Page 26 of Rake in Disguise (Wicked Widows’ League #33)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Blythe checked her appearance in the mirror one last time to make certain that all was put to rights. She would be tardy tonight, but her presence was not truly needed unless there was an unexpected disruption that required her attention.

After taking a deep calming breath and patting a curl back into place, she left her set of rooms and made her way down the stairs.

“Are there any new guests?” she asked George.

“Only those who have been here before.”

She nodded then checked in on the gambling room. The tables weren’t full yet, but it was still early in the evening.

She then crossed to the drawing room and took in the various guests gathered in separate areas for conversation.

It was only when she turned and stepped toward the back of the room for a glass of wine that she noticed Orlando leaning negligently on the counter, brandy in his hand.

He had returned as she hoped but also feared that he might not.

Why was it that she was so insecure when it came to men, or maybe she was afraid to trust her own judgment and hoped that pursuing Orlando as a lover would not be another mistake.

Except, she wanted a lover, not a husband, so she needn’t fear being trapped again.

He was not looking at her and Blythe took a moment to admire his appearance.

His hair was thick and nearly as dark as hers and his grey eyes often appeared silver with humor, but when serious they darkened. A strong jaw and high cheekbones and trim waist covered in a dark suit coat, amber waistcoat over a white linen shirt completed with an immaculate cravat.

He looked every bit of a rake and she couldn’t help but study his long fingers that held delicate instruments to save lives. Were they as talented…

Her face burned and she tried to stop imagining what it would be like to be touched and pleasured by Orlando.

Oh, she wanted him and yes, she had turned into a wicked widow who wanted to take pleasure for herself.

“Dr. Valentine,” she greeted on her approach.

“Lady Blythe,” he returned.

“I am happy to see that you returned.”

“How could I not when the conversation last evening was so enjoyable.”

She knew that he could not be referring to the one about the collection of body parts that resulted from the discussion of the novel Frankenstein .

“I hoped that we could continue where we left off.”

When they had been interrupted, she had hoped that he was about to kiss her.

“Do you recall what we were discussing?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I recall what I was thinking.”

Her face burned hotter and she hoped that the lighting was dim enough that he could not see her blush.

Goodness, why was she nervous?

But she had never decided to take a lover before either and she was not certain what to do. The last time she had experienced intimacy was over four years ago.

Oh dear, perhaps this was a very bad idea.

“What are you thinking, Lady Blythe?”

She blinked at him to note that his eyes were silver with humor.

“So many emotions crossed your features in a matter of moments, but only after you turned a lovely shade of red.”

“I am certain it is because of the heat in the room and I have several matters on my mind,” she lied.

* * *

Orlando chuckled and offered his arm before he led her to the settee they had shared the evening before.

If only he could have read her mind, but he suspected that by his words and how she had blushed that she was thinking about kissing or more.

At least, he hoped that she was.

Did she still hold tight to that propriety? Would she even allow him to seduce her?

Was he letting desire for her cloud his judgement?

He had loved her once, but she had left him. And, until he had her reasons, he could not even consider kissing Blythe, let alone seducing her.

“Why did you not open a medical practice in a village as you had mentioned?”

“When I returned to England, I first came to London to visit my brothers. It was not long before I realized that there was more of a need for a surgeon and physician here. There are more than enough doctors to treat gout and hysteria among the lords and ladies, but those with little access and fewer funds, needed a doctor too.”

She smiled. “Did you open an office?”

“Yes, in Covent Garden. It is shared with Dr. Xavier Sinclair.”

Her eyes widened.

“Do you know him?”

“I have recently met him, when he began attending with his wife.”

It had only been a year earlier that he had become reacquainted with his former classmate.

“I believe she operates a foundling home with her sister. I do not know them well.”

“Yes, they do,” Orlando answered. “Westbrook House.” He did not want to talk about Xavier, or his wife, of Westbrook House. He wanted to learn what else he could of Blythe since she left Brussels.

He glanced around the drawing room. While there were several gathered in various groups, nobody was paying them any mind, and he had a burning need for answers.

Orlando turned more fully to Blythe and stared into her blue eyes.

“You left me.”

She frowned and her forehead wrinkled as she drew her eyebrows together.

“Left you?”

“In Brussels. You left me.”

It wasn’t the question he wanted to ask, but a statement of what she had done.

“The war was over. Napoleon had been defeated—again,” she answered as if she couldn’t understand why it had been wrong to simply disappear.

That was what he feared. That he had meant so little to her that when he was no longer needed for protection, that she dismissed him and went on her way.

He had hoped that it wasn’t true, but perhaps it had been, along with having a family she did not want to be associated with.

Yet, she had asked about them last evening, as if she wasn’t bothered.

“You did not even tell me goodbye.” Orlando believed that was what hurt the most. Nearly a month of seeing her every night, sharing stories from their childhood, of him confessing the secrets his family held close, knowing that Blythe would never speak out of turn…

Even if they had not been lovers, they had become dear friends and she had simply disappeared as if the time they’d spent together meant nothing.

“I was free.”

“You were widowed,” he corrected.

“Yes, and it was time for me to go.”

“Without telling me goodbye.”

Tears glistened in her eyes and she looked away. “I wanted to…I tried…”

“When?”

“After the battle, when you did not return, I went to find you.”

Orlando nearly groaned. He knew where he had been and if she had gotten even close to the Farm of Mont St. Jean, she may have been so repulsed that she ran all the way back to England.

Yet, she didn’t say that he had been found.

“What happened?”

The burly footman stopped beside the settee and Orlando hoped that he wasn’t going to be removed because Blythe nearly cried.

“This message has arrived for you.” He then turned and walked away.

Orlando tore it open and grew irritated, then angry with himself for such a reaction.

“I fear that I must leave.”

“What has happened?” she asked anxiously.

“A child fell at Westbrook House and one of the women who cares for the children fears that an arm may be broken.”

“Oh, dear.”

Orlando stood. “I will return tomorrow, Blythe, to continue our conversation.” He then turned and marched from the room, irritated that he had not been given the opportunity to learn the real answer to the question that had plagued him for nearly three years.

But what bothered him most, he supposed, was her simple answer that she was free and it was time to go.

Maybe he would not wait until tomorrow. After he was done treating the child, he would return to Blythe and not leave until he was satisfied.