The Duke Buys a Bride

  Mackenzie chuckled. “Employee. Right.”

  Ignoring that gibe, Marcus exited the room and proceeded down the hall, determined to claim his place in that bedchamber and oversee Alyse’s care, making certain everything was done for her. Everything within his power.

  He’d taken responsibility for her the moment he opened his mouth in that village square. He wouldn’t shirk his duty now. They’d come this far together. She fell ill on his watch. He felt to blame.

  He saw a flash of those shoddy shoes. The pale face. The feverish skin and glazed eyes. He should have done better for her.

  He’d do better in the future.

  Chapter 17

  The dove had never fallen ill before.

  She always told herself the bars of her cage kept sickness out. She told herself this because she needed to believe there was something good about being in a cage. She’d been wrong.

  Searing pain lanced her skull as she first opened her eyes. Immediately she closed them again and took several shallow breaths. After a moment she tried again, opening her eyes to a shadowy room and, thankfully, less pain.

  Without moving her head, she swung her gaze left and right. A big room. No. This wasn’t a room. It was a chamber. A chamber fit for a king. Not for the likes of Alyse Bell.

  She swallowed and cringed at the dryness of her mouth. She must have made a sound because suddenly someone was there.

  “Here.” A hand slipped under her neck, lifting her. A cup pressed to her mouth and water met her lips. She gasped and then drank, greedily, sloppily. Water dribbled down her chin. “Whoa. Easy there.”

  “Oh,” she murmured, feeling a little embarrassed.

  Her gaze followed up the arm to the person being so very kind to her . . . so very—

  “Mr. Weatherton?” she managed to get out. She didn’t know who she expected it to be, but she didn’t expect him. Not that she had been traveling in the company of anyone else, but he was her employer. He shouldn’t be caring for her as though she were a child.

  His lips twitched. “I think we are beyond surnames now, don’t you, Alyse?”

  She swallowed and this time it didn’t hurt quite so much. “That wouldn’t be appropriate. We should cling to some manner of propriety.”

  “We’ve been traveling together. Alone together. I think we’ve left appropriate far behind.” His smile slipped and his eyes took on a somber gleam. “I was worried about you.”

  Her chest tightened at the look in his eyes . . . at his words. She did another quick glance around. He seemed sincere and she didn’t know what to do with that. She didn’t know what to do with his sincerity or her reaction to it. Pleasure suffused her. Contentment to know he had been worried. He cared that much.

  Clearing her dry throat, she asked, “Where are we? This chamber is . . . impressive.”

  He seemed to search her face before arriving at words. “People I know live here.”

  People he knew? Well that sounded mysteriously vague. “Well, that’s good to know. At least we’ve not made ourselves comfortable in a stranger’s home.”

  He didn’t even crack a smile at her joke. “How are you feeling?” His gaze crawled over her face as though he would find evidence of her health status in the lines of her features.

  “My head aches a bit. And I’m thirsty.” She paused, assessing herself. Arriving at a new conclusion, she added, “Hungry. I’m hungry, too.”

  “I’ll ring for some broth.”

  Broth. “Hm. Sounds . . . appetizing.”

  He hopped from the chair beside the bed, behaving as anxiously as a child released to play. “Just start with that and then we will see.”

  Her gaze followed him as he made his way across the room and pulled a bell. In a blink, he was back. He reclaimed his seat and picked up her hand and chafed it between his. And that was strange. And confusing.

  She told herself the action wasn’t affection-based. He was trying to warm her hands. That was all. There was nothing intimate about it. Her heart shouldn’t beat a little faster at the act.

  She sat up a little higher in the bed. “How long have I . . . how long was I sick?” She brushed back a lock of hair and then winced at how grimy the strands felt between her fingers. She must look a mess. Not that she was ever any great beauty, but she had a feeling this was a personal low even for her.

  “We arrived here three days ago.”

  Three days! She shook her head in wonder. Three days in this bed. She didn’t just look a mess. She probably looked frightening. She wouldn’t even consider how she must smell.

