Page 9 of Second Chances (Intrepid Heroines #3)

Eight

H eavy grey clouds scudded in from the west and the day that had begun so promising turned ominous. Allegra added her own short spencer to the earl’s garment so that Max would not take a chill. She had already torn several lengths of cloth from the hem of her skirt, then soaked them in the icy waters of a nearby brook in order to clean the worst of the grime from his face and apply a cold compress to the nasty swelling around his eyes. Once or twice he stirred under her touch, his lips moving ever so slightly, as if he were trying to speak. But even that slight effort seemed to exhaust his meager strength. There was no further sign of life, save for the faint rasp of his labored breathing.

It seemed like an eternity before she heard the clatter of wheels coming towards them. The earl leapt down from beside the driver and stumbled over to Allegra.

“Still much the same,” she said quickly in answer to the stark question in his eyes. “He hasn’t regained consciousness. You have sent for a doctor?”

“Of course I bloody have—sorry.” He raked his hand through his hair. “It was a lucky thing that work was being done on Renfrew’s roof. Watson already had his cart hitched in order to fetch supplies from Hingham. We’ve brought a board, so that Max may be moved with the least disturbance.”

His gaze had never left his son’s battered face. As the driver of the cart turned his team and dragged a section of planking from the back of the conveyance, Wrexham took Max’s lifeless hand and bent low over his ear. “Steady lad,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m here with you now.”

The two men then carefully shifted Max onto the board and placed it on a hastily arranged pile of straw. Wrexham and Allegra climbed in on either side while the other man hurried to take up the reins. The cart moved off with a lurch.

Wrexham’s face betrayed his frustration with the painfully slow progress over the ruts and rocks. He grimaced with every jolt, his hands clamped tightly on the board to absorb as much of the jostling as he could. Allegra put her head and down and did the same. In a short time, her hands were raw and bleeding from the considerable effort but she hardly noticed. All of her attention was riveted on the bruised face that lay so utterly still.

Neither of them spoke a word. What was there to say?

At last the cart track intersected with one of the main roads and the driver dared urge the horses into an easy trot. Still, it another long while before they turned up the winding drive leading to the Hall. The doctor was already pacing anxiously by the front entrance and several of the footmen, their faces creased with concern for the younger Sloane, hurried to assist the earl in carrying his son up to his chamber. Allegra trailed in their wake, along with the housekeeper, who carried a large tray with all the items the doctor had requested.

Once Max was laid in his bed, the doctor ordered everyone from the room. “You as well, milord,” he added, indicating that he expected Wrexham to quit the chamber.”

“The devil I will,” cried the earl. “I mean to stay with my son.”

Dr. Graham heaved a sigh, then shut the door behind them.

Allegra stared for a moment at the polished oak that swung closed only inches from her nose, then turned to encounter the worried faces of footmen and the housekeeper, as well as Rusher and a number of the maids who had gathered to wait news on Max’s condition.

“Rusher, Mrs. Gooding, I think it best if you and everyone else return to your duties. I shall inform both of you as soon as there is any word concerning Max’s condition, but it does no one any good to be milling around here,” she said firmly. “Lord Wrexham has worries enough without having to confront a sea of long faces.”

No one thought to question her authority to make such decisions. The crowd of servants dispersed, leaving her alone to pace the hallway in silent vigil.

* * *

Wrexham held his breath as the doctor carefully cut away Max’s bloodied shirt and began his examination. He probed gently around the abdomen, then applied his ear to the lad’s chest more for a long enough time that the earl feared he may have fallen asleep. Next his skilled fingers moved slowly over the raw face and made a careful inspection of the skull. Finally, he straightened and sat back on the edge of the bed.

“Several ribs are cracked but there appears to be no danger of a puncture to the lungs. Neither is there any indication of a rupture to any of the other organs. He’s taken a nasty crack to the head, but his pupils are not badly dilated so I don’t believe it is life-threatening.” He returned several instruments to the small leather valise by his side. “Despite the multitude of cuts and bruises, I can find no other serious damage. Max is a hearty young fellow. He will be in considerable pain for the next few days, but I see no reason why he won’t make a full recovery.”

The earl let out his breath in a rush of relief.

“Of course, head injuries must always be watched for the first few days, and we must guard against his taking a fever or inflammation of the chest in his weakened condition. I shall stop by first thing in the morning, but you must send for me during the night if there is any change for the worse.”

He adjusted the gold-rimmed spectacles perched on his long nose and dropped his voice a level as he began to wind a long bandage around Max’s chest. “Have you any idea who could be responsible for such a vicious attack?”

Wrexham’s mouth thinned to a tight line but he didn’t answer.

Dr. Graham cleared his throat and removed a small bottle from his bag. He squeezed a number of drops into a glass of water. “Here is a draught of laudanum for when Max awakes. I shall tell Mrs. Gooding the exact dosage on my way out?—”

“F-Father …” croaked a weak voice.

Wrexham rushed to the side of the bed. “I’m here, Max.”

“I’m … sorry I disobeyed …”

“It’s all right.”

The lad’s eyes fluttered open and he essayed a wan smile through his bruised lips. “I suppose I deserve to be birched.”

