Page 14 of A Virgin for the Rakish Duke (Romancing a Rake #3)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

H arriet seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Doctor March’s injection had eased the swelling in her throat, and though her breathing had been ragged at first, it was now steady. An hour had passed, and the worst seemed behind her.

Jeremy had refused to leave her side, insisting he was her fiancé—though March knew full well she had a brother.

I am gambling that they are not close, otherwise Ralph would have introduced us. An acquaintanceship then. It must be that.

March had shrugged and continued his work without mentioning it again.

“I believe she will recover in full. I should like her to remain here for tonight at least, so that I may monitor her. I would also like to run some tests so that I can try and understand the reaction she underwent. I have a feeling lives will be saved if we can decipher said reaction.”

Doctor March was an earnest man with a fine-featured face and swept-back black hair that was parted in the middle. His accent was of the north-east and had the hallmarks of a man born to common stock but elevated by his skill.

“Of course. I will remain with her if I may. I am happy to sleep on a chair if there is no bed.”

“There is not, except for mine and a guest bed for patients. You are neither me nor a patient. As you are her betrothed, I suppose you can be allowed to watch over her while she sleeps. In the meanwhile, I will send word to her brother...”

At that moment, Harriet's eyes flew open.

“Ralph? No, please don't!” she gasped, trying to rise.

Jeremy pushed her down gently, one hand on her shoulder. Harriet was shaking her head.

Doctor March frowned, glancing from his patient to Jeremy.

“If you know of Ralph, then you may know of his good friend the Duke of Penhaligon,” Jeremy coaxed. “That is me. I assure you that Harriet is quite safe with me and that we have every reason to keep this matter between us.”

“Please, if my brother finds out, then he will never let me leave the house again. I—I will be a prisoner until Michaelmas,” Harriet entreated.

Doctor March smiled, then sat at the foot of the chaise. Taking out a pocket watch, he pressed two fingers against Harriet's wrist, counting under his breath. Then he pressed a listening tube against her chest before nodding in satisfaction.

“You are in no imminent danger, and I must respect my patient's wishes,” he said at last. “Your Grace, may I speak to you privately for a moment?”

He left the room. Jeremy rose to leave, too, but Harriet caught his hand. He crouched at her side, putting one hand to her brow, which felt cool to the touch.

“Thank you, Your Grace. Your quick thinking saved me, I think.”

Jeremy smiled sincerely at her. “I could not stand idly by, and knew that Harley Street has more than its fair share of clinics and physicians.”

“P-please do not let the doctor tell Ralph. I know you will not, it does not serve your purpose to let this end now.”

“No, it does not serve my purpose,” he echoed.

She held his eyes, and he found himself quite unable to follow the good doctor from the room.

I must. Something tells me he has more to say on the subject of keeping secrets from Ralph. Should I ask Harriet about Simon? A coincidence that she knows Eloise, and that he should know that we had planned to walk in Hyde Park. She cannot be conspiring with him. Can she?

“I am sorry for causing so much trouble. I know that you did not bargain for it,” Harriet whispered meekly.

“It has certainly been… an adventure so far,” Jeremy admitted slowly, “and that has always been a calling for me.”

“Yes, but you had wished to put them behind you. For the sake of your quest to prove yourself to your illustrious ancestors,” she murmured, pinching her brows.

“Ah, you heard that,” he said with a grimace. “I was concerned that you would fall asleep, never to awake.”

“S-so, you did not mean it?” she asked.

Jeremy thought about lying, claiming that he had been babbling, saying anything to keep her attention. Then he thought better of it.

“Yes, I meant it, and you are the only person in the world who knows of my arbitrary fear. I would now ask that you do not share it.”

He took her hands in his, holding her gaze in earnest. She nodded slowly.

“It is good to know something of what drives you. What makes you tick, as they say… You have been very close about yourself,” she whispered.

“I find trust hard to come by.”

“Thank you for trusting me, then.”

Now is the time to ask. To dispel any doubts I have about her. Ask if she is working with Simon Winchester to thwart me.

But what use would it be? She would not tell the truth if she were in league with him. It would be in her interests to lie in order to make the subterfuge work.

Harriet suddenly lifted her head and placed a delicate kiss on his cheek before falling back weakly. The touch jolted him. It was feather-light but heartfelt, lingering long enough to tell him that she meant it and had poured a considerable amount of gratitude into the gesture.

“That is for giving me a taste of freedom. I have never seen Hyde Park and am thrilled with my first sight of it. Oh, and this is for saving my life.”

She lifted her head again. Or tried to. She fell back, giggling adorably.

“I did not think so much strength was required to do something as simple as lifting one's head,” she chuckled.

“Then let me spare you the effort,” Jeremy said, softly.

He leaned over and kissed her on the lips.

“For Hyde Park, to which we will return,” he said after a breathless moment for them both. “And for saving your life.”

He kissed her again, deeper and longer. She held him tightly, one hand at the back of his head, the other slipping beneath his arm to hold his body against hers.

The intensity of her embrace was alluring.

The passion with which she returned his kiss fired his senses, inflamed him.

He pressed her back into the cushioned embrace of the chaise on which she lay.

Beneath him, her body felt soft and supple.