  “Three days? I never get sick. For years it has been me taking care of everyone in the Beard household.” She was the strong one. The one everyone could rely upon. “I thought I was immune.” She choked out a laugh. “First time I manage to leave Collie-Ben and I fall sick. You must think me terribly weak.”

  He shook his head, his expression somber. “No. I should have taken better care of you.”

  “No,” she was quick to say, bristling. She didn’t want to think she required anyone to take care of her. She wanted to think she was stronger than that. Even broken in this bed, she wanted to believe she was dependent on no one. She didn’t want to be a constant duty for him.

  “Alyse,” he said her name quietly. “Everyone needs help now and then. There is nothing wrong that.”

  Could he read her thoughts? A lump formed in her throat that she fought to swallow down. “You’ve done a great deal for me. I have been nothing but a burden on you.” She looked him over, taking in his handsome face and the shadowy growth of his beard coming in. It appeared he had neglected to shave again.

  “Do I look burdened?”

  She choked out a laugh. “Actually, yes. You look tired and haggard.” He simply held her gaze, his thumb stroking a small circle on the back of her hand.

  A knock sounded at the door and a servant poked her head in.

  “A tray please,” Weatherton instructed. “She is awake.”

  With a quick glance to Alyse, the girl nodded and ducked back outside of the room.

  But they weren’t alone for much longer. Apparently that bell had roused more than a servant to the room. The door burst open and a woman strolled into the room in an elegant gown of blue. In fact, all of her was elegant. Her wheat-colored hair was swept up into an elegant chignon. The smooth skin of her face creased in a delighted smile. “It’s true then! Our patient is awake. How wonderful.”

  He rose and offered her his chair beside the bed. “Our Marcus here was quite beside himself over you,” she said with a clucking tongue.

  “Was he?” Alyse looked over at him curiously. His smile from earlier was gone. In fact, he stood rather stiffly beside the chair.

  “Indeed. He could scarcely be lured from your side. We gave him the room adjoining yours. Not that he ever made much use of it.”

  Alyse glanced toward the door on the opposite side of the room. That was his room? But he had not been using it. He’d been here. Presumably in this chair beside the bed—next to her—for the past three days. For her.

  “Oh!” the woman exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air with a puff of breath. “How remiss of me. I have not even introduced myself to you. Let’s not stand on formalities. My name is Poppy. I am married to Marcus’s brother, Struan.” She leaned forward to squeeze Alyse’s shoulder.

  “Brother?” Had he mentioned a brother? There had only been talk of his sisters and stepmother. Why had he not mentioned this Struan? For some reason, she felt unaccountably stung. They’d shared things. Talked of family. How was it he didn’t mention he had a brother who lived in Scotland?

  He didn’t remark on any of this. He simply stood, an uncomfortable air surrounding him as he shifted on his feet.

  She stared up at him, marveling at Poppy’s words. As confounding as it was to believe, he really had been worried for her.

  She was simply his housekeeper. He had made that abundantly clear. Surely he had not forgotten that f
act? Why would he have been so worried?

  “I’m sure you would like to get cleaned up.” Poppy stood and moved toward the bell. “I’ll ring you a bath.”

  “Thank you.”

  Her gaze moved to Marcus as he inched away from the bed.

  “I’ll leave you then.” He turned his back on them rather hastily. Almost as though he couldn’t wait to depart the room. Strange considering all she had been told about his level of concern. Now he looked like he couldn’t get away fast enough.

  He passed through the adjoining door and shut it behind him. She stared at the wood paneling for a moment as though it would open again and he would emerge.

  “He was very frightened for you.”

  She looked at Poppy again. The young woman wore a soft knowing smile on her lips. “Sometimes men don’t know what it is they feel when they’re feeling it because they’ve never felt it before.”

  Alyse rubbed her forehead with the base of her palm. It was aching again. Perhaps even more than when she first woke.

