The Greatest of Sins Page 12

  ‘Yes, Michael?’ Evie responded with a sweetness that would have had a smart man diving under the table for protection.

  ‘Do you think it is proper to disagree with a gentleman who is our guest?’

  Evie blinked back at him, all innocence again. ‘Only on such subjects where I am sure he is wrong.’

  The bishop tossed his napkin aside and pushed away from the table. ‘You must excuse me, your Grace. But this is simply too much.’ He stood and stormed from the room.

  St Aldric’s ability to maintain decorum was dependent on a certain level of respect and the polite co-operation of all present. But Sam could have warned him that, with Evie involved, he would never see it again. Now the normally composed duke was trapped on the horns of a dilemma. Did he discipline his betrothed at the dinner table? Mollify his guests? Pronounce her opinions charming and pretend that nothing had happened?

  After a moment’s cogitation, he muttered, ‘Bloody hell’, and threw his napkin aside as well. Then he rose with a smile, added, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, if you will excuse me for a moment’, and disappeared after the clergyman.

  At his rising, the people around the table dutifully came to their feet and settled back into their chairs when it was clear that he would not stay long enough to notice.

  A nervous silence fell over the remaining guests, who began to eat quickly, as though hoping for an excuse to end the evening early. Sam savoured the remaining courses in his own good time. He could not remember a better meal.

  ‘Evelyn, may I speak to you in the library for a moment?’

  ‘Of course, Michael.’ The other guests had already departed and her father paused nervously in the doorway, his hat in his hand.

  The duke gave him a reassuring smile. ‘You needn’t wait, Lord Thorne. If you wish, you might return home and send the carriage back for Evelyn. She will be perfectly safe here for an hour or so.’

  Her father gave a relieved nod and abandoned her to her fate. Although Eve could not imagine that it was anything too grim. She watched Michael closely as he led her to the library and saw no reason to fear. He was clearly annoyed, but not so angry as to frown. A few kisses and a small amount of contrition on her part, and life would continue as normal.

  Or perhaps more than a few kisses. Now that they were engaged, there was no reason that she could not employ more drastic methods to distract him, should he prove difficult. They would be alone for at least an hour and some of that time might be spent in the first real intimacy she had shared with Michael.

  As he closed the door behind them, he looked at her in surprise. ‘You needn’t be afraid, Evelyn. I am not happy with what occurred at dinner, but I am not going to be such an ogre as to deserve the look you are giving me.’ He sat on the sofa by the fire and gestured to the cushion at his side.

  ‘What look?’ She glanced at herself in the mirror above the mantel. Oh, dear. It was one thing to appear penitent and quite another to look like Joan of Arc on the way to the stake. And she had not even been thinking about her behaviour. She had been thinking of being alone with Michael.

  She turned back to him, quickly composing her expression to something more pleasant, and took her seat. ‘I am sorry, Michael, for the Friday face and my behaviour earlier.’

  ‘I am pleased to hear you say so,’ he said. Perhaps that was all that was required of her.

  ‘Of course, the conversation at dinner could not be helped,’ she added, so that he might understand her better.

  ‘On the contrary,’ he said softly, ‘I think it can.’

  ‘I fail to see how,’ she replied. ‘It is not as if I can sit silent through the meal.’

  But judging by the look Michael was giving her, that was precisely what he expected her to do. ‘There will be situations in the future that require you to exercise restraint.’

  ‘Even when the opinions are as wrong-headed as some that were expressed this evening?’

  ‘Especially then,’ he said with a nod.

  ‘I fear that will be impossible,’ she said, again. ‘I have many strong opinions of my own.

  ‘But when we are married, I expect you to have fewer of them,’ he said. ‘And at dinner, it would be better to limit yourself to discussion of the food, or the weather, or perhaps fashion.’ He smiled as though the matter was now quite settled.

  And then he kissed her.

  The interlude that followed was frustrating. She did not particularly want to be kissed until the discussion between them had been settled in her favour. She understood full well what he was doing, since she had considered using just such a technique to win him over. Her mouth was occupied. Therefore she could not argue with him. It was manipulation, pure and simple.

  And it did not seem to be working. His lips were on her shoulder and his hands on her ribs. While she no longer felt like talking, she was far too clear headed for this to be going as he’d hoped. If it had been Sam, she would have been near to losing her senses by now.

  And she would have been kissing him back. The half-hearted attempt she was making to show affection to Michael would be attributed to innocence, for a while at least. But what happened if her uninterest continued to the wedding night and after?

  After a half an hour or so, Michael released her. It appeared that he was not bothered by her lack of enthusiasm. His breathing was fast, his skin flushed and his eyes more black than blue. ‘For the sake of your reputation, I must stop now,’ he said, brushing back a lock of her hair. ‘But I will see you again, tomorrow. Your father wishes me to stay to dinner. And after …’ He kissed her again, more ardently.

  Or so she suspected. It felt no different to her.

  Then he escorted her out into the hall and helped her with her wrap, seeing her safely to the waiting carriage.

  The door has scarcely shut before she realised that she was not alone. She peered into the darkness on the opposite bench. ‘Sam?’

  ‘So I am no longer Dr Hastings to you?’

  She had spoken out of habit, forgetting her plan of the previous evening. ‘Whatever I might call you, you owe me an explanation for this intrusion.’

  He eased himself into the light from the carriage lamp and shrugged. ‘I saw your carriage and asked Maddoc, the coachman, if he might drop me at the inn on your way home. There is nothing more than that.’

  ‘The carriage has gone and come once already tonight. Why did you not ride with my father?’

  He shrugged again. ‘I prefer to ride with you.’

  ‘And so you waited outside in the dark for the better part of an hour?’

  He leaned forwards, hands on knees to look at her, his apathy dissipating under her scepticism. ‘Very well, then. The truth. I wished to talk to you about the dinner.’

  ‘The duke has already lectured me,’ she said, ‘If that’s what you mean to do, you needn’t bother.’

  ‘He has kissed you as well,’ Sam said. ‘I suppose you do not wish me to do that, either.’

  ‘Certainly not,’ she said. ‘And what makes you think such horrid things about me?’

  ‘You find kissing him to be horrid?’ he said, cheered. ‘Then I shan’t fear a comparison between us.’

  ‘I do not,’ she said. The recent interlude had been more forgettable than horrid. ‘I mean, why must you assume that we kissed?’

  ‘Because he had you all to himself for some time. A little dining-room drama would not prevent him from seizing the moment.’ He smiled in a knowing way that made her body tingle. ‘And because I know what you look like when you have been kissed.’

  ‘Then you waylaid me to remind me of something I would prefer to forget.’ She thought for a minute. ‘And by that, I mean your kisses. Do not think to attempt it again, or I shall scream for the coachman.’

  ‘That is what Lady Evelyn would do,’ he said. ‘But the woman I love would be more likely to hit me than cry for help.’

  ‘Striking a gentleman is probably another thing that Michael would not approve of,’ she said.
‘If you are a gentleman, that is. Of late, you do not behave like one.’

  He ignored the insult. ‘So the Saint does not approve of you.’

  ‘He said no such thing,’ she replied. ‘He merely wishes that I be more circumspect,’ But that was not how it had seemed. Michael had tried to put a muzzle on her and then tried to kiss away the feelings of confinement.

  Sam noticed her silence. ‘For what it is worth, I saw nothing wrong with you speaking out. Your argument was well reasoned. The bishop’s was not.’ Then he turned serious. ‘You are an intelligent woman, Evie. You have strong feelings about many things. Never be afraid to give voice to them. Those of us who truly love you do not want that to change.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. That, at least, had not altered between them. He understood her, even if she did not understand her own feelings. But such understanding would be useless, if he withdrew from her life and let her husband take that place. It was as it should be. But that did not mean she could not grieve the loss.

  ‘I was wrong to tell you to marry him,’ Sam said, suddenly. ‘You two do not suit.’

  He was right, but she had known that when she’d made her promise to Michael. ‘You are saying this to trick me into your arms.’

  He shook his head. ‘I am saying it because it is true. You will not make each other happy.’

  ‘We will not make each other unhappy.’ Not intentionally, at least.

  ‘That is not enough,’ he said. ‘You deserve so much more.’

  ‘Than to marry a saint?’ she said.

  ‘You deserve your freedom. And you will be forced to give that up, if you marry St Aldric.’

  ‘You can’t know that.’ But, of course, he could. Wealth and power did not come without responsibilities. She had tricked herself into believing that St Aldric would be the one to shoulder those. But after tonight, it was clear that he meant her to carry her share.

  ‘If you were mine, you would have an equal say in our future.’ The idea was almost as seductive as his kisses.

  She must not listen to it. ‘You say that now. But you have changed your tune before.’

  ‘Not about my chosen profession,’ he said. ‘Believe what you like about my feelings for you. But when have you ever heard me lie about that? I am sorry to admit it, but I loved medicine long before I loved you. It is to me as St Aldric’s title is to him: an unchangeable part of myself. If you marry me, you will have my head as well as my heart. And I will teach you anything you ask.’

  And what would she use the knowledge for? At dinner, it had not just been St Aldric she’d upset. The people around her had been horrified. Her father had been ashamed. ‘After tonight, I think we have both seen where my curiosity has got me. I am already dancing at the edge of polite society. And now you are come with an offer to make me worse.’

  ‘I offer to let you be yourself,’ he said. ‘And that is something that St Aldric would never allow. When you are ready to admit the truth, Evie, come to me. I will be waiting.’

  The horses were slowing. Sam swung easily to his feet before they had stopped and was out the door with a thank you to the coachman, and not another word to her.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Doctor Hastings.’ Whoever it was did not think the incessant knocking on his door would be enough. A ray of light from the hall struck Sam, rousing him halfway from sleep, and the sound of his name did the rest. But he could not seem to bring himself to full wakefulness. For a moment, he was back aboard ship and it was the cabin boy come for him. Only an emergency brought a visit at this hour.

  ‘Ehh?’

  Not a cabin boy this time. Tom the footman, who looked just as uncomfortable about waking him as he had in delivering Evie’s letter, but this time he stood his ground without shifting and almost quivered with the need to act quickly.

  ‘Evelyn?’ Sam was fully awake now. A day had passed, and there had been no response to his offers in the carriage. But if she had decided to accept him, the hour did not matter.

  ‘No, sir. It is the duke. He wishes to see you immediately.’

  ‘Tell him to go to the devil.’ Perhaps St Aldric could not read the hands on the clock. But the last thing Sam needed, at this hour, was another strained conversation with his new brother. ‘Whatever it is, it can wait until morning.’

  ‘That would not be wise, Mr Hastings. Doctor Hastings,’ Tom corrected. ‘He said it was a professional matter and of some importance. He called me to his room, but would not allow me to enter. He said I must not wake any but you and that I must bring you immediately.’

  And much as he might wish to, there was no way to avoid the call, if it was truly a medical matter. He was bound by oath to go to the man. ‘If this is but a bit of sleeplessness caused by overindulgence, I shall not be happy about it.’ But what right did he have to take it out on this scared rabbit of a footman? Tom had even less choice than he when faced with such a summons.

  ‘He seemed most distressed,’ Tom said weakly. ‘Please, sir.’

  ‘Give me a moment, then, to gather my bag and pull on some clothes. And leave the candle.’

  ‘Yes, Doctor.’ The footman put his taper on the table and closed the door again.

  Sam put on breeches, dragged a coat over his nightshirt and pulled on some boots. If it truly was an emergency, he could not waste the time for more. Then he blew out the light and fumbled his way to the hall and the waiting servant.

  Tom led him down to the street and the Thorne carriage, helping him to a seat.

  ‘Is the duke visiting, then?’

