Page 16 of A Most Unsuitable Lover

Ian held Juliette close after their lovemaking. They had both stripped off what remained of their clothing and lay skin-to-skin beneath her bed’s quilted coverlet. He savored her nearness and the way she overwhelmed all of his senses in the most delicious of ways. He loved the way she felt, the way she smelled, the little contented sounds he made in the aftermath of her climaxes.

The beat of their hearts mingled where their chests were pressed together. A wandering thumb ran up and down the impossibly soft flesh of her upper arm; her fingers did the same, stroking lazy patterns in the dusting of hair on his chest.

Their peace was disturbed, however, when a frantic knock sounded at the door. Both of them shot upright as if launched from a catapult.

“Lady Juliette!” Ian recognized the frantic voice of the Duchess of Morton. He glanced back to catch sight of Juliette’s wide, shocked eyes. It had to be near two in the morning at that point. Whatever had precipitated this interruption was surely urgent.

Another round of insistent knocking echoed in the otherwise silent room.

“One moment!” Juliette called, gathering the sheet around her nakedness.

“You must hurry,” the duchess hissed. “Viscount Sommerfeld…he’s—”

There were three hard pounds from a closed fist as Lady Morton’s words were cut off. Juliette scrambled to locate her nightshift and dressing gown.

“I know McCullom is in there, and I am coming in. You’d best be decent.” The viscount’s voice was dangerously low and urgent.

Hardly a second passed before Juliette’s door flew open with a bang—she must have forgotten to lock it in her haste to be with him.

Immediately, Ian shifted to shield Juliette with his body, heedless of his nakedness. Truth be told, he would have expected the earl to arrive to exact his revenge for Ian defiling his sister rather than Sommerfeld standing in the doorway, disheveled and wild-eyed, barely dressed in a shirt and breeches. His piercing green eyes swept the scene but flew from Juliette to Ian’s face as soon as they registered her state of undress as she clutched the coverlet to her chin.

To Ian’s surprise, rather than berate them or threaten to tell the earl that they’d been discovered alone in a very compromising situation, Sommerfeld thrust the head of his cane at Ian.

“No less than a dozen servants have been trying to locate you for thirty minutes,” Sommerfeld snarled. “Meredith is bleeding.” His voice broke on the last word and Ian’s stomach plummeted, his limbs went cold. “And hysterical. She refuses to say anything beyond sending me to locate you. Specifically you. What the bloody hell is going on?”

Ian’s mind raced with possibilities. If there was any hope remaining, he needed to act quickly.

“Have someone retrieve my black medical bag from my room,” he ordered as he slipped on his breeches and punched his arms through the sleeves of his linen shirt. “It should be on the chair by the window.”

“Would you mind telling me what is going on?” Sommerfeld growled, fear and anger coloring his tone in equal measures.

“I cannot divulge anything until I examine the patient.”

Juliette gasped behind him when Sommerfeld snatched the front of Ian’s shirt, jerking him forward in a remarkable show of strength.

“Are you saying you won’t tell me what is wrong with my wife? This is Meredith .” Sommerfeld was appealing to Ian’s longstanding affection for the girl Meredith had once been, and the connection he shared with the woman she had become. Ian refused to grow flustered—he would do no one any good if he allowed his nerves to take over. She was a patient like any other. He could not think of how devastated she would be if this pregnancy failed.

“I know.” He tightened his jaw against the concern welling up inside of him and gripped the viscount’s forearm in a tight fist. “You must allow me to do my job.” He didn’t want to harm the man—Ian knew Sommerfeld only acted out of concern for his wife—but he would do whatever was needed to do his duties to the best of his ability.

Sommerfeld must have finally believed him because he removed his hands from Ian’s shirt and limped rapidly from the room, tugging the door shut behind him and bellowing for a servant.

“What is happening, Ian?” came Juliette’s small voice behind him. He turned to face her face, her crystalline eyes round with worry in her pale face, though her ivory cheeks retained a touch of pink from their lovemaking. How much had changed in so short a span of time…

“I must see to Lady Sommerfeld.”

“She will be alright?”

“I must go. Now,” was all the answer Ian could provide.

“Right, of course. Go!” She shooed him from the room, already standing to dress.

Ian ran down the hallway toward the stairs and the sound of rapid footsteps underscored by Sommerfeld’s helpless snarls.

