Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
Lady Colborne retired after dinner. “Not all of us were able to nap after luncheon,” Juliana said with a sniff and a look at Arabella.
But Arabella did not care about Juliana’s jab.
After finishing his professional obligations, Alasdair had returned to Arabella’s bedchamber, where she had waited for him.
He had told her he was sorry for having been away so long.
She had told him not to be silly—he was a physician and must go when called upon.
She had tilted her face up to him, and he had kissed her then, most obligingly.
Mmm. She had to find a way to convince him to stop apologizing so much. She didn’t want that kind of politeness. Not from him. Her Alasdair did not need keep asking forgiveness from her. It was just another way for him to put a distance between them, despite the kisses.
Fortunately, even though he was a trifle distracted, Alasdair had been persuaded by her to sit down in the wing chair where he had passed the previous night.
Arabella had perched on his lap and kissed him.
In this position, he was still taller than she, but to a much lesser degree.
And she could satisfy her desire to touch his face and neck and hair while kissing.
In a very short period of time, Alasdair had grown less distracted and more interested in the kissing and running his hands up and down Arabella’s back, careful not to dip below the waist or come to her front, even though she longed for him to touch her breasts again as he had done before.
Oh, why had she not encouraged his hands to roam more when he had held her bosom in the lodge?
She knew why. Because she had been both frightened of the strength of her desire and keenly aware of the need to hide it from him.
And she felt she still must hide it from him.
What she had done earlier, rubbing herself against him, had been unwise.
She must let Alasdair have what he wanted.
His romance. He must feel his desires—both of the carnal and the romantic variety—were guiding what passed between them. It was important to him.
And important for her, too. He must prove he was choosing her, prove that he was not here with her solely because of events out of his control. Because of her sister or her sister’s health. Or because he had already been in Scotland for another reason. Or because of a snowstorm.
But even if he never proved he wanted her, she still wanted him.
She still craved him.
She had squirmed a little bit while sitting on his lap to give some pressure and friction to his tumescence, but she felt it was unfair to tease him too much in the middle of the afternoon.
And her own ache was ever-present and unrelieved as she squeezed her thighs together tightly while they kissed.
Despite the restraint exercised by both of them, they had been panting and flushed when Arabella got off Alasdair’s lap before coming down to dinner.
The whole of the party, excepting Juliana and Lady Painswick, congregated in the drawing room after dinner, and Alasdair sat down to a chess game with Sir Timothy while Arabella joined Rebecca on a sofa, and the Swintons, Giles, and the Marquess of Painswick played whist. Lady Lyndmouth hovered near the card table.
Her presence seemed to annoy the Swintons, who clutched their cards closely to their chests.
The butler Andrews entered the drawing room and bent over and said something in Alasdair’s ear. Alasdair nodded and stood, saying something to Sir Timothy.
Giles halted his card play as Alasdair crossed the room. And when Alasdair passed the sofa, Arabella reached out and snagged the sleeve of his tailcoat.
“Where are you going, darling?” she asked in a loud voice.
“Ah.” Alasdair looked at Sir Timothy.
“He is going upstairs to see Lady Colborne, at her request.” Sir Timothy seemed exhausted by the mere idea of going upstairs. “The woman is always indisposed.”
Arabella and Rebecca looked at each other. Juliana had always possessed perfect health.
“We’ll come with you,” Arabella said, and she and Rebecca stood.
Giles had gone back to his hand of cards after Sir Timothy had spoken but looked up when Alasdair addressed him from across the room.
“Lord Morpeth, after I attend on Lady Colborne, would I have yer permission to attend on yer wife?”
Giles grunted and waved his hand.
“Thank ye,” Alasdair said through his teeth.
Arabella admired Alasdair’s control when Giles had been so rude, so dismissive.
As she climbed the stairs, she decided she must find a way to show him her appreciation.
Perhaps tonight she would dare to take his hand and put it on her breast again.
But surely, at some point, he would do it himself?
Maybe she should just tell him what she wanted and see if he was shocked or delighted.
But what if his shock made him turn away from her? As he had in the carriage after she had stroked his member and made him spend. She would wait, she decided. She would follow her current course of kissing him, letting him think he was leading, and waiting to see what he did next.
Lady Colborne’s bedchamber was large and did not feel crowded, even when they all came into the room. Juliana was likely taken aback that it was a party of three, but she hid it well, Arabella thought.
Juliana sat in a chair, dressed as she had been at dinner, but her hair was down, and Arabella felt sure she was wearing rouge, which she had not been wearing at the table. There was a cloying scent of perfume in the room. Arabella looked around. Juliana’s lady’s maid was conspicuously absent.
“We’re all here to make you feel better,” Rebecca said. “Your sister, one of your oldest friends, and her husband.”
“Aye,” Alasdair said. “Please tell me what is wrong, my lady.”
“I . . .” Juliana hesitated. “I’m sure it is nothing, Dr. Andrews. Just a feeling of being lightheaded at times. And fatigued.”
“With yer permission?” Alasdair said, and when Juliana nodded, he stepped forward and picked up her wrist and felt her pulse.
Arabella thought suddenly of how much she loved Alasdair’s hands. But they will always touch other women.
“Is the lightheadedness with standing?” Alasdair asked when he had released her wrist.
“Er, yes,” Juliana said.
“Standing up quickly? May I touch ye under yer eye?” Juliana nodded, and Alasdair lightly pulled down one of her lower eyelids.
He bent at the waist and whispered in Juliana’s ear.
Juliana colored. “Before Christmas.”
“Are ye having any pain or difficulty breathing?”
“None, Doctor.”
