Feeling her legs weaken and her knees tremble, she grasped the bowl more firmly and sank to the carpeted floor. In acute misery, she tried to think of other things as spasm after spasm shook her.
The click of the door-latch penetrated her blanket about her senses. Trencher, no doubt, with her washing water. Lenore remained silent on the floor. She had no secrets from Trencher.
His hand on the door knob, Jason surveyed his wife’s room. He had knocked gently but had heard no response. Puzzled, his glance swept the rumpled bed, the drawn curtains. Perhaps she was in the small chamber beyond? Frowning, he took a step into the room and closed the door behind him.
Turning, his vision adjusting to the dimmer light, he looked across to the door that led into Lenore’s bathing chamber. And saw her bare feet and the hem of her nightgown on the floor beyond the bed.
“Lenore!”
His exclamation shook Lenore firmly into reality. She lifted her head, barely able to believe her senses. But the heavy footsteps approaching the bed did not belong to Trencher.
“Go away!” The effort to imbue her words with a reasonable amount of purpose brought on another bout of retching.
Jason reached her, his expression grim. “I’m here and I’m staying.” Appalled to see her so pale and weak, he sank on to the floor beside her, drawing the long strands of her hair back from her face, letting her slump against him as the paroxysm passed.
Lenore longed to argue but his presence was more comforting than she would have believed possible. His warmth struck through her thin gown, easing her tensed muscles. His hands about her shoulders imparted a strength of which she was sorely in need.
For the next few minutes, Jason said nothing, concentrating on supporting his wife, his hands moving gently, soothingly, over her shoulders and back.
Then the door opened and Trencher came hurrying in. Seeing him, she came to an abrupt halt, only just managing not to slosh the water in the ewer she carried on to the floor.
One look at her face was enough to tell Jason that his wife’s maid was well aware of his ignorance of Lenore’s indisposition. His eyes narrowed.
Recovering, Trencher came hurrying forward to place the ewer on the washstand. “Oh, Your Grace! Here, I’ll take care of her.”
“No. You can get her a glass of water and a damp towel. I’ll take care of her.”
Even through the dimness shrouding her senses, Lenore heard the determination that rang in his tongue. Despite her present circumstances, despite everything, she felt a ripple of pure happiness that he should be so adamant in his desire to help her, in claiming his right to do so. He was only being kind but she was in dire need of his kindness.
When Trencher returned with the glass and towel, Jason coaxed Lenore to drink, then, ignoring her weak protests, gently washed her face, cradling her in his arms. Handing the towel to the hovering maid, Jason raised a brow at his wife. “Better?”
Suddenly shy, Lenore nodded. Jason’s arms slipped from her as he stood. Before she could even sit up, he bent and lifted her into his arms. Lenore clutched at his lapel, her eyes meeting Trencher’s awed gaze.
Jason strode around the bed and deposited his wife on her pillows. Anticipating Trencher, he transfixed her with a steely glance and fluffed Lenore’s pillows himself, before settling her back on them and tucking the eiderdown about her.
Seeing the maid gather the towel and basin and head for the door, Jason said, his tone coldly commanding, “Your mistress will ring when she has need of you.”
Eyes wide, Trencher bobbed a curtsy and withdrew, pulling the door shut behind her.
Making a mental note to have a word—several words, in fact—with his wife’s maid, and his valet, on the subject of leaving him in ignorance of such vital matters as his wife’s health, Jason turned his attention to Lenore. Smoothly taking her hand in his, he sat on the edge of the bed.
From beneath her lashes Lenore looked up at him, not at all certain of what would come next. Yet the unconscious movement of his thumb over her knuckles erased any trepidation.
His expression non-committal, Jason looked down at her. “How long has this been going on, Lenore?”
The concern in his voice tied Lenore’s tongue. She looked down, picking at the lace edge of the eiderdown with her free hand while considering how much it would be wise to admit. She wished with all her heart to confess all and return to the Abbey, but the Season was not yet ended.
When she did not immediately reply, Jason’s brows rose. “Since you arrived in town?”
