“No.” That was Arabella. “Dr. Andrews sees any patient in Sommerleigh, without asking a fee. It makes no difference to him who it is. It could be a tinker,” Arabella must have heard that tragic story from Thomas or Harry, “or a countess like my sister.”
“Well, Andrews,” Morpeth said. “I wonder how you might feel if I paid a visit to your wife’s bedchamber without telling you?”
There were a few gasps at the table.
Alasdair saw daggers in his vision again. Red ones. He felt a kick under the table. Arabella was glaring at him. He took a deep breath.
“I widnae like it, Lord Morpeth. Hence my apology to ye.”
“Which I do not accept. Stay away from my wife.”
“If she asks for me, I will go to her. But I will make sure ye are told, Lord Morpeth, so ye may also be present.”
“That seems perfectly fair,” the Marquess of Painswick interjected. “After all, Morpeth, the man has a medical duty. Be reasonable.”
Morpeth laughed then and asked for more wine for himself and Lord Painswick. But Alasdair did not forget the very real menace that had crackled between them. And Lord Morpeth’s threat to visit Arabella in her bedchamber.
Twenty-Two
Lady Juliana Colborne retired early after dinner. “Not all of us were able to take naps after luncheon,” she said with a sniff and a look at Arabella.
But Arabella did not care about Juliana’s jab. That afternoon, 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 doing his duty—and she had tilted her face up to him. He had kissed her then, most obligingly.
Mmf. 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 distance between them, despite the kisses.
Fortunately, despite being a trifle distracted—likely with thoughts of his new patient—Alasdair had been persuaded by her to sit down in the wing chair where he had passed the previous night. Arabella had then 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 in the lodge when she had warmed his hands with the heat of her body.
Oh, why had she not encouraged his hands to roam more at that time?
She knew why. Because she had been simultaneously frightened about the strength of her desire and keenly aware of the need to hide it from him.
And she still felt she must hide it from him. Her rubbing herself against him earlier after he had picked her up. That 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. She felt it was important for him.
And important for her, too. He must prove now that he was choosing her after his years of passivity. That he was not here with her now 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, she admitted, even if he did not prove that 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 had felt that it was unfair to tease him too badly in the middle of the afternoon. And her own ache was ever-present and unrelieved as she squeezed her own thighs together tightly while they kissed. Despite the restraint exercised by the pair, they had both been panting and flushed when Arabella got off Alasdair’s lap before the dinner gong.
The rest of the party—minus Lady Colborne and Lady Painswick—congregated in the drawing room after dinner and Alasdair found himself in 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 said something to Sir Timothy and then got up.
Giles halted his card play when Alasdair crossed the room to follow the butler Andrews out into the hall.
As he passed the sofa, Arabella reached out her arm and snagged the sleeve of Alasdair’s 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 Juliana at her request.” Sir Timothy seemed exhausted by the sheer 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.
