SEATON HAD SPENT a miserable night trying to sleep in a ladder-back chair near the fire in the taproom. His discomfort at sitting upright was nothing compared to the misery he felt at the thought of being obliged to marry his best friend’s little sister. But he didn’t see any honorable way to avoid a leg-shackle, not once Blackthorne heard about the events of the past twenty-four hours.
The situation was made far worse by the fact that Lady Lark was exactly the sort of woman he found most attractive. She possessed physical beauty, of course, but she also happened to be charming and determined and smart enough to beguile him into the situation in which he found himself. He could easily fall in love with her.
He knew better. That way lay madness or, at the very least, the prospect of a great deal of pain. He would simply have to keep himself from loving her. That was all there was to it. Even if he was eventually forced into marriage with her, he would guard his heart with ax and sword and a very strong shield.
Early the next morning, Seaton rented a private parlor where he could change his clothes and shave, then waited for Lady Lark to appear downstairs until long past the time he thought she should have been up and dressed. “Spoiled brat,” he muttered. Several patrons had already come downstairs and were eating breakfast. The innkeeper offered him food and drink, but he waved him off. “I’m waiting for—” He caught himself in time and finished, “My wife.”
“Isn’t that always the way of it,” the man commiserated.
An hour later, Seaton’s mood had passed from annoyance to concern. He headed up the stairs and knocked on the door to the bridal suite. He kept the aggravation he felt out of his voice, thinking that, if she was playing games, he didn’t want her to know that she’d managed to win. “Lady Lark? Are you awake?”
His alarm increased when there was no answer. “Lark? Are you in there?”
He tried the door and discovered it was locked. He was tempted to break it open, but he wasn’t sure what sort of dishabille she might be in, and he wanted to be able to shut the door again, in case she wasn’t decently dressed. He took the stairs down two at a time and caught the innkeeper by the shoulder, as he was setting down a plate of kidneys and eggs.
“Is there a problem, milord?”
“Do you have an extra key to the bridal suite?”
The innkeeper chuckled. “Locked you out, did she? Can’t say it hasn’t happened before.” He left the taproom and located a key behind the front desk. As he handed it to Seaton he said softly, “Mayhap a mite more gentleness is called for.”
Seaton didn’t stop to defend himself, simply took the steps back up three at a time. He stopped for a moment to catch his breath, knocked one more time, and said, “Lark, I’m coming in. Cover yourself.”
Then he unlocked the door and stepped into the room. The curtains were being blown around by the cold wind coming in through the open window. He could see the outline of a figure snuggled under the covers. The chit was still sleeping! He closed the window and turned back to the bed. Lady Lark hadn’t moved. If it was Lark. He wasn’t quite sure.
Seaton crossed to the bed and carefully drew the covers back to reveal a head of black hair and the recognizable profile of Lady Lark Wharton. Her skin looked flushed and dewy, as though she were too warm. She tossed and moaned but didn’t open her eyes.
His concern mushroomed to something more akin to fear. He sat down beside her on the bed and lifted her up so his arm could circle her shoulders. He brushed a damp strand of hair from her cheek and realized her skin was fiery hot. “Lark?”
Her eyes fluttered open. “David?”
“How do you feel, little one?”
She pouted her lips and said in a throaty voice that sent shivers down his spine, “I’m not a child. I’m a woman.”
“A very young woman. Who seems to be ill. What’s wrong, my dear? Can you tell me?”
She brushed her nose with her hand, before her eyes slid closed again. “Don’t know. So hot. So thirsty.”
Seaton settled her head back on the pillow and headed for the ceramic pitcher in the corner. It was empty. He raced back down the stairs and back up again a few moments later with the pitcher full of water. He poured a cup for her and brought it to the bed, lifted her shoulders again, and held the cup so she could drink from it.
She gulped thirstily, grabbing the cup out of his hands. But she was too weak to hold it, and water spilled onto the sheet. To his surprise, as he rescued the cup from her, she grabbed the wet sheet and held it to her cheeks.