  “Confusing, I know,” Poppy added, her smile deepening.

  Alyse shook her head. “I beg your pardon?” She was not even certain what the woman was talking about.

  Poppy blinked and leaned down to gently squeeze her hand. “I’m talking about how confusing love is, of course.”

  Alyse just stared at her for a long moment and then she did the unexpected. Unexpected even for her. She laughed. Even though it made her head throb, she laughed heartily. She couldn’t help herself. “Love? Oh, no no no no no. We are not in love. Most assuredly not.”

  Poppy nodded with annoying conviction. “That is what everybody thinks, m’dear. It’s even what I thought with my Struan. Love? Absolutely not. It had to smack me in the face several times before I accepted it.” She laughed lightly. “I was so blind . . . so foolish.”

  “Isn’t that what Mr. Thackeray says? That ‘love makes fools of us all, big and little’?”

  Poppy’s eyes shone in approval. “My, you are a bright well-read girl.”

  “My father was an admirer of his works,” Alyse replied self-consciously.

  Poppy continued nodding with apparent approval. “No wonder Marcus is taken with you. You have a fine mind . . . to say nothing of your pretty face.”

  Heat bloomed in her face. “He is my employer. Nothing more.” She would be a fool to expect anything else. Anything more.

  Poppy’s smile turned knowing. “Very well. If you say so. But I shan’t be surprised when I hear differently later on.”

  Alyse nodded, her fingers curling tightly around the bed linens, drawing them up almost to her neck.

  Poppy’s words were a dangerous sort. They were the kind of words that fed hope to one’s heart and filled one’s head with useless dreams.

  She already had dreams.

  She didn’t need any new ones, especially far-fetched ones of this variety.

  Gentlemen did not fall in love with girls they bought on an auction block. Not in any fairy tale she ever read.

  As promised, a bath was delivered to her chamber. She felt like a new person afterward. Clean and less achy; her head less throbbing. She ate dinner alone at a small table before the fire, a maid standing close in case she had need of her. She wore naught but a silken dressing robe with fine ermine trim, her hair plaited in a neat coil about her head.

  She tried to pretend the situation wasn’t awkward. Any time she glanced at the maid, her gaze was fixed somewhere on the wall above Alyse’s head. Apparently she was trained in stoicism.

  Alyse tried not to think about how that girl was likely more cultured and sophisticated than she could ever hope to be and a reversal of their roles would probably make much more sense.

  She dipped her spoon into the bowl and lifted the soup to her lips. It was rather tasty, heartier than the thin broth delivered to her when she first woke. It warmed her from the inside and she greedily ate it to the last drop.

  Despite having slept for three days, she went to bed again and slept another twelve hours—a deep, dreamless slumber. When the morning dawned, she woke up refreshed and ready to face the world again. Only she couldn’t.

  A maid stood sentry at the door, stopping her from leaving her room.

  “I feel fine,” Alyse protested.

  “I’m sorry, miss. The gent said ye must—”

  “Who?” she demanded, determined to know who was controlling her actions.

  The maid swung her wide eyes to the adjoining room.

  She followed her stare to the adjoining chamber. “Him?” Marcus?

  He said she couldn’t leave her chamber? She squared her shoulders. “Very well. I will address it with him.” And then she would leave this room. She hadn’t stepped from it in four days. It was starting to feel too much like a prison for her taste. Even if she had been unconscious most of the time, she felt a little itchy. Trapped.

  Turning away, she strode across the room and knocked briskly on the adjoining room door. No answer. She attempted several times over the next hour, all to no avail. She considered storming past her guard, but it was hardly dignified. She was a guest in this home. She didn’t want to tussle with one of their servants. Certainly Marcus would stop by to see her. If he had stuck to her side for three days, then she couldn’t imagine he wouldn’t want to check in on her.

  Except he did not visit her. Not all day. Servants popped in and out. Her meals were brought to her.