Looking up, Lenore jettisoned all thoughts of prevarication. “Virtually,” she admitted, her voice low.
Jason sighed and looked down, his fingers interlacing with hers. “My dear, I wish—very much—that you had told me. I’m not a monster.” His fist closed about her hand, then relaxed slightly. Mindful of Agatha’s words that Lenore had only followed her odd course to achieve what she believed he desired of her, he added, “There’s nothing I can do to relieve you of your present susceptibility but I would not wish you to tire yourself further on my account.”
“Oh, but I’m perfectly…At least, later…” Eyes wide, Lenore leapt in to avert any decree. But when her eyes met his, and she saw the comprehension and perception therein, she faltered to a stop.
One of her husband’s brows had risen sceptically.
“Perfectly all right later in the day? Well, even? Perhaps I should warn you, my dear, that I do not take kindly to having the wool pulled over my eyes.”
Under his stern grey gaze, Lenore shifted uneasily but the affection in his tone, in his expression, gave her the strength to reply, “But truly, Jason, I can manage. I would not wish the ton to think your wife was incapable of carrying her position with credit.”
“The ton may think what they please. However, in this instance, I think you’re making too much of their inconstancy and too little of their sense. You’ve succeeded as my duchess far better than I’d hoped, Lenore. None of those who matter will hold your desertion of their balls against you, certainly not when they learn the cause.” Entirely unconsciously, Jason’s gaze skimmed possessively over his wife’s body. When his eyes returned to her face, he saw she was blushing delicately. He smiled, squeezing her hand gently before raising it to his lips. “Who knows?” he murmured, his eyes quizzing her. “They might even be jealous.”
Lenore blushed even more. Wishing she possessed the will to retrieve her fingers, for it was exceedingly hard to think with his lips on her skin, she felt obliged to argue for the conservative course, the course she did not wish to follow in the least. “The season will be over in a few weeks, my lord. It will be time enough to return to the Abbey then.”
Jason shook his head. “We’re leaving for the Abbey tomorrow morning, Lenore. At least—” He broke off, regarding her ruefully. “As early as you can manage it.”
They were the words Lenore had both feared and longed to hear. Yet she could not let them pass without challenge. “But—”
“No buts.” Jason’s voice was firm. “You may tell me your engagements and I’ll have Compton cancel them.”
“But—”
“You’ll stay safely in bed until it’s time for luncheon. I’ll send someone up with a tray—better still, I’ll bring it myself.” Jason rose. “We can remain here all day, or, if you wish, I could take you for a stroll in the square. Tonight, I fear you’ll have to continue to bear with my unfashionable company, for I do not plan to go out. We’ll have dinner together and then you must rest.” At the end of this recitation, his gaze dropped to Lenore’s face. “Do you have any more buts, madam wife?”
Not sure whether she wished to glare or laugh, Lenore compromised. “I fear there’s an impediment to your plans you’ve overlooked, my lord.”
Abruptly eschewing his arrogant stance, Jason asked, “Don’t you wish to spend your day with your husband? Or is it that you do not wish, in your heart, to return home to the Abbey with me?”
Lenore’s heart tu
rned over. What her heart wished, she was convinced she could never have. But she was a little bemused by Jason in vulnerable vein and was at a loss to know how to word her reply.
Sensing her predicament, Jason smiled, raising the hand he still held to clasp it more securely between his. “Forgive my levity, my dear. What is it I’ve overlooked?”
A little relieved, but not entirely at ease for the soft light that glowed in his grey eyes made her heart stand still, Lenore ventured, “I’m not…entirely sanguine as to how I shall manage in a carriage all the way to the Abbey.”
“We’ll travel slowly. No need to rush. We’ll only go as far each day as you can manage.” Jason scanned Lenore’s face, noting the circles under her large eyes, the absence of her usual sparkling glance and the frown, born of strain, that haunted her pale green gaze. She had pushed herself hard to fulfil his wishes. “No more arguments, Lenore. I’m taking you back to the country tomorrow.” With a smile to soften the absolute nature of that decree, Jason laid her hand down on the quilt. “Rest now, my dear. I’ll wake you for lunch.”
