Reckless (The House of Rohan 2) - Page 62

She slept, and dreamed of Adrian, his hands caressing her body, his smiling, handsome mouth brushing hers. She hoped he was suffering. Men were less able to hide their arousal, and she'd had no doubt at all that he'd wanted her, quite badly.

Was he lying alone in his bed, hard, aching, regretting his stupid, callous treatment? Probably not. He could take care of the problem himself, couldn't he? Lina had explained it to her one time—that men, that Adrian, would use those deft, beautiful hands on himself, bringing his own release.

And presumably she could do the same. She remembered waking occasionally, lying on her stomach, r

ocking against her fists, feeling flushed and feverish. She certainly wasn't going to do that again. She had no particular interest in getting better acquainted with the mysteries between her legs. She was for more curious about his parts. She wanted to look at him, touch him. During those long hours she'd never had a chance.

Adrian probably didn't plan to endure a night of frustration or the substitute ministrations of his own strong, beautiful hand. There would be scores of women who'd shared his bed. All it would require would be a note, or a surprise visit, and they'd lift their skirts for him as easily as she did. If he wanted to avoid entanglements he could always do what his friends had suggested and visit the notorious Madame Kate's.

He had countless ways to deal with their unfinished business, and she had nothing. Heartless bastard, she thought, feeling her bile rise again.

She made it to Hensley Court but not much farther. The carriage pulled to a stop and she took a dive out the door, not even waiting for the footman to lower the steps. She landed on her knees in the gravel and proceeded to become embarrassingly, miserably sick.

"Travel sickness," she said wanly when Lina and Meggie rushed to her side. "Too much jostling in the coach. I feel fine now. "

Lina eyed her, unable to disguise her worry. "Have you been ill before today, dearest?"

"No, thank heavens. That is, my stomach has felt a bit off for days now, but this is the first time I've cast up my accounts. "

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lina and Meggie exchange glances. 'Tm fine," she said again, nettled. "Just happy to be out of that wretched coach. " Unbidden, the memory of the last coach she'd been in returned, Rohan's mouth on hers, his hand between her legs, his hot, solid body beneath hers in the velvety darkness. She groaned.

Simon Pagett met them in the massive front hall, and Charlotte had just enough energy to notice that his eyes went straight to Lina. So whatever lay between them wasn't one-sided. "Thomas is sleeping," he said. "Your rooms are ready—you may as well use the time to rest. The doctor's just been here. He's mystified—just when he thinks it's the end, Thomas rallies. He says there's no telling how much longer. "

Author: Anne Stuart

"Are you suggesting I look tired?" Lina demanded, looking to take offense.

"No, Lady Whitmore. I'm suggesting that you rode all night over rough roads and unless you're superhuman you'd doubtless like an opportunity to relax. If you'd rather go for a brisk hike in the woods and then organize a house party, I wouldn't think of arguing. "

Charlotte could practically hear Lina growling beneath her breath. It was fascinating to observe. She didn't ever remember a gentleman speaking to Lina with such a deliberately aggravating tone. Most men fell all over themselves in an effort to ingratiate themselves with her. And she couldn't remember Lina reacting so strongly to provocation.

"My cousin is feeling unwell after the trip," Lina said in her stiffest voice. "She's suffering from travel sickness, and I want to make certain she's comfortable. And then I will come downstairs and sit with Monty until he wakes up, since you had a long, difficult ride. I imagine you need your beauty rest. Unless you have any objections. "

Mr. Pagett stiffened, but Charlotte finally decided that even the interesting contretemps between the vicar and her cousin wasn't enough to distract her from her current state of misery. She allowed herself a small whimper, feeling truly pathetic, and Lina rushed to her side, studiously ignoring her newfound nemesis.

When they got to her rooms Meggie stripped her and wrapped her up in a fine lawn nightdress, tucking her up in bed with a warm brick at her feet and a cool damp cloth for her head. She lay back, trying to keep from sniffling miserably. She was just so bloody pitiful. She felt queasy, she had no energy, all she wanted to do was sleep. And if that weren't enough, she had the lowering feeling that her heart was broken.

It wasn't fair.

She had no reason to fancy herself in love with a selfish sybarite who cared for nothing and no one but his own pleasure. But once the idea had managed to creep into her thoughts there was no way she could banish it. If she had any kind of sense at all, that last meeting with him, in the closed confines of his town carriage, should have given her a complete disgust of him.

It only made her long for him more.

She moaned, softly enough that Meggie and Lina couldn't hear her. If she just managed to keep her distance she could probably manage to get over him. After all, she'd been recovering, albeit at a ridiculously slow rate. If only she hadn't seen him at Ranelagh, danced with him, let him lead her to the supposed safety of a hackney.

Duplicitous bastard. She liked heaping epithets on his head, the more the merrier. He was sneaky, dishonest, amoral, selfish, mean. . . there weren't enough bad words to describe him. The more she saw of him the more she disliked him. Or if that wasn't precisely true, at least she was more and more determined to keep her distance from him. If she simply stayed in the country she would never have to see him again. Viscount Rohan was notoriously unmoved by the countryside, avoiding it at all costs. If she could just convince Lina to remove to her Dorset estate then sooner or later Rohan would go abroad, and maybe he'd fall off a mountain or marry a Chinese princess or be eaten by a tiger. She didn't care which fate befell him, as long as it happened soon.

Lina and Meggie were whispering about her. Their voices were low, and clearly they were self-assured enough to think she'd never hear them. They'd forgotten her childhood. She'd spent many of her formative years growing up alone in the old house in Yorkshire, her parents paying no attention to her, the servants whispering their shock over the poor, abandoned child. She knew the concerned tone of the whispers, even if she couldn't make out the actual words.

It didn't matler. All she needed was sleep, and she'd feel wonderful. All she needed. . .

Lina found Simon Pagett on the terrace overlooking the winding canal that led to the ruins of the old abbey. It was a beautiful late-spring morning, the scent of damp earth in the air, the promise of new life. . .

She didn't want to be thinking about new life. She and Meggie were probably jumping to conclusions. After all, Charlotte had assured her that the blasted viscount had been careful, and from what she knew of Adrian Rohan, she could well believe it. Society would know if he had bastards littering the countryside, and from what she'd seen of the old marquess, she could well believe Adrian wouldn't dare risk impregnating a girl of decent breeding. Not that the marquess wasn't utterly charming. If he wasn't clearly so besotted with his wife she might have been tempted to see whether an older man might be the answer to her problem. Not that it was a problem, per se. Nothing like the mess Charlotte would find herself in if the tisanes didn't work and Rohan hadn't been careful enough.

There were more drastic ways to deal with things if they'd progressed to that point, but Charlotte wouldn't want it and Lina wouldn't let her. They could go abroad together, providing the bloody French didn't decide to start another war. Or simply retire to the country.

“You're looking perturbed. Lady Whitmore," Pagett said. "Is there something troubling you?"

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