Wrexham smoothed his son’s matted locks off his forehead. “We shall discuss that some other time, shall we? Right now I want you to rest.”

“He … he—” Max’s words broke off as he winced in pain.

The earl already had the glass to Max’s lips. “Here, drink this,” he urged.

Despite a weak protest, he wouldn’t allow the lad to push it aside until the last drops were choked down.

“Vile stuff,” said Max with a grimace. The expression only deepened as he tried to move his head. “Hurts like the very devil,” he muttered as the earl sought to adjust the feather pillows. But in another few moments, his eyes fell shut and he drifted back into sleep.

The doctor lay a hand on Wrexham’s arm. “With that amount of laudanum, he should rest comfortably for another few hours, milord. I suggest you lie down yourself. If you’ll forgive me for saying so, you look all done in. I’ll send Mrs. Gooding up to sit with the lad for a while .”

Wrexham stared down at his disheveled clothing and scraped hands. “Yes, of course,” he mumbled, but he made no effort to rise.

“Much as I value your patronage, Lord Wrexham, I have no desire for a second Sloane patient,” said Dr. Graham. “Get some rest, sir.”

The earl’s mouth crooked in a wry smile. “Very well. I promise I shall summon Mrs. Gooding to stand watch for a time.”

Knowing he would have to be satisfied with that, the doctor shut his bag and quietly left the room. He was in such a hurry to fetch the housekeeper he didn’t notice Allegra standing in the shadows, hands clasped to her breast. Nor did Mrs. Gooding, whose ample bulk was quickly moving up the stairs as rapidly as the doctor’s had descended them. Muttering a steady stream of invocations under her breath, she pushed open the door to Max’s chamber and disappeared inside.

It was only when the earl limped into the hallway that she found the courage to speak.

“How … how is he?” Allegra’s throat was so tight, the words came out as a croaked whisper.

Wrexham’s head jerked around. He made a quick nod.

“Oh!” Her hands flew to her face as she took several deep breaths. “Thank God.”

The earl moved slowly towards her, his eyes taking in her muddied face, the hair tumbling in disarray from the loosened pins and lopsided state of her dress, with the ragged tear exposing a good deal of one ankle. His brows came together slightly before he spoke. “Max is extraordinarily lucky. His injuries are not as bad as they look, and Dr. Graham expects that he shall make a full recovery.”

“That is good news indeed.” Allegra hadn’t failed to notice his look. She glanced down at her gown and swallowed. “Forgive my shocking appearance, my lord. I … I couldn’t bear to go and change until I had news of Max.”

“You think I mean to criticize the state of your gown?” he growled as he stopped in front of her. “Mrs. Proctor, without your actions, Lord knows how long Max would have lain there—and what the consequences would have been.”

Her mouth quivered. “But milord, it’s all my fault to begin with. I had no right to involve your son. I was so afraid that Max was—” A sob burst forth as she could hold in her pent-up emotions no longer. To her added mortification, she felt a wetness on her cheeks. “Oh dear, I … I never cry,” she mumbled, brushing angrily at her face with her sleeve. But the tears wouldn’t seem to stop.

Suddenly her head was buried in the soft linen of the earl’s shirt and his hand was gently stroking her windblown hair. It was a few minutes before her shoulders stopped heaving and she managed to lift her chin from the solid warmth of his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I’m not usually such a watering pot.”

“No, I don’t imagine you are,” he murmured, hesitating for a moment before releasing his hold of her.

She straightened and began smoothing at the wrinkles on her sleeve to cover her embarrassment. Wrexham reached out and took one of her hands. He regarded the raw scrapes for moment, then took her firmly by the arm and marched her towards the stairs.

“Milord—” she began.

The earl ignored her protest and guided their steps to the library, where he sat her in one of the large wing chairs by the roaring fire. Moving to the sideboard, he poured a generous amount of spirits into two glasses and thrust one of them into her hands.

“Drink this,” he ordered.

She took a tentative swallow and nearly choked. “Wh … what …” she sputtered.

“Brandy.” He drained his own glass. “Every drop, Mrs. Proctor,” he added, indicating the contents of her snifter. “I insist—I think we both are in need of it.”

She did as she was bade, swallowing the rest of the amber liquid in one gulp. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “It does warm the insides, doesn’t it?”

Wrexham’s mouth quirked in a slight smile. He refilled both their glasses and went to stand by the fire.

“Please, sir,” she said softly.

He cocked an eyebrow in question.

“Please sit down. Your leg must be aching abominably—I can’t bear to see you standing.”

A flicker of surprise crossed his features. After a slight hesitation, he shuffled to the other chair and took a seat. His eyes closed for a moment as he settled into the welcome softness of the leather, then they popped open again.

“What are you doing?” he sputtered.

Allegra was kneeling in front of him. “I am removing your boots, my lord. I’m sure you will much more comfortable without them.” Her fingers began massaging at his bad knee, drawing an involuntary sigh of relief from the earl.

“Better?”

He stretched his stocking toes out towards the fire. “Much,” he admitted. Then he started. “Hell’s teeth, your hands, Mrs. Proctor.”

