Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Upon her return to Bottoms House, Evie was greeted by Brunswick, the butler with mastiff-like jowls and a gruff but kindly manner.
He informed her that the master and mistress were out with the Godwins, and she tried not to show her relief.
Although her megrim had subsided, she felt shaky and unsettled and had no desire to socialize, even with family.
She wished she was at home, where she could escape into the greenhouse.
At least the other couples were gone. And, after the visit to the pottery, James and his cronies were supping with the Whig widow, who’d apparently invited the local gentry so that he could promote his cause.
He would be out late, and Evie was glad for it.
She simply could not manage another frosty marital interaction.
She hurried to the bedchamber, locking the door behind her.
She rested her back against the solid barrier, closed her eyes, and let out a sigh.
Solitude had never felt so welcome. With her eyes still shut, she began untying the ribbons of her bonnet.
She was dusty from the walk back and needed a bath.
Soaking in warm suds struck her as a perfect way to unwind—
“Evie?”
She jerked against the door, her eyelids snapping open.
James was standing in the doorway of the connected sitting room.
He was in his shirtsleeves, his collar open, and his shirt untucked.
His thick bronze hair was mussed, and he looked groggy…
which was unusual. Unlike her, he didn’t need much sleep, and he awakened with an energy that had always baffled her.
During their better days, when he’d spent the night, he had put that vigor to good use.
He’d lured her into wakefulness with warm kisses, his rampant manhood wedged against her bottom…
Remembering those times made her heart contract with helpless longing. Her breathing quickened as he crossed the room toward her. He’d taken off his shoes, and her belly quivered at his casual state. The contrast between his elegant clothing and large bare feet was strangely arousing.
“What…what are you doing here?” she said stupidly.
“I am staying in this bedchamber if you recall.”
His obvious irritability gave her pause.
James tended to be suave; even his attacks were smooth, slicing to the bone before one realized one was bleeding.
She took a good look at him. His hair was sticking up on one side, and sleep wrinkles marred his cheek.
His face had a slight flush that enhanced the glitter in his eyes.
For once, he didn’t appear calm or collected.
“What has made you grumpy?” she asked.
He stared at her. “I am not grumpy.”
At his annoyed tone, she merely lifted her brows.
Frowning, he ran a hand through his hair. “I was working and didn’t expect an interruption.”
“I didn’t think you would be here.” Awkwardly, she added, “I thought you would still be at the pottery.”
“The visit ended early. I came back to catch up on a few things before supper.”
“Like sleep?”
“I wasn’t sleeping.”
“Then why has a pillow left its impression upon your face?”
“I was working on a speech and decided to rest my eyes…never mind.” He braced his hands on his hips. “Where were you? Ethan said you weren’t at luncheon.”
The problem with the silent treatment, Evie reflected, was that it put you out of practice for normal conversation.
She and James hadn’t had a civilized exchange for days, and she was rusty.
Her husband wasn’t at his best either. Instead of a casual inquiry about one another’s day, their exchange felt stiff and accusatory…
like they were spoiling for another fight.
“I went into the village.” She strove to sound neutral. “I met the greengrocer’s wife, who happens to be a gifted herbalist. She showed me her physic garden…”
Should I mention my megrim? Will he care? What if it reveals too much about my state of mind?
“One thing led to another,” she finished lamely. “I lost track of time.”
“Plants.” His mouth curled. “I should have known that would get your attention.”
The barb dug into her, as it was no doubt meant to.
While James had a temper and could be as righteous and aloof as the mythic Apollo, he was rarely mean.
Evie knew that not all husbands would be as supportive of their wives’ interests as he was—her stepfather being a case in point.
After marrying him, Mama had had to carry on her studies in secret for fear of inciting his temper… not that that had taken much.
In contrast, James had never questioned Evie’s passion for botany.
He listened patiently every time she brought up Cheiranthus cheiri, variety vespertinus—which, heaven help him, had been often—and had even read her paper, providing honest and helpful comments.
And, by the blooms, he’d built her a greenhouse and supplied her with anything and everything she needed for her work.
Remembering his kindness allowed her to tuck away her hurt and resist sniping back at him.
Instead, she asked, “Is something the matter?”
“Nothing is the matter.”
His curt reply confirmed that something was wrong. Studying him more closely, she saw the sheen of sweat on his brow. The flush on his cheeks had heightened and spread down the corded column of his throat.
“You’re acting strangely,” she said. “Are you feeling unwell?”
“I am perfectly fine.”
His eyes were bright…glassy.
Anxiety prickled her. “I don’t think you are.”
“Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think.”
Concern prompted her to ignore his snide remark and take a step toward him.
When she reached for his forehead, he slapped her hand away in the manner of a virgin protecting her virtue.
She would have laughed if she weren’t so worried.
Instead, she evaded his attempts to wave her off and managed to press her palm against his brow.
Alarm shot through her. “You are burning up.”
“Hot, am I? Well, it’s your fault I am like a banked fire with no vent…”
His smirk slid into a frown as he suddenly swayed.
“You’re ill,” she said fretfully. “Get into bed, and I’ll send for the physician.”
“Nonsense. I am never ill. We Harringtons have strong constitutions…”
His gaze grew unfocused, and he went pale as a sheet. She cried out a warning even as he toppled. When she tried to catch him, his dead weight was too much, and together they crashed to the ground.