“So hot.”
It was clear that she was ill and needed a doctor, but Seaton didn’t want to leave her alone. He felt dreadful for thinking Lark had been acting like a spoiled child, sleeping in and making him wait on her, when she’d actually been indisposed.
He pulled the wet sheet off the bed, revealing a pair of trim calves and ankles peeking out from a modest nightgown, then quickly covered Lark with a dry blanket, which he tucked around her. “Rest,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
He ran pell-mell down the stairs for the second time and inquired of the innkeeper where he could find the closest doctor. He returned a half hour later with a quack who’d told him it was likely his wife would get over whatever it was, if she was simply allowed to rest. Seaton hadn’t been satisfied with that explanation. “She’s young and healthy. There’s no reason for her to have a fever unless she’s ill with some disease. I expect you to examine her and figure out what’s wrong. And fix it!”
Seaton hadn’t planned to stay in the room while the doctor examined Lark, except he didn’t quite trust the man. He barely stopped himself from pummeling the physician when he began unbuttoning the front of Lark’s nightgown. “What are you doing?”
“Examining the patient,” the doctor retorted.
“Is that necessary?” Seaton demanded.
“Ahh,” the man said as he spread the two sides of the nightgown to reveal Lark’s chest, so that her breasts were exposed almost to the nipple. “I should have guessed.”
Seaton took one look and turned his head away, but he was unable to keep his body from reacting to that brief glimpse of female flesh. Lark had been right. The doctor’s examination was leaving no doubt that she was a woman. Seaton kept his gaze averted as the doctor continued his examination. “You should have guessed what?” he asked the man through tight jaws.
“Measles.”
Seaton’s heart sank. It took him a moment, when he turned back around, to realize that the doctor had bared Lark’s entire chest, all the way to her belly. He felt ashamed, because he was looking at Lark’s person without her permission or awareness. But he was also choked with desire, despite the fact that she was covered with bright red spots. He croaked, “Measles?”
“I wanted to check her belly for the rash, and you can see for yourself, she’s got measles, sure enough. We’ve been having an outbreak here in the north.”
“But we’ve just come from London,” he protested. Although, when he considered the matter, he realized it was entirely likely that one of her friends, visiting London from the North, had given Lady Lark the measles. “Will she be all right?” Seaton asked, keeping his back turned, but peering over the doctor’s shoulder, as the man rebuttoned Lark’s nightgown.
“Should be. She’ll need rest and whatever liquids you can get down her throat.”
“How long till she’s well?” Seaton had visions of Blackthorne arriving in Berwick-upon-Tweed, when Lady Lark didn’t return home after the week she was supposed to have spent visiting with the Court family, and finding Seaton staying with her at the Black Swan as man and wife.
“Ten days ought to do it,” the doctor said.
“Ten days!”
“Could be longer,” the doctor said. “Depends on how strong your wife is and how bad a case of measles she’s caught.”
Seaton sank onto the end of the bed. “Good lord.”
“She’ll need someone to nurse her, to wash her body down with cold cloths to keep the fever at bay, and to make sure she takes nourishment,” the doctor said. “Have you had measles, milord?”
Seaton stared at the doctor in bewilderment. “What?”
“Complications of measles for a gentleman your age can be quite serious.”
“I had the measles when I was a boy,” Seaton said, still stunned at the turn of events.
“You can hire a nurse to care for your wife, if you don’t think you can manage it yourself,” the doctor assured him.
Seaton wasn’t sure he wanted anyone from Berwick-upon-Tweed taking care of Lady Lark, in case she revealed something in her fevered state that might compromise her further. “I’ll take care of my…wife.” It was getting easier to say the word. And more certain that Lark would become his wife, whether he liked the idea or not.
He supposed his visit to Tearlach Castle would have to wait. Blackthorne’s American waif had been a prisoner there for two years. She would just have to remain one a few days longer.