  Desperate, she decided to risk appearing undignified. She attempted to emerge from her chamber, but a new maid stopped her—a much taller and broader maid than before. The very formidable female ushered her back inside with a stern look.

  Alone in her room again, she glared at the adjoining door. Perhaps he was in there and ignoring her.

  She crept across the room and pressed her ear to his door. She listened for several minutes. Nothing. Even after everything he had done for her, never leaving her side as Poppy claimed, she began to wonder if he had gone. If he left her here? Perhaps he had decided she was more trouble than she was worth, after all.

  She supposed being abandoned here was better than being left stranded in the countryside. Or up on an auction block before a jeering crowd. Perhaps Poppy would give her a position as a maid. Of course in that event she would have to move into the servants’ quarters. She glanced around the well-appointed bedchamber. Understandably, she would not be treated to such luxury as this.

  The lady of the house visited her in the afternoon, thankfully breaking up the monotony of her day. She even brought an assortment of books for her to read. When Alyse explained to Poppy that she was more than ready to be up and about, Poppy replied, “You feel strong enough then? I will put the matter to Marcus.”

  Well, that answered her question. He was still here. He had not left her. He was simply avoiding her. That stung more than it should have. She bit back the impulse to demand why he was in charge of her. He was her employer. Technically he was in charge, and she might look like an ungrateful shrew for objecting. He’d brought her here—an action that likely saved her life. If he wanted her to recuperate in an unhurried fashion, who was she to object?

  She availed herself of the books Poppy brought her. It helped pass the time until dinner. Dinner was a lonely affair yet again. The food was delicious, of course, but she ate alone at the small table before the crackling fire, a maid nearby staring at a fixed spot on the wall as before.

  After dinner, she took another fragrant bath.

  This life was not hers. It was beyond extravagant, but she could not resist reveling in it. She did not know when she would ever receive such pampering again. She was determined to enjoy it and not feel guilty about it.

  Curled up in a great oversized armchair, she brushed her hair out before the fire and sighed in contentment. As the mass dried, she read again from a book Poppy had been kind enough to bring her from the library. She tucked her feet under her and snuggled deeper into the fine lawn of her nightgown. A tartan was draped
over her lap. The only thing missing to make it truly idyllic was a dog. A furry little mongrel to nestle in her lap or at her slippered feet.

  Perhaps as the housekeeper at Kilmarkie House she could have a pet of her own and then take it with her when she left. It would be a lovely companion in whatever humble dwelling she occupied. A constant in her life.

  The hour was late. She should go to bed, especially if they were leaving on the morrow. She would need her rest. And yet she could not drag herself away. The chair, the fire, the lovely nightgown that smelled freshly laundered . . . it was all so nice. So cozy and indulgent.

  She turned a page and then paused, lifting her head. She thought she heard a sound. Turning, she fixed her stare on the adjoining door. It remained closed, but she watched it as though it might open or perform some miraculous feat. Moments ticked by and nothing happened. She sighed and turned her attention to the book in her lap.

  A muffled cry passed through the door. There was no mistaking it. It sounded as though someone was in trouble. Or hurt. Whatever the case she needed to help whoever was on the other side of that door. The door to the room that belonged to her Not Husband.

  Setting the book down, she rose to her feet. She had to do something. She had to check on him. It was the least she could do. He would do the same for her. She rubbed her palms at her sides.

  Taking a breath, she knocked lightly. Nothing. No response. She knocked a little bit harder, stinging her knuckles a bit. This time, almost as though in response, she heard it again. Him. Marcus. Was that his muffled voice? Was he bidding her enter?

  Closing her hand around the latch, she pushed the door open and stepped inside the dark room.

  Chapter 18

  The dove pecked at the twine holding her cage door closed, ready to fly.

  She was growing impatient and tired of watching the wolf prowling on the other side.

  Marcus lurched upright in bed, his chest heaving, sheets pooled around his waist. Something clattered to the floor beside the bed.

  “What the . . .” He sat up, peering into the gloom, trying to place his location.