The Greatest of Sins Read online

  And here was the question Sam did not want to answer. It was far too soon to tell. He turned back the sheet and looked down to examine the swelling, which was not yet great, but would grow worse.

  The duke gave a gasp, half-pain and halfalarm, and tried to sit up.

  Sam raised the sheet and pushed him back down on the bed. ‘You would do better not to look. It will only upset you and will do nothing to speed recovery. But I expect you hurt, do you not?’

  ‘Yes.’ Now the duke’s voice was small and childlike, near to a whimper.

  ‘It is part of the disease. And one that you would not have had to bear, had you taken this infection as a child. I cannot tell you how bad it might become. But I will do everything in my power to minimise the problem.’

  Although there was damn little he could do, now that it had begun. He measured a few drops of opiate into a large glass of spirits and pressed it into the duke’s hand. ‘Here. Drink.’

  The duke took a sip. ‘Vile stuff to have at breakfast,’ he said, making a face.

  ‘It is good that you stayed ashore, then,’ Sam said, with a grim smile. ‘I would not say that I cured everything with rum while on board the Matilda, but it seldom made the situation any worse.’

  ‘If that is all that there is to it, then any man might be a physician.’

  ‘You should be glad that it is all you need. It took only one battle to prove me handy with a saw and a needle. You will escape with all your limbs intact.’

  ‘All save one,’ the duke reminded him and took another drink.

  He knew, then. And had already begun to fear. ‘We cannot be sure of that problem for quite some time, your Grace.’

  ‘Do not coddle me,’ the duke barked, then added more quietly, ‘And do not tell Evelyn.’

  It was quite possible that Evie knew already. If she did not, it would not be long before she looked it up in one of the texts she claimed to have and learned that a union with St Aldric might well be childless. ‘I will say nothing, your Grace.’

  The duke sighed again. ‘My name is Michael.’

  Sam froze for a moment, then busied himself with his instruments, pretending that he had not heard.

  ‘I request that you use it. Under the circumstances, it seems rather ridiculous to hear the title from you. You are family, after all.’

  Family.

  There was that word again. Sam had spent his life alternately assuming the Thornes were his family and praying that they were not. When he had returned to London, he would have chosen anyone in the world but the man in front of him to claim as kin. His plan had been to dislike St Aldric quite thoroughly.

  Yet on talking to the man, he could not have wanted a better brother. Other than proposing to Evie, Michael had given him no reason for hatred. ‘You would not prefer to be called Saint?’

  The duke tried to laugh, winced again and gave him a feeble smile. His eyes were losing their brightness. The medicine was taking effect. ‘Do you think it will keep me from blasphemy to remind me of that?’

  ‘Having dealt with men in pain, I doubt it. Michael,’ he added, trying not to feel uncomfortable. ‘You may curse all you like, if you think it will help.’

  ‘And might I call you Samuel?’

  Sam would rather he not. It was too personal. And too soon. But if it was the only comfort he could offer, then it was cruel to deny it. He nodded. ‘Or Sam, as Lady Evelyn does.’

  ‘The fair Lady Evelyn.’ The duke settled back into his pillows with a contented smile, intending to dream of Evie as he drifted towards narcotic slumber. It was only natural for a man to think of his fiancée at such a time.

  Sam knew exactly the dreams in the duke’s mind, for he’d had them himself. Each night, he had lain in his bunk, cursing himself for imagining her soft, white shoulders pressed to his chest, her lips on his skin and her sighs as she slept beside him. He needn’t have bothered with self-recrimination. It had been a harmless diversion, after all.

  Sam reached to take the half-empty medicine cup from the duke’s sagging hand. As he did so, St Aldric opened his eyes again, pulled it back and raised it in a toast to Sam. ‘And to my brother, Dr Sam Hastings, who could as easily poison me with the stuff in his bag as cure me. Arsenic. Mercury. Opium. No one would know the difference.’