Feeling as if, somewhat against her will, a considerable weight had been lifted from her shoulders, Lenore watched him leave. He had not said what had brought him to her room at such an hour but whatever it had been, the outcome had never been in doubt. She had known all along that Jason was not the sort of inconsiderate husband who would take no interest in his wife’s health, even had she not been carrying his child. Given that his concern was real, albeit the sort of emotion a gentleman felt for one in his care, his determination to take her back to the Abbey was not to be wondered at. What she was far less sure about was whether he planned to remain there with her. And whether he had asked, or was thinking of inviting, others to join them in Dorset.
With a deep sigh, Lenore closed her eyes, luxuriating in the knowledge that she did not have to get up, get dressed and attend some luncheon party, pandering to the constant demands of her position.
As sleep hovered near, ready to claim her, she realised she did not know which she feared more—if Jason stayed at the Abbey, alone, in her company, would she be able to maintain the inner mask she wore constantly, the one that hid her love from his sight? Yet, if he invited guests to join them and the ladies, as so many ladies did, made a play for him, would she be able to hide the jealousy that, to her surprise, had started eating at her soul?
Dismissing the answer as one of life’s imponderables, Lenore slipped wearily over the threshold of sleep, into that realm where dreams were the only reality.
THEY REACHED the Abbey on the morning of the third day. As she emerged from the carriage and felt the flags of the steps firm beneath her feet, Lenore sighed deeply, relief and appreciation clear in her eyes as they met her husband’s. She turned to greet Morgan, then sighting Mrs. Potts at the top of the steps, she waved before placing her hand on Jason’s sleeve.
“Dare I suspect you are pleased to be home, madam?”
At his soft drawl, Lenore cast him a teasing glance. “Indeed, my lord. I have not forgotten I have yet to get far in my cataloguing of your library.”
“Ah, yes.” Jason returned her smile, no longer perturbed by her abiding delight in musty tomes.
At the top of the steps, Mrs. Potts sank into a deep curtsy. “Delighted to welcome you home, Your Grace, ma’am.”
“I’m delighted to be back, Mrs. Potts.”
“I should mention, Mrs. Potts,” Jason cut in smoothly, “that Her Grace is in dire need of chicken broth. I believe that’s what my mother swore by during her confinements?”
Mrs. Potts’ face lit up. “Dear me, yes! Wonderful for picking a lady up when the babe gets you down. Now just you come along, my lady. We’ll get you to bed straight away and I’ll bring you a bowl. You must be quite worn down with all that gadding about in London.”
Swept up by the irresistible force of Mrs. Potts fired with a zeal to tend to the wellbeing of the next generation, Lenore was parted from her husband. When she managed to get a look at him, on her way up the stairs, Mrs. Potts directly behind her, she saw a smugly satisfied smile on his face. Lenore shot him a speaking glance, which dissolved against her will, into a misty and grateful smile, before surrendering to her fate.
Indeed, she had need to recoup. The journey had been painfully slow. Jason had ordered that the carriage, the most well-equipped money could buy, should be driven at a spanking pace. That way, he had explained, the springs and speed took the worst out of the bumps. Even so, they had not been able to cover more than twenty miles without halt. Sunk in the luxury of her tub, filled to the brim with blissfully warm, scented water, Lenore closed her eyes and recalled her husband’s unfailing support. He had grown adept at gauging how long she could last, and organising their stops so that she could wander on his arm through delightful little villages, or stroll on a green. Their night-time stops had been at the best inns where her comfort had been assured. Always the best parlour and the biggest bedroom. Her only complaint was that she had spent the nights alone in the big beds, but she had accepted that philosphically. She had his company and his affection—she had no right to expect more.
The day passed swiftly. After the promised chicken broth, Lenore dozed for a few hours. Refreshed, she dressed and descended to the parlour. After an hour reacquainting herself with her household, her husband found her. At his suggestion, they strolled on the sun-warmed terrace. It had been weeks since Lenore had been conscious of the sun on her face; it seemed appropriate that it should shine on her return to her home.