∞∞∞

“I am so sorry,” Lady Morton ducked into her room as soon as Ian left. She was dressed for sleep in her white nightshift and cobalt blue dressing gown. Her long blond hair was plaited down her back and, though it was an absurd observation at such a time, Juliette realized how young she looked. The duchess was usually so outspoken and confident, but, at that moment, she looked impossibly young. It was difficult to remember she was not even thirty years of age when she commanded such a great degree of respect from every room into which she strode. “I heard a commotion in the hallway and discovered the viscount in a great degree of distress. He was roaring at a poor maid who’d said Dr. McCullom was not in his rooms, nor had anyone located him in any other part of the house or grounds,” she explained as she quickly helped Juliette into her dressing gown. “He explained that something was wrong with Meredith…and I had a good idea of what you’d planned when I saw the looks you two shared…and then Ian was impossible to locate…” Juliette’s cheeks burned and she turned her eyes down to the tie at her waist. “Please forgive me. It was the only thing I could think of to do. I tried to convince Sommerfeld to allow me to retrieve Ian, but he would not hear of it. I ran here as quickly as I could, but the man can be surprisingly agile.”

“You did what you had to,” Juliette reassured the duchess and covered her cold hand with her own. “Our friend’s health is more important than anything, no matter what happens.”

Lady Morton’s mouth thinned into a grim line and she nodded in agreement with a squeeze of Juliette’s hand.

Together, they dashed down the hallway and one floor down toward the rooms she’d assigned Lord and Lady Sommerfeld. As expected, there were a couple of maids taking turns leaving and arriving, carrying with them items Ian requested or running off to gather something else. It didn’t escape Juliette’s notice that there was also a pair of footmen barring Lord Sommerfeld from the room. And, judging from his furious, frantic pacing, the angry pounding of his cane with every halting step, Sommerfeld wasn’t the least bit pleased to be kept away from his wife.

“Lord Sommerfeld,” Juliette injected steel into her spine and approached him as one would a dangerous predator. She had come to know him well enough to have a sense of the depth of love he had for Meredith. He moved like a caged lion kept separate from everything that mattered to him. The weight of his adoration, fear, and concern for his wife was so powerful and beautiful that it was nearly frightening. His handsome features were pale and taut with anxiety when he whirled on her. His eyes raked her up and down as if his mind needed a moment to recognize how she fit into this tragedy. Her cheeks burned furiously when she remembered how he had found her and Ian, but she did her best to set it aside. What he must think of her… “Dr. McCullom is with her, I’m sure he won’t allow anything to happen.”

“I don’t understand what is going on,” he croaked, shaking his head. She watched his eyes shadow as his mind began to travel to an impossibly dark place. She could easily guess the panicked questions running through him: What if something happened to his wife? What if there was nothing Ian could do? Even Juliette understood that the blow of losing his wife would undoubtedly be the end of the viscount—she’d learned that he’d teetered on the brink after his injury and had isolated himself from Society and only his wife had been able to heal him enough to bring him back to life.

Juliette was at a loss. What did one say to a man so terrified?

“Juliette? What are you doing here?” She hadn’t spotted Ethan around Lord Sommerfeld’s shoulder, so concerned she’d been about the viscount’s state of mind. Her brother looked as if he’d been roused from sleep as well and was dressed similarly to the viscount in nothing more than a linen shirt and breeches, his dark hair uncharacteristically tousled.

“I—I…” She felt her face lose all its color in a rush of panic. Her mind froze. She was saved from having to answer when the door opened and Ian stepped from the room.

Juliette recognized in the hard mask of his face that he’d donned his physician’s persona, surgically separating his emotions from his work. Gone was his tender passion and the sweet smile she experienced only a short time ago; his eyes were unreadable, his mouth a fine, impassive line.

Juliette braced herself, twisting her fingers together until they were white and growing numb. It was nothing compared to the stillness that took hold of Sommerfeld. The servants scampered away and tension filled the hallway around the five of them. Lady Morton came up beside her and held her hand. Ian cast a glance in Juliette’s direction before stepping closer to Sommerfeld. She was torn between allowing them privacy and wanting to be near in case the news was grim; Juliette knew Meredith wouldn’t want her husband alone if that were the case.

Ian inclined his head to the viscount’s and spoke in a low, steady tone. Sommerfeld flinched and heaved a sigh which quickly morphed into a sob. His cane clattered to the floor and he sank to the ground more quickly than was comfortable, but he didn’t seem to notice. His injured leg outstretched, he held his golden head in his hands, the overlong locks shielding his features, his shoulders heaving silently.

To her surprise, Ian followed him down and placed a familiar hand on Sommerfeld’s shoulder. He continued to speak softly, to which Sommerfeld nodded, though he did not lift his head. Ian stood, offered a gentle smile to Juliette and the rest of their audience, and then ducked back into the room. Ethan came to Juliette’s side and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“Is there anything we can do, Sommerfeld?” Ethan asked softly, treading the fine line between intrusive and friendly. The hallway was stuffed tight with tension. What had happened? Would Lady Sommerfeld be alright?