He supported himself on one arm, holding his weight above her but with enough contact between them that their bodies pressed together.

Her hips shifted against his, producing a surge of intoxicating desire within him.

She slipped an arm about his waist, pulling him closer.

He gasped as she nipped at his lower lip, holding it in her teeth, applying just enough pressure that he felt a stab of delicious pain before the bite became a suck. His lip was between hers. He could taste her and knew she was tasting him, savoring him.

Unbelievably, her hand stole down over his hip to momentarily squeeze his buttocks.

It fled almost as soon as she had touched him, as though she had experienced a moment of daring before her courage failed her.

Jeremy reciprocated, reaching up to caress her breasts and making her eyes widen.

A shuffle from beyond the room brought them both to their senses.

The doctor was outside, waiting for Jeremy.

“I had better see what the man wants,” he panted, jerking back.

Harriet was red-faced and breathless, the epitome of innocence and grace.

“We—we cannot do this,” she breathed. “We agreed not to. I am sorry. I was the one who initiated it.”

“No apology needed. I should have been strong enough to resist,” he shook his head, “we will make sure it does not happen again.”

But I want it to happen again. Don't I? Damnation, am I about to burn down the ambition of my life simply to bed a pretty woman?

He went to the door and left the room. In the passageway beyond, Doctor March was seated, smoking a pipe. He rose when Jeremy approached.

“Ah, Your Grace. I anticipated you might want some time with your betrothed after that ghastly accident, so allowed you the time it would take me to smoke my pipe before I knocked on the door.”

“I thank you for the consideration. Did you wish to discuss your bill?” Jeremy asked.

“Hardly,” he waved away. “I trust that I may send it to you, and it will be paid. No, I wished to discuss Lady Harriet and her brother. Shall we?”

He led the way along the passage to a small sitting room, inviting Jeremy to take a chair before crossing to the sideboard for a decanter and glasses.

“Brandy?”

Jeremy nodded, accepting the offered glass.

“I have only lately made Lord Oaksgrove’s acquaintance, when he became my patient. I cannot claim to know him well, but I do know certain things. For instance, he would be most interested to hear of his sister’s recent malady.”

Jeremy arched a curious brow. “But such information is private, is it not? You cannot disclose to him what treatment another patient has received.”

The outline of a trap grew plain. The hint of blackmail hung in the air. The question was—what price did the man have in mind?

I thought it lucky that the first door I tried was a man with expertise in the condition that was plaguing Harriet. But that he also knows Ralph is ill-fortune indeed.

“You are correct, of course. In this particular case, however, I do not think Lord Oaksgrove will object, and if his sister does, I'm sure he will keep it out of the public eye.”

“But, I will not. I will take it to the courts,” Jeremy declared, leaning forward in his chair and slamming his glass down so that the dark liquid within slopped over the sides.

Doctor March looked at him silently for a long moment, sipping his own drink. Jeremy felt his anger rising. This man was toying with him, testing his patience. He felt an urge to get up and grab him by his lapels and shake him.

“I'm sure you would. And I do not wish to go down that road. I will keep silent even though Lady Harriet is not your betrothed.”

“And what makes you say that?” Jeremy asked.

“Because her brother has told me of the man he intends his sister to marry. A most advantageous match. He is not you.”

Jeremy sat back, eyes narrowing. This was a… curious revelation. Ralph matchmaking for his sister could disrupt Jeremy's plans. If word got back to the Winchesters, it would ruin everything.

I must hope that Ralph is being as close-mouthed as usual when it comes to his family. Apart from this fellow, whom he probably assumes is as safe as confessing to a priest.

“She is my betrothed, regardless of what Ralph has planned,” Jeremy said flatly.

March smiled. “As you say. It is not for me to gainsay that. But it would put the cat among the pigeons if Lord Oaksgrove were to find out about his sister's betrothal…?”

“It would. What is your point?”

March tossed back the drink. As he replaced the glass, Jeremy noticed a tremor in the other man's hand. There was a faint glimmer of sweat on his upper lip, which he dabbed at with a handkerchief.

“My point is, that I will keep your secret in exchange for your help in a project of my own. I wish to build a hospital in the East End of this city, Whitechapel. The poorest and most wretched streets in England. The people there are dying of preventable diseases and injuries that should be healed but are not because they cannot afford the services of a physician,” March began with fervor.

“Doctors are never poor. Pay for it yourself,” Jeremy snapped.

“It is beyond my means. And I can find no one willing to donate money to a hospital that will treat people for free.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Jeremy muttered. “…So, you wish me to give you the money to build your little hospital. And in return, you will keep my secret, mine and Lady Harriet's?”

“I will take it to my grave,” March said earnestly, putting a hand to his heart.

Jeremy pondered this new ultimatum. “The trouble is, Doctor, my funds are tied up in a property purchase. I have very little liquid assets to give to you.”

That was the truth. Jeremy doubted there was enough cash available to move, at least not enough to pay for the operations of an entire hospital.

March's face hardened.

“You are a Duke. You are the owner of much land. I refuse to believe you are a pauper. I will give you some time to free up the funds, but I will not accept that you do not have them. A week. After that, I will be forced to speak to Lord Oaksgrove about what I have seen.”