Later, she poured tea for them both. The time flew as they entertained each other with wickedly accurate reflections on the ton’s notables. Then it was time for dinner, taken as had been their habit earlier in the year, in the smaller dining salon.
When the covers were finally drawn, Lenore sighed, deeply content, very glad Jason had insisted on bringing her home. When he raised a brow at her, she said as much, adding, “I already feel very much better.”
As she realised her motive in stating that fact, Lenore blushed. Abruptly, she took another sip of wine, hoping the candlelight would hide her reaction. Yet was it wrong for a wife to invite her husband’s attentions. Right or wrong, acceptable or not, she just wished she had more of an idea of how to go about it.
Despite her hopes, the candlelight was in no way dim enough to hide her blush from Jason’s sight. Her words, and her reaction, sent his hopes soaring. But still he moved cautiously. “We’ll have to ensure we do nothing to overtire you.”
Her senses at full stretch, Lenore detected the subtle undertones in his deep voice. Hesitantly, she answered, “I don’t think anything I do here could overtire me.”
Ignoring the clamour of his desire, Jason smiled encouragingly, his eyes holding hers across the length of the table. “Perhaps you should retire early? There’s no reason to stay up. I expect I’ll come up soon myself.”
Finding her lips suddenly dry, Lenore had to pass the tip of her tongue over them before replying, her voice slightly husky, “Perhaps I should.”
A footman came to assist her to her feet. Jason stood, then, when she had gone, with one, last, lingering look, he subsided once more into his chair, waving aside the port, indicating instead the brandy decanter. Did she know what she did to him when she looked at him like that? What she would do to any man with the unspoken appeal in her large eyes? Suppressing a shudder of pure desire, Jason took a very large sip of his brandy.
Later, fortified by a large dose of the best brandy in his cellars, Jason eyed the plain panels of the door in front of him. Drawing a breath of purest satisfaction, he turned the handle and crossed the threshold.
From the depths of her feather mattress, Lenore heard him enter and could not quite believe it. Was she asleep already and dreaming? But no. The large male body, warm and hard, that slid into the bed beside her was no dream.
With a sound halfway between a cry and a sigh, Lenore turned to welcome him, only to find herself in his arms. They closed p
ossessively, passionately, about her.
Much later, his wife warm and fast asleep beside him, Jason heaved a contented sigh.
Agatha, bless her heart, had been right.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
IT WAS PAST NINE the next morning and Jason was deep in yesterday’s Gazette when the door to the breakfast parlour opened. Assuming it to be one of Morgan’s minions come to consult with the butler over some household matter, Jason did not look up. Not until Morgan’s voice floated over the top of the pages.
“Perhaps I should clear this all away, Your Grace, and fetch you a fresh pot of tea? And perhaps some toast?”
Jason emerged from behind his newspaper in time to see Lenore subside into the chair Morgan held, a grateful look on her face.
“Thank you, Morgan. Just one slice of toast, I think.”
Folding the paper and setting it aside, Jason waited until Morgan and the footman departed, burdened with the remnants of his substantial breakfast, before fixing his wife with a concerned frown. “Should you be up and about so early?”
Lenore smiled, albeit a trifle weakly. “I feel a great deal better this morning.” Belatedly realising how that might sound, she rushed on, “Mrs. Potts advised against languishing in bed unless I need to sleep.”
“Really?” One of Jason’s brows had risen. “I fear I must take exception to such strictures. There are other reasons for languishing in bed, which I hope to have you frequently consider.”
Blushing furiously, Lenore shot him a glance she hoped was sternly reproving. Luckily, Morgan appeared with her tea and toast and put an end to such risqué banter.
As she sipped the weak tea, Lenore tried to appear unconscious of the steady regard of her husband’s grey eyes. He seemed content to watch her, as if time was of no importance. In the end, she asked, “Do you have much business to attend to down here?”