The viscount finally looked up, turning quickly to the side to swipe at his face. To all their surprise, he emitted a strangled laugh. “My wife is pregnant,” he uttered incredulously. “And she will be fine. The baby is moving and seems strong. McCullom explained this happens sometimes, this sort of minor hemorrhage. There is no reason for it.” Sommerfeld shook his head disbelievingly. “She needs good food, rest, and peace, but all should be well.”

Ethan crouched and held a hand out to the viscount, hauling him to his feet when their hands clasped and hugging him in a strong embrace.

“That is wonderful news,” Ethan congratulated him heartily. Sommerfeld clutched him back.

Juliette bit her lower lip, trying not to allow tears of relief and joy to spill over. Lady Morton was not so lucky; she quietly flicked away a few glittering tears.

Instead, Juliette busied herself with retrieving Sommerfeld’s cane, intending only to hand it to him and take her leave to allow him privacy; however, Sommerfeld caught her eye before she could escape. He stepped closer to her and accepted his cane.

“Thank you,” he began in a low tone to prevent her brother from overhearing too much, though he’d already busied himself with speaking to a passing maid; “for inviting McCullom. Lord knows what would have happened if you hadn’t.” The viscount squeezed her shoulder in gratitude. “Meredith will need to rest for at least a few weeks before traveling—especially given the distance to my family’s estate in Kent. I realize this is an imposition, but might we stay on until she’s well enough to move?”?“Certainly!” Juliette replied immediately. “Do not hesitate to let us know if there is anything you require. I want the both of you to be as comfortable as possible.”

Sommerfeld inclined his head in gratitude but gently grabbed her elbow when she turned to leave. He dipped his head and spoke in an even lower tone. “I am granting you a small reprieve because I wish to be with my wife now and because I am indebted to you.” Juliette’s stomach flipped and her cheeks flushed with mortification. “But I am honor-bound to tell you brother what I discovered earlier.” His piercing green eyes searched hers as he hesitated before his next question. “He did not force you, did he?”

She reared back. “Of course not!” she hissed.

He nodded, seeming more than a little relieved. “Take a few days to consider the situation. I will allow you to think on how you would like to present it before I bring it to Hopesend’s attention. It is not my intention to bring you pain or difficulties, but your brother has been a good friend and he is an honorable man. I cannot in good conscience allow this to continue beneath his roof and pretend I saw nothing. A brother, myself, I would wish to confirm my sister is in good hands.”

She averted her eyes in silent acknowledgment and the viscount ducked into the room with his wife and Ian.

∞∞∞

It wasn’t long before Ian quit the room with his medical bag, leaving George and Meredith alone. George quickly shucked his shirt before climbing into bed with his wife. She looked so small and pale in her white nightshift and clean ivory bed linens. He pulled her close to him with infinite care and cradled her there as she curled into his protective embrace. Together, they simply listened to the sounds of their heartbeats and mingling breaths for a long while without speaking.

“How long have you known about the pregnancy?” George finally asked. There was no accusation in his tone, only curiosity, wonder, and fatigue.

“A few months… I wanted to wait until I was further along before I said something in case the worst happened.”

“Then what?” George stiffened. “You would keep it to yourself and grieve alone? You would deny me the opportunity to experience my own grief for our child? For what you had to endure?” He heard her sniff and held her closer, softening his voice once more. This woman had weathered more than many others could have, and she’d done so with a firm hold upon her dignity. To see her bare her soul with such raw candor was both a privilege and terrifying because she held so much inside. “I did not marry you to obtain the ideal of a family, I married you because I love you as you are, regardless of what the future may or may not have in store for us.” George’s throat thickened. “There will be no grieving, Meredith. You are healthy and strong. The babe will be well. We will have our family.”

She clutched onto him as joy engulfed them both.

“Are you pleased?” she asked in a watery voice.

George tilted his head to gaze down into his wife’s indigo eyes. He kissed her deeply and then said, “You always manage to find a way to prove to me that there will always be another pinnacle of happiness, just when I’d thought I’d achieved the greatest possible. I naively believed I’d lived a fulfilling life before my injury, but it is nothing compared to what you have given me. You warm me every day with your presence. And now, you are giving me the greatest gift of all—being the most wonderful mother to my child.”

They fell asleep in one another’s arms, neither willing to be the first to relinquish the comfort of their hold.

∞∞∞

Juliette returned to her rooms to find them cold and empty. She hadn’t exactly expected to find Ian waiting there, but a small part of her had hoped. The rational part of her knew it was for the best, given the current circumstances, but that didn’t stop the ache in her chest when she found herself alone with hints of him around her.

