes the place of the percussion hammer, when sounding the lungs and listening to the heart.’

‘How wondrous. You must show me.’ She leaned forwards on her knees and held it out to him.

Something about this alarmed him. He stared at it for a moment and then at her. Then he took a breath, swallowed and placed one end against the bare skin above her bodice, then gingerly put his ear to the other. He moved the tube to several locations on her chest, requested that she breathe deeply each time and, with a scholarly nod, pronounced her sound. He withdrew with obvious relief.

So the nearness of her frightened him, did it? He had put on his best professional demeanour before attempting to examine her. But she had been well schooled in breaking down a man’s objections. Those lessons would do for a drawing room, but with Sam she could be more direct. She smiled, sweetly. ‘Now I must do you.’ She took the tube away from him without waiting for permission. Then she undid several of the buttons on his waistcoat and spread the opening of his shirt hiding under the cravat.

‘Evelyn!’ He tried to back away from her and bumped into the headboard of the bed behind him.

She laughed. ‘Oh, Sam. Do not be such a girl.’ And then she leaned forwards to listen.

The sounds were strange and hollow, compared to simply putting one’s head to the chest of the patient, but the clarity was uncanny. As she listened, she heard the slight hitch in respiration, as though he could not manage to breathe normally. His heartbeat, compared to what she considered normal, was hard and rapid. For a moment, it worried her. Perhaps he was ill. Had his absence concealed some physical problem?

Or the rapid beat might be the sign she had hoped for. She put her hand on the bare skin of his chest to steady the tube and felt his breathing stop all together, even though his heart was racing.

It was her. He might pretend otherwise, but to have her near affected him in ways he could not control.

To test the theory, she moved her hand again and felt his heart jump. Then she looked up at him with a long slow smile.

He looked back with an expression she might have described as shattered.

‘Why, Dr Hastings …’ she removed the tube, but left her hand flat against the warm bare skin of his chest ‘… you are most excitable today.’

‘Evie.’ It was the warning tone of someone afraid of getting caught in an indiscretion.

She ignored it. ‘Samuel?’ She scratched her nails lightly against the skin of his chest, amazed at her own boldness, and waited for his reserve to crack.

Instead, he gripped her hand and removed it from his person, arranging his clothes to hide the place she had touched. ‘Do not behave nonsensically. If someone were to discover you touching a man that way, it would do no good to claim it began as an interest in medicine. You would be quite ruined.’

‘I am not touching any man,’ she explained patiently, kneeling at his feet. ‘It is just you.’

‘Just me.’ He let out a resigned sigh. ‘You must remember we are grown now, Evelyn. The games that might have seemed quite natural twenty years ago are no longer proper.’

‘Are there other games that might be more appropriate?’ It was a daring question and she wondered how he might answer it.

‘No.’ He wet his lips and swallowed, as though it was an effort to talk to her.

‘Just what is it that makes you so afraid of me, Sam?’

‘Afraid?’ He was parroting back her words, stalling for time, but it was clear from his expression that she had been right. He was terrified.

She leaned closer and put her hands on his knees, to look up into his face. If it was rejection he feared, he would not receive it. ‘Have I changed so much, Sam? Because I never used to frighten you. You even kissed me once,’ she reminded him.

‘Did I?’ He looked away from her, at the sea chest on the floor. ‘I hardly remember it.’

‘I remember it all too well. It was a week before you went away. We were in the garden. It was a morning, in summer. We were playing at games. I hid. When you caught me, you held me by the waist. Your eyes went very serious for a moment, then you pulled me close and kissed me on the mouth.’

‘Ah, yes.’ If possible he looked even more uncomfortable.

‘And shortly after that, you left me to go to school.’

‘It was but a bit of foolishness on my part. We were both very young, were we not?’

‘I was fifteen,’ she reminded him. ‘Some girls are already married by then.’

‘And now you are twenty-one. And likely to make a much better marriage than you might have, had you rushed into it at such a young age.’ He said it as though he was trying to convince himself.

‘I might be married to a physician now, had he asked me.’

‘Evie.’ Was that all he could manage to say to her? This time her name sounded just as sad, but full of longing as well.

‘Since you will not speak plainly, I must,’ she said, ‘so that you cannot pretend to misunderstand me. If you offer, I will accept. If you wish it, I will go with you to Gretna tonight.’

‘St Aldric …’ he said, almost choking on the name.

‘Is nothing to me,’ she said, laying a hand against his cheek. ‘Not compared to you.’

Finally his strength failed. He laid his own hand over hers, pressing her palm to his mouth. His lips were hot against her skin. Even hotter as they met hers when he released her hand and pulled her forwards to take her lips.

And if she had thought this kiss would be like the one that they had already shared, she was proved wrong. He opened her mouth with a steady pressure and his tongue touched hers, advancing and retreating. At first it was a gentle tide, but it grew to a storm and she gave herself to it, trembling. She clung to his body and he held her there, between his legs so that she could feel his manhood growing against her belly. The thought of it pressing into her made her moan into his mouth.

He was aroused. She had but to give in to him and soon he would be beyond control. There would be no hesitation on her part. When the moment came, she would succumb. Once they had lain together, he would never leave her again.

She pressed his hand against her breast, urging him to stroke it through her gown. At the merest touch, he grew harder. He raised his other hand, kneading both, as if to prove that every inch of her body belonged to him. His kisses took on a desperate quality, as though he was trying to reach into her soul with each thrust of his tongue so that he might claim that as well.

She had imagined giving herself in passive submission, but suddenly she needed more than that. She wanted his hands on her bare skin and his body filling the wet empty place between her legs. As she knelt before him, he trapped her body between his thighs. So she ran her hands over them, back and forth, each time growing closer to their apex.

Her palms itched to caress him. It would not take much more than a touch, she was sure, and he would be irrevocably hers. Her fingertips grazed him, once, twice, three times through the cloth, and then they settled on the buttons of his breeches.

He pushed her away suddenly, scrambling back on the bed as though he could not put enough distance between them. His expression was wild, eyes fixed and staring, lips drawn back, as his head shook once in an emphatic ‘no’. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It was as gesture of revulsion.

He pointed towards the door.

‘I don’t understand,’ she whispered. She was near tears again. She swallowed hard to stop them. Crying was the lowest type of female trick. She would not give in to it with Sam, no matter how much she hurt. ‘If you love me …’

‘It is not love,’ he said with finality, cold and professional again. ‘I doubt I am even capable of the feeling. But if you value me, as you say you do, get up off your knees and get out of this room.’

‘Leave you?’ Now that she had finally found him, he wanted her to go?

‘Marry St Aldric. Be safe and happy. But for God’s sake, woman, go away and leave me in peace.’ He stood and grabbed her again, but it was not for another kiss. Instead, he hauled her up off the floor and spun her away from him. Then he opened the door and pushed her through it and out in the hall.

The oak panel slammed behind her, cutting off her words of apology.

You must understand, my boy, it is quite impossible …

Sam looked wildly around the room, searching for the bottle that he had already packed. Rum. Stinging, harsh and nothing like her kiss. He pulled the cork and took a mouthful, swished it and spit it into the basin, expelling the memory of her taste.

Nothing he had seen in his studies at land or at sea could explain the feelings coursing through him now. He understood the pumping of the blood, the mechanical and chemical processes and increases in humour that led to arousal and release.

But none of it explained the demon that possessed him, the maggot in his brain that made him want the one woman he could not have.

It is my fault really. I should not have raised you together, as I did. At the very least, I should have made clear the relationship between you, to prevent this misunderstanding …

Lord Thorne’s words were as fresh in his mind now as they had been on the day he had heard them. And they offered no more comfort now than they had then.

Your birth was the mistake of a youthful man. My wife was understanding, of course. She agreed that we should take you in. A natural son might ease her loneliness. We had no child of our own. And when, finally, we were blessed, she did not survive long enough to know our Evelyn.

Why could they not have left him where he was? If duty needed to be done, it could have been done at a distance, with a series of discreet and anonymous payments to guardians and schools.

And then he might never have met Evelyn Thorne. A life with no Evie in it was his greatest desire, and his worst nightmare, hopelessly mixed.

I could have acknowledged you. Perhaps I should have …

Before puberty, perhaps. Sam laughed bitterly at the thought, and took another swig of the rum to wash the bitterness away. If he had understood what Evie was to him, then he would never have fallen in love with her.

And as he had done so many nights before, he went to the desk and took up his beads and a Bible so worn from use that it fell open automatically to Leviticus.

The nakedness of thy sister, the daughter of thy father, or the daughter of thy mother, whether born at home, or born abroad even their nakedness thou shalt not uncover.

He prayed, as he always did, for strength and for forgiveness.