  His unguarded words startled Sam. But had he not told himself just the same? ‘I would never … I have taken an oath, you know.’

  ‘But I bet you wish you hadn’t.’ The duke toasted him again and their eyes met over the rim. Then he very deliberately drained the glass to the dregs.

  That was true as well. A few moments ago, he had stood over his patient and contemplated murder. And, worse yet, the duke knew it. That had been what the curious look on his face had meant just now. It was one-part trust that a brother would not kill a brother. And one-part dare to remind him that, should it happen just such a way, the Saint would understand.

  Peer or no, the man was either mad or as fearless as any of the marines on board ship. And now his eyes were truly closing, his head drooping on the pillow. Sam took the glass away and walked quietly from the room to see how Evie had got on in her preparations.

  She was standing at the top of the stairs. Her father was still beside her, shifting nervously from foot to foot, afraid to abandon his daughter in a sick ward. They watched him approach. By their worried looks, his conflicting emotions were still plain on his face. They could read death there. And they feared that his moment of weakness was a reflection on the gravity of the duke’s disease.

  He took a moment to pull his mind out of the dark place it was lurking, and carefully masked his true feelings as he might for the family of any patient.

  ‘How is he?’ Evelyn asked.

  ‘Sleeping again,’ Sam said, back in command. If a doctor could do nothing else, he must at least appear to be in control of the situation. Especially if it was one that was likely to inflict harm or cure itself, no matter what he might do. ‘But he was concerned that you would be frightened by the extent of his illness.’

  Evie made a huffing noise, as though diminishing the duke’s concern. ‘He should not waste the energy. You will care for him and he will be fine.’

  At least for the moment, she had forgotten that she was angry with Sam. She needed his help. And she was looking at him with the worshipful confidence she had held when he was her hero and she a troublesome little pest.

  If he had acted on his base desires to do away with St Aldric, she would discover it. She would look once into his eyes and would know, and she would never look at him like this again. If he also shared Thorne’s duplicity, that man would lose her trust as well. The punishment was deserved. But some things were too cruel to be just.

  He gave her a solemn nod. ‘He will be fine.’

  She cast a worried glance down the hall to the sick room. ‘Would it help him, if I sat with him for a time?’

  Sam shrugged. ‘It would not hurt. If it gives you comfort to do so, then I have no objections.’ Not as a physician, at least. He was properly envious of any man who awoke to an angel at his bedside. ‘If he is asleep, do not wake him. If he wakes on his own, do not allow him to become excited.’

  She turned from him and hurried towards the room that held her betrothed, eager to tend him. Her father cast a worried glance after her.

  ‘She will be fine,’ he assured Thorne again. ‘But you must keep your distance. If you feel any symptoms of the illness, or notice them in others, notify me immediately and segregate the effected persons to this floor of the house.’

  ‘Is it really so serious a sickness, then?’ Thorne was worried for his daughter’s future and the possible end to his carefully constructed plans.

  ‘Bad enough so that I would not wish it on an otherwise healthy man. Chances are excellent that he will recover.’

  ‘But a full recovery …’ Thorne gave him another worried look. ‘I have heard of men who have had this difficulty. And they lived, of course, but there were co
nsequences.’

  Sam nodded, for he could not lie when confronted with a fact. But for now, their differences were moot compared to the reassurance he owed this man on the health of his guest. ‘We will not know of problems until much later. It is why I insist on the quarantine and not upsetting the patient. He is already brooding on the possible outcome. And he should not, until he is stronger.’

  Thorne nodded in agreement. ‘You are right in this. Better that we let Evie keep his spirits up than to have a ring of worried faces around the bedside.’

  ‘Very good. Now go,’ Sam said, as gently as possible. ‘We will send word if there is a change. But it will do him no good if you sicken as well. Trust us.’ Trust me. ‘He shall have the best possible care.’

  ‘And about before …?’ Thorne gave him another worried look.

  ‘Now is not the time to continue that particular discussion,’ Sam said, fighting the rage and disgust that still boiled beneath his professional calm.

  ‘If you are alone with Evelyn and she should learn …’ Thorne was hardening again, trying to regain control. His tone was both warning and threat. Although what he had left to threaten with, Sam was not sure.

  ‘At the moment, the past is the last thing I wish to speak of. I have a patient, sir, and you have a guest who is ill. We must do what is best for him. There is nothing more between us than that.’

  ‘And Evelyn?’ he said again. ‘Do you want what is best for her as well?’

  ‘I fear we disagree on what that might be,’ Sam said. ‘For I would not lie to her, as you did to me. But neither will I dredge up the past, to win her. I will not speak on it.’

  Still Thorne hovered, as though he expected Sam’s betrayal before he could reach the second-floor landing.

  ‘You have my word,’ Sam added, his jaw clenching, ‘as the son of the late Duke of St Aldric.’ The oath was foreign to him. But he felt the weight of it as it left his lips. Family honour. How strange to have found it, after all this time. ‘Now go.’

  Without another word, Thorne turned and went down the stairs.

  Chapter Fourteen

  St Aldric looked terrible.

  Eve could see why he had wanted to protect her from the truth. She had dealt with the disease in children, but in a grown man it looked far worse. If she had been the sort of weak woman he expected, she would have been shocked by the extent of the swelling and burst into sympathetic tears. She would have upset herself and made things more difficult for everyone involved.

  Instead, she sat in the chair at the bedside and gathered his limp hand into her own.

  He slept on, unaware of her presence.

  Oh, Michael, what am I going to do with you? Although she had not wanted to admit it, this engagement was a mistake. She should never have yielded to Father’s insistence. She should have found another way.

  But it was quite possible that choosing Sam instead would be exchanging a bad mistake for a worse one. In some ways, he was just as she remembered. But the calm assurance she felt around him had faded. He was erratic: calm one moment, shouting the next, hating her father while he claimed to love her, offering no explanation as to why he had gone and why he found her suddenly irresistible once she belonged to another.

  She needed time to think and it appeared that she would have at least a week trapped with the pair of them to sort her feelings.

  She gave Michael’s hand a squeeze, but he barely stirred. For good measure, she sponged his hot forehead with water from the basin, adjusted his covers and put her head to his chest to listen to his breathing, which was deep and regular. Sam had been right. There was nothing she could do right now.

  She left the room and went out into the hall, glancing down it to the open door at the back of the house. It was a bedroom with an attached parlour that would be a logical place for the pair of them to sit while waiting for the duke to awake.

  She gave an involuntary shiver at the thought. She had been eager to be alone with Sam a week ago, but now she was not sure how she felt. Still eager, apparently, for the shiver had been one of excitement. But she felt guilty as well. Poor Michael had no one but the two of them. And he was ill. It was very bad to be thinking of her own wants and needs, while he suffered.

  Sam was sitting at a table by the fireplace, his medical bag at his feet, reviewing a text, and looking like the competent healer he was. Despite the strange way he acted towards her, he was a good man as well.

  She did not wish to interrupt him in his work. But really, how much study would he need to handle something so common? And was such intent concentration necessary? ‘Are you trying to avoid talking to me?’ she asked.

  He smiled into his book at being caught. ‘I have been reading the same page over and over for an hour, waiting for you to return. How is the patient?’

  ‘Still asleep.’

  ‘Very good. I will look in on him later.’ He closed the book and set it aside, then looked at her expectantly.

  What did he want her to say? ‘Thank you for this,’ she said, in a sombre voice.

  ‘For doing my job?’ he asked.

  ‘For doing this particular job. I am sure it must be hard for you.’

  ‘The duke requested me,’ Sam said, deliberately misunderstanding her. ‘After making the initial visit, it makes no sense to turn the case over to another.’

  ‘I mean because of me,’ she said.

  ‘On the contrary—’ he was smiling again ‘—I am quite at ease in your presence, Lady Evelyn. I think it is you who are uncomfortable.’

  It was true, of course. But he was being deliberately provoking in pointing it out. ‘I will manage,’ she said, not allowing herself to be baited. ‘And you can leave off calling me Lady Evelyn. Things are difficult enough without that.’

  His lips twitched. ‘Very well, Evie.’

  ‘It is good that we are all here together.’ She gave a firm nod. ‘It will give you a chance to know your brother better.’ And show some sign of love for him, so that she did not feel quite so foolish at insisting they know the truth. ‘I am sure, once you have spent time with him …’

  ‘That the same problem will exist between us,’ Sam finished. ‘He is engaged to the woman I love.’

  ‘You are most free with that word of late,’ she said.

  ‘Better late than never.’

  He was treating this newfound love as if it were a joke. ‘But still, it is quite different from the six years of silence and the lust you claimed on your return.’

  ‘Anything I said, was said because I wanted what was best for you,’ he replied.

  ‘And you have changed, now that I am engaged to another?’

  ‘I have changed because I recently discovered that what was best for you was to be married to me.’ He sounded very calm and very sure of himself, but it was really no answer at all.

  ‘If you mean because of the business at dinner the other night, I do not believe you. You started speaking words of love a full day before that.’

  He shook his head. ‘I came to the conclusion before then. Dinner simply confirmed it.’

  ‘Are you implying that Michael did something to render himself less than a suitable match for me?’

  Sam laughed. ‘No. The brother you found for me continues to be perfect. He is just not perfect for you.’

  ‘And you are?’ She had thought so herself, until very recently.

  ‘No man is perfect,’ he said. ‘But I would try to be, for your sake.’

  ‘That is not very different from the promises that Michael made when he was courting me,’ Eve said. But his words had never made her heart flutter, as Sam’s did.

  ‘And how is that working so far?’ Sam asked innocently. ‘Since he is already deemed a saint, it does not seem likely he will have to alter much. But you, Evie?’ He smiled again. ‘You are most delightfully flawed. And I would not change a bit of you.’

  It was just as she had thought, on the day he arrived. He was more honest than flattering. But the
re was so much love for her behind his words that she would rather hear criticisms from him than compliments from another.

  ‘And while we are on the subject of your deficiencies,’ he said with a smile, ‘there was one I should have corrected when we spoke in the garden. You are quite wrong about our first kiss.’

  ‘I was not.’ If she was sure of nothing else, it was the moment that changed her life.

  ‘Our first kiss was about a week before the time you remember. You were standing in the library, by the big windows, trying to reach a book on the top shelf without using the ladder. I came upon you suddenly, with the sunlight outlining your body, and for a moment I did not know you at all. I saw nothing but a beautiful young woman: an angel in a nimbus of light.’

  ‘I do not remember any of this,’ she said, shaking her head.

  He gave a small snort. ‘Of course you would not. You cared for nothing but getting the book.’ Then he sighed, lost in a pleasant memory. ‘But my eyes were opened to the promise of manhood. Then you turned your head and were my little Evie again, demanding that I help you.’

  ‘And did you?’ she asked, honestly curious.

  He gave a small bow. ‘Ever your servant, Lady Evelyn. I got you the book. You rewarded me with a kiss on the lips. Then you ran off as if nothing had happened. You might as well have ripped the heart out of my chest and taken it as well. I have not been the master of it, from that moment.’

  ‘But the time in the garden?’ For she was sure that she remembered it quite clearly.

  ‘Was the first time I kissed you,’ he answered. ‘I planned for a full week, trying to find a way to ask if you might ever feel for me what I had come to feel for you. But my words failed me, each time. So I let my actions speak. And I had my answer.’

  The kiss had made her feel just as she was feeling now. It was as if she was seeing Sam truly for the first time. He loved her. She loved him. And it had been so for ages. Why had she not seen it before?

  She had. It was he who had been denying it. ‘You said you did not remember.’