The sheets were still hopelessly crumpled and they held the scent of their skin and all that had transpired. His coat lay discarded haphazardly on the edge of her desk. But Ian was nowhere to be found. Against her better judgment, she gathered his coat and traversed the darkened hallways by memory alone, not willing to risk a candle with guests and servants still awake and about, until she reached Ian’s door.

She debated for a moment whether to knock but decided against it and was pleased to discover it was not locked. She found him shirtless, scrubbing his tools in a steaming basin delivered from the kitchens. So focused on his task was he that he did not immediately register her intrusion. Her eyes drank their fill of the elongated planes of his broad body, the golden light playing across his flesh as the muscles flexed beneath the skin. They had bunched in such a pleasing way as he’d risen above her—God, was it only an hour before? She pressed her fingertips to her temple and the small movement gave her away. His deep blue eyes found hers and he froze. Her pulse began to thrum with awareness, her body oblivious to the fact that this was one of the least opportune moments. They’d been caught in an illicit embrace and Ian had just been forced to examine and treat one of his oldest and dearest friends. The man had to be exhausted, or, at the very least, his mind was as messy and disjointed as hers.

“Lord Sommerfeld was blindingly grateful you were here to help the viscountess in her time of need. I admit I am as well.” She twisted her fingers beneath the drape of his coat, still trembling from the myriad emotions roiling inside of her stomach. “I am—”

“Sommerfeld saw us,” Ian cut her off gruffly. “There is no possibility of spinning this in any way that might be satisfactory.” She watched in silence as he used quick, efficient movements to dry his tools and store them. He threw a clean linen shirt over his head and faced her directly. “I plan to leave in the morning…after I speak to your brother and explain the situation.”

“No!” Juliette was nearly choked by her instantaneous panic. To her surprise, it was triggered less by the thought of infuriating her brother than it was by the realization that there would be no possibility of her seeing Ian again. Ever. “Lord Sommerfeld pulled me aside and offered us time. There is no need to make hasty decisions. We have time to—to figure this out—to spin this so it isn’t as—”

“Damning? Damaging? How the hell are we supposed to put in a positive light the fact that I’ve defiled you?” Juliette nearly cringed when he put it so crassly, but she stopped herself. “It is finished, Juliette. Everything is over. You and I both know it will be far worse if your brother does not hear the truth from us first, so we may as well be done with it.” He sighed and his eyes became unfocused on a spot over her shoulder. Ian knew his practice would be ruined. He’d be forced to retreat to Scotland to try to gain some footing there and salvage what little reputation he might retain. No doubt Juliette would be married off to the first lord willing to accept damaged goods for a large enough settlement and, if it came to pass, raise any child as his own. The thought nearly made Ian sick right then and there. He hadn’t taken any precautions and he damned himself to hell for it.

In being foolish enough to follow Juliette’s childish game, they would both now lose everything. Juliette would be forced to relinquish any modicum of freedom she’d managed to wrest from her brother who, in turn, would never trust her again. Ian would lose all he’d worked for and everything his mother had sacrificed would be for naught.

He could read in the shimmering blue of Juliette’s eyes how she was struggling against it, but she knew he was right…and it made Ian’s soul whither a little more in his breast.

“You don’t know Ethan,” she said shakily, clutching his coat hands in her hands with a white-knuckled fierceness. “He would never lay a hand upon me , but he can have a volatile temper. As even-keeled as he seems, it hides the potential for explosive anger.” Ian had heard whispers of the earl’s volatility, but it felt more dangerous from Juliette’s lips. No one knew him better in the world. “There is no telling what he might do if he discovers someone—you, no less—had defiled his precious sister.” Juliette had somehow crossed the space between them without him noticing and reached out to place a hand on his arm. “Please, let us find some other way to approach this together. There has to be—” She stopped when he took a large step back and out of her reach.

Her sudden stricken expression nearly undid him, but Ian remained as cool as he could manage when he said, “You must leave before anyone else finds us alone together. This ruse has gone on long enough; it is past time for us to part ways as adults and move on. I should have listened to my conscience and avoided this situation like a plague.” Though he was the one to say the words, Ian was having a difficult time believing them.

And he knew he would never forget Juliette and the sight of her tear-filled eyes as she turned to leave. It would haunt him to his grave.

God help him.

He’d forever ache for the feel of her in his arms, the scent of her upon his skin, the taste of her, the sound of her melodic voice as she challenged him… Though the last thing he wished to do was admit it to himself, he knew he was going to be leaving an integral part of his heart behind when he left the estate.

The rest of the sleepless night was spent telling himself over and over that Juliette would be fine. She possessed a young, resilient heart. She’d pick herself up, marry a peer, bear his children, and take her rightful place as a respected lady. While he…he wanted nothing more than to crawl into a craggy Highland cave in shame.

Shame for allowing his heart to win over reason and destroy everything he’d fought to accomplish.