“I am the heir to a dukedom. I cannot risk myself abroad without risking the end of the entire title.” Damn his forebearers for not giving him male cousins.
“Then you should have married earlier.”
He knew that. Heknewit, but somehow he’d never managed to do the deed.
“Perhaps you could take this opportunity to become our London expert on China.”
“I’d rather help against Napoleon.”
“And I’d rather not marry at all,” Benedict returned. “Our titles exact a price. Did you imagine you would be exempt from that?”
No. But he never expected that doing his duty to king and country would involve marrying a Chinese girl. Trying to distract himself, he turned the discussion to Lord Benedict’s problems. “Tell me about this gel you’re going to marry. The one with the unusual hobby.”
Benedict chuckled. “I believe you have enough burdens for today.”
“What? But I have confessed all to you—”
“And I have not made my interest known to the woman. I doubt she even knows who I am.”
Truly? “She must be a recluse.”
“She is not, but neither is she a social creature. She is well occupied with her own interests, which makes her a perfect wife for me.”
“Because she has no interest in you or your title?”
“Exactly. And now I must bid you goodnight. I have yet one more appointment before I can rest.”
“Now? Good God, you do keep long hours.”
Benedict shrugged. “Make sure to keep me informed. I find myself desperate to learn how this turns out.”
“My life is not a circus sideshow,” Max grumbled.
“Are you sure about that?”
“No,” he reluctantly admitted. “Christopher is right now regaling Prinny with every sordid detail.”
“And I was the lucky one to learn it directly from you.” With that, Lord Benedict doffed his hat and turned a corner to head east. He walked with long, quick strides and a confident air that Max envied. He was likely on a mission of desperate importance for the Crown while Max went inside to boil water for moldy tea.
Good God, he was a sideshow freak!
Chapter Eleven
Lady Emmaline wrungout a rag then set it on their guest’s forehead. It was a tedious task, but the woman’s fever was climbing, and this was what one did when a fever grew too hot. She could have set a servant to the task, but the staff was frightened of the woman, and no wonder. No one wanted to soothe the fever of a murderess, no matter how justified.
Or at least, no one in their household.
Once Max had fled after uttering the mysterious words, “Finding medicine,” it fell to Emmaline to care for the poor woman.
“What you must have suffered,” she said as she stared at Miss Wong’s features. She studied the golden skin tones that indicated time in the sun, now tinged with rose from fever. She noted the smooth, almost flat features of nose and forehead. The upward tilt of the eyes was interesting to her artist’s eyes, and Emmaline thought about sketching the woman. She was unlikely to get a better chance to examine a Chinese subject at such length.
Strangely enough, her paints and brushes were close at hand. Why Max had suddenly decided to take up watercolors, she had no idea. And how annoying that he’d neglected to clean the brushes. Still, she supposed he could be forgiven such a lapse on today of all days.
She cleaned up the mess Max had left, changed the cloth on Miss Wong’s forehead, and then settled down with hersketchpad, but the lines wouldn’t form right. Truthfully, she wasn’t in the mood to sketch, but she didn’t know what else to do.
“You’ve brought chaos to my life, Miss Wong,” she said conversationally. “I don’t blame you in the least. Indeed, I’m grateful. I’ve lately wished for something—anything—to change the sameness of my days. I should be more careful with what I wish for.”
She made a long line to indicate the sweep of brow, another for the curve of a high cheek.