She looked down at the various cuts and scrapes as if aware of them for the first time. “It’s really nothing. They don’t bother me?—”

“You will kindly sit back in the chair, Mrs. Proctor.” There was no mistaking it was an order.

Allegra reluctantly rose and returned to her seat, tucking her feet up under her as she nestled against the overstuffed arm. She watched as the earl took another swallow of his brandy and let out another sigh. Their eyes met.

“I meant what I said earlier, milord,” she said softly. “I am so truly sorry for what took place today. Max has become very special to me. If he had been—” Her voice caught and she shook her head. “I would never have forgiven myself.”

“Don’t go raking yourself over the coals. You are hardly to blame for the evil nature of Sandhill’s son,” he answered. “And Max is going to be fine—though it appears I should do well to stand him a few lessons at Gentleman Jackson’s boxing salon when we reach London,” he added lightly, in an attempt to assuage her obvious distress.

“He never would have been in such a situation if it hadn’t been for me! I had no right to intrude upon your household and involve Max—and you—in all of this, no matter that I meant no harm to either of you. Be assured that I mean to remove my presence from here immediately so that Max will not take it into his head to do anything so foolish again.”

“The devil you will,” he snapped. “Whether you like it or not, Mrs. Proctor, I am now as deeply involved in this as you are. Do you think me so faint-hearted that I would be run off by the likes of Sandhill and son? I told you before that I meant to keep my promise to help you. And now that they have chosen to strike out at my family as well—” His jaw tightened. “I would follow those two bastards to Hell itself in order to see justice done.”

A mixture of hope as well as regret sprung into Allegra’s eyes.

“So let me hear no more talk of quitting your position here until I decide on how we shall proceed.”

At that, she essayed a slight smile. “I thought I was already given the sack.”

“Not until we have reached London,” he reminded her in a gruff voice. “Until then, I still expect you to abide by my wishes.”

Allegra took a sip of her brandy to avoid having to give an answer. After all that he had done, it seemed churlish not to agree, but she, too, took her word seriously. The omission did not escape the earl’s notice and drew a soft chuckle from him.

“I suppose that is too much to ask,” he drawled. “Well, at least let us agree to work together to ensure that those two curs cannot cause any more suffering.”

To that she could concur wholeheartedly. Then she started to rise. “I shall go sit with Max?—”

“Sit down, Mrs. Proctor. He will not waken for several hours.” He regarded her drawn face and the dark smudges under her eyes. “You will take yourself off to your own bed—and I shall brook no argument. Besides, it is not your duty to serve as nurse. I shall stay with him tonight.”

“I’m not at all tired,” she lied. “I wish to help with Max. Please.”

The flinty blue of Wrexham’s eyes softened considerably. “Very well. We shall spell each other.”

He swirled the remaining brandy in his glass and his attention seemed to drift to the crackling fire. He stared, lids half closed, into the fire, a pensive look on his face. Allegra curled even deeper into the comfort of the armchair, unmindful of how frightfully improper a picture she must have presented. Somehow, the earl’s presence was oddly comforting—or perhaps it was merely the brandy beginning to take effect. The knot in her stomach began to loosen and a pleasant warmth started to seep throughout her limbs. Her chin dropped a fraction, then her shoulders began to tilt ever so slightly to the side.

* * *

Wrexham smiled to himself at the sight of Allegra fast asleep in his favorite chair. The firelight glinted off the golden highlights in her hair and played over the smooth, high cheekbones and long lashes. Hardly the image of a female of advanced years, he couldn’t helping thinking. Why, in repose she looked barely out of the schoolroom. There was something achingly vulnerable about the arch of her neck and the way her slender hands clutched together in her lap.

Her lips twitched and she made a soundless cry in her sleep. His smile disappeared as he thought about all she had endured. Yet it hadn’t diminished her courage or her determination.

Well, he had promised to do all he could to help her put those nightmares behind her, and damn well meant to keep it.

With a sigh, he took her in his arms and carried her up to her room. And then it was time to turn his attention to his son.

All was thankfully quiet in Max’s bedchamber. He seemed to be sleeping without pain. The earl settled himself in the armchair by the bed. An hour passed, and then another …

Wrexham looked up with a start. He must have dozed off for just an instant he thought, as he rubbed wearily at his eyes. The soft flicker of a candle came into focus. Allegra stood over his chair, her face cleaned of the mud and dust, her windblown hair now neatly arranged, her tattered gown replaced by one that smelled faintly of lavender and sunlight.

“I think it is time you heeded your own admonitions, milord,” she said softly. “Go to your own chamber. I shall stay with Max.”

“No need. Just closed my eyes for a moment,” he mumbled thickly.

Her skeptical expression conveyed what she thought of that farididdle.

“You’ll do Max no good if you push yourself to a state of collapse,” she pointed out. Her hand touched his shoulder. “Now go, sir. That’s an order. You know you may trust Max to me.”

He made a wry face. “I thought I gave the orders here.” However, he couldn’t argue with the sense of her suggestion. He rose stiffly, grimacing slightly as every joