There were so many people to inform, so many angry responses to field.
But he could hardly blame his friends and family. The letters he would have to send them would be shock-inducing—
Surprise! I am currently heir to the Marquisate of Lockheade. It’s a long tale, but I hope to extricate myself from having to assume the title of Lord Lockheade. Though, I must confess, this information about the marquisate is somewhat ancillary to my actual news.
In a rather theatrical turn of events, I was shot at. By a duke’s son. In Wiltshire. Oh, terribly sorry. Did I neglect to mention I am in Wiltshire at the moment?
As a result of the duke’s-son-shooting incident, I suffered a bad fall off my horse. I currently have a severely broken leg that I’m praying will heal correctly enough to allow me to walk normally again. Or, at the very least, won’t go gangrenous and have to be amputated. But I am still alive, so . . . silver linings?
All that to say, you may not be seeing hide nor hair of me for some time to come—
Alex groaned again—the pained whimper of a wounded animal.
Snick.
The door opened.
Alex lifted his head as Lady Charlotte sailed into the room.
Her eyes instantly met his.
“Dr. Whitaker! You are properly awake!” A smile spread across her face, delighted and welcoming. “Your fever broke last evening, so Dr. Smithson decreed we should allow the laudanum to wear off today.”
Alex blinked and told himself that Lady Charlotte’s smile bore no resemblance to the sun, no matter how much it brightened the gloomy room.
Such unabashed cheer bordered on maniacally obnoxious. It set his teeth on edge and his shoulders to bristling.
He was in the middle of a mental existential crisis!
Had the lady no compassion?!
Moreover, what gentleman wanted a bonnie lass like Lady Charlotte to see him like this? He was as helpless as a mewling babe.
“Yes, I am awake,” he replied, voice cracking. Abruptly, he realized his throat was painfully dry. “Is there any water tae be had in this house?”
“Oh! Of course!” Lady Charlotte hurried to his side—that dratted smile stretching wider—and poured water into a glass. “You must be hungry, as well. I will summon a light repast immediately. Here is the water.”
Alex reached for the glass, noting that his hand shook uncontrollably.
Damn and blast this laudanum!
He gritted his teeth and wrapped his fingers around the cup, careful not to brush Lady Charlotte’s fingers.
He attempted to lower the glass to his mouth, but his jittery hand caused water to slosh over the edge and down his sleeve. He grunted as the cold wet slid down his arm.
“Here.” Lady Charlotte steadied the glass for him. “Allow me.”
She bent over and tipped the cup to his lips.
The action brought her pert nose and elegant jawline closer, eddying swirls of jasmine around him.
Even in the low light, she glowed. Impossibly lovely and utterly enticing.
What right had this woman to be so beautiful? To cloud his thinking and scatter his wits?
A rogue surge of anger sliced through him. That he was so helpless in the face of her loveliness. That part of him longed to give in to her allure, to allow himself to fall, fall, fall . . .
He lifted his head and drank the water, guzzling it down.
