“Get away with ye!” she said in his accent and playfully pushed at his chest. Then, pulling him back into her, she spoke using her own voice. “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. Surely that wasn’t flirting, was it?
“Yes, Alasdair.”
“And ’twas good?” He started to feel a swell of pride.
She shook her head as if in despair and then got up on her tiptoes and brushed his lips with hers quickly. “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 that I go with you to see Lady Morpeth. I would not want to cause the lady any pain in case ... she knows about her husband and me.”
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 that 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 he had ordered for her and had not vomited them 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 left burning and that she was already in bed and asleep. He prepared himself as he had the night before. However, this time he did search for and find an extra counterpane 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 called out in his deepest, most unfriendly voice. A real grumble.
Silence on the other side of the door. Then footsteps moving away.
Then a whisper. “Alasdair?”
He padded over to the bed. “’Tis all right,” he whispered. “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. He told himself he would be in an ideal position to protect Arabella if he were close to her.
“Move over, Miss Lovelock,” he said.
He would keep the trousers and the banyan on. 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 wantedhimto holdher. 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. Theso onthat he had imagined so many times.