  ‘Yes, sir. He came to dinner, but could not finish it. He did not feel well enough to return home. We put him in the blue room.’ Tom closed the door and hopped on the back as the driver set off at a smart pace for Evelyn’s home.

  When they arrived, Sam was taken to the back entrance and through the kitchen, so that his arrival would disturb as little of the household as possible. Once on the servants’ steps, he needed no guidance to find the guest suite. Things had not changed here since he was a boy.

  He rapped once, quietly, on the door of the duke’s room and waited, listening.

  ‘Enter,’ the voice that answered rasped, but whether it was from illness or an effort to keep quiet, Sam was not sure. He pushed through the unlocked door, holding his candle above his head to cast light on the patient.

  St Aldric was sitting on the edge of his bed, legs dangling and head hung, as though it was almost too great an effort to hold it on his shoulders. ‘I am sorry to wake you. But something is very wrong with me,’ he croaked.

  The symptoms developing were so obvious that Sam could guess the disease without stepping into the room. If the diagnosis he suspected was accurate, the situation was likely to get worse before it got better. ‘You were right to call me and not to alarm the house. May I have your permission to examine you, your Grace?’

  The duke gave a shallow laugh. ‘At your service, Doctor.’

  Sam lit the other candles in the room and stirred the fire, for the duke shivered, even though the room was warm. Then he set the candle he had brought in the holder on the bedside table and laid a hand across the duke’s forehead.

  Feverish. And how long had this been coming? He’d been in high colour almost two days ago, after the ball. Had his hand been warm that day, when it had touched him? Probably not, for Sam had noticed nothing at dinner the previous evening.

  He pulled the little tube from his bag and explained, ‘This is a recent invention. I will use it to listen to your heart and lungs.’

  ‘Dead handy thing,’ the duke said, showing a weak interest. ‘It is good to know that you are an innovator.’

  Sam pulled the duke’s nightshirt aside and listened. His heart seemed rather fast, though his lungs were not congested. The tempo was probably due to nerves. But the swellings at the jaw line were plainly beginning. The duke’s normally handsome face looked like a squirrel in fall with nut-packed cheeks. Sam ran a practised hand over the duke’s gla
nds and felt him flinch.

  ‘Tender?’ he asked. ‘From here, towards the ears?’

  ‘Yes.’ The response could not disguise the pain.

  ‘How about your belly?’ Sam gave a few quick prods in the area by the pancreas and saw the duke flinch again. The infection was taking to his organs? This was not good. Not good at all.

  He raised the hem of the nightshirt and looked lower. ‘Pain in the testes?’

  ‘Some,’ the duke admitted.

  How to explain this, so that the man was not overly alarmed? Sam gave his most sage, calming nod.

  The duke looked at him as many patients did, as though hoping they would be told that it was nothing, and that they should stop being a ninny and go back to bed. ‘You know what it is?’

  And so did he, most likely. He merely wished for a different answer. ‘A contagious inflammation of the glands, normally found in children. More serious in adults, however.’ Particularly in men. But the duke was likely to know that, soon enough.

  ‘Fatal?’ the duke asked, after a slight hesitation.

  ‘Hardly,’ Sam said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘Uncomfortable, of course. We must keep you isolated, both for your own sake and to keep you from transmitting the disease to others.’

  ‘I cannot. Parliament …’ The duke made to rise from the bed.

  Sam put a firm hand on the middle of his chest and pushed him back. ‘It will be quite beyond you for some weeks.’

  ‘Evelyn …’ the duke said, as though remembering that he must also be concerned for her. She would never have been second in his mind, had St Aldric truly loved her.

  ‘She has already had this disease. In childhood, when it was less severe.’ Sam could remember it distinctly, for he had been sick at the same time. ‘Since she is immune, she will be able to visit you, if you wish it. But others had best keep their distance.’

  ‘I notice you are not afraid for your health.’

  ‘A physician is hardly useful, if he fears the diseases he treats,’ Sam said. ‘And I have a particularly strong constitution.’