Alasdair leaned down again and said something more. Then he pulled back and looked in Juliana’s eyes. Juliana looked . . . what? Apprehensive, Arabella decided. But Juliana nodded, as if to show she understood.
Alasdair straightened up and spoke at a normal volume. “Please have me brought to ye if anything worsens, Lady Colborne. I would avoid drinking an excess of wine. And rest when ye feel the need.”
Arabella and Alasdair took their leave, but Rebecca stayed behind, and Arabella could hear Rebecca saying, “Now, what was that all about, Juliana?” as Alasdair closed the door.
Alasdair and Arabella stood in the corridor.
“Thank ye for protecting me, Miss Lovelock. ’Twas very thoughtful,” he said as he lifted a wild tendril of golden hair off her forehead, “but I assure ye ’twas entirely unnecessary.
I have avoided all manner of entanglements over the years.
I am a skilled evader. Widows, spinsters, matrons, maidens. I have nae been trapped yet.”
Arabella put her arms around his waist. “Are you sure about that?”
“I dinnae feel trapped, but if ye tell me I am, I will believe ye, and I willnae ask for rescue.” He put his finger under her chin and kissed her pink lips.
She tasted of the custard she had eaten for dessert—sweet, rich, with a hint of vanilla.
And made entirely with egg yolks, Alasdair being sure the egg whites were being kept in reserve for Lady Morpeth.
“That was very good,” she said when he was done kissing her.
He went to kiss her again.
“Get away with ye!” she said in his accent and playfully pushed at his chest before and pulling him back close to her again. “I’m not talking about the kissing. That is uniformly good, as I have told you before. You know that already. I meant the flirting.”
“That was flirting?” It had been so easy.
“Yes, Alasdair.”
“And ’twas good?” He started to feel a swell of pride.
She shook her head as if in despair and got up on her tiptoes and brushed his lips with hers. “Go see your other patient and then come to me.”
“I dinnae want ye to worry about my going to see Lady Morpeth,” he started. “She actually is ill, her nurse will be there, there will be nothing improper—”
She cut him off, shaking her head. “I’m not worried about that.
I trust you. Or I must learn to, mustn’t I?
My honest Scottish doctor. I just don’t trust Juliana.
And I wasn’t going to suggest I go with you to see Lady Morpeth.
I would not want to cause the lady any pain in case .
. . she knows about me. And her husband. ”
After the successful flirtation in the hallway just now, he had almost forgotten about the history of Arabella and Lord Morpeth. Well, not forgotten, but it had seemed a great deal less important.
“And I don’t want you to worry about what I meant when I said you should come to me, Alasdair. I meant come to my bedchamber, and we will sleep. If you went to your own room, I would miss you terribly.”
Alasdair felt three inches taller as he walked to Lady Morpeth’s bedchamber.
Lady Morpeth was glad to report to him that she had eaten the egg whites and not cast them back up.
He was a long time with Lady Morpeth and Nurse Gastrell that evening and into the night. Asking more questions, taking a longer history. There was a mystery here. He might not know enough to solve it. He wished he had some of his medical books.
It was quite late when Alasdair eventually made his way to Arabella’s room.
He was glad to find a lamp had been left burning and Arabella was already in bed and asleep.
He prepared himself as he had the night before.
However, this time he did search for and find a blanket in a chest. Tonight would not be as bone-chilling as last night.
It was about one o’clock in the morning when Alasdair heard someone try to open the locked door.
No one must have told Lord Morpeth that Dr. Andrews was abed with Mrs. Andrews.
“Who’s there?” Alasdair barked out in his deepest, most unfriendly voice.
Silence on the other side of the door. Then footsteps moving away.
A whisper. “Alasdair?”
He padded over to the bed. “’Tis all right. Someone mixed up about the rooms, I should think.”
A small hand reached up and grasped his hand.
“I think you’re lying so I won’t be scared.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Are ye scared?”
“No, because you’re here.”
“Good.”
“Your hand is cold.” She brought it to her cheek. Her skin was warm and soft.
“Aye.”
“Somebody once told me something about a ratio of surface area and volume.” She yawned. “You should listen to your own advice. I think it would be lovely and warm to fall back asleep with you holding me. If you go back to that chair, I am going to feel very sorry for myself.”
He didn’t want her feeling sorry for herself. And, in the bed, he would be in an ideal position to protect Arabella.
“Move over, Miss Lovelock.”
He would keep on the trousers and the banyan.
He was no fool. He thought it would be best if he laid on his side and she was behind him and holding him.
But she had specifically said she wanted him to hold her.
And it didn’t seem right to have her—such a little thing—on what he thought of as the outside of the arrangement.
Facing her was out of the question. It would definitely lead to kissing.
And perhaps breast touching and so on, despite the banyan and the trousers.
The so on that he had imagined so many times.
Therefore, he had her roll on her side away from him, and he settled in behind her, putting his top arm around her waist and his bottom arm pillowing her head.
“Courie into me, Alasdair,” she whispered.
Courie. Nestle. Snuggle.
He had not heard the word courie in over twenty-five years. It must have been his mother who had said it to him before she died, before he was sent to his aunt and uncle in Bailebrae. He could not imagine anyone else would have ever had occasion to use the word with him.
His throat tightened, and his eyes stung. He was glad the room was dark and Arabella would not have been able to see his face if she turned towards him.
And then his imagination was taken by the smallness and the softness of her waist under his own hand and what seemed a very thin and delicate and impractical nightdress.
He wondered if he would be able to sleep at all, here in bed with her.
But her own breath was calm. She put her hand on top of his and made a sighing noise that sounded suspiciously like contentment, and he surprised himself by falling almost immediately into a deep, warm sleep where he dreamed of standing in a bishop’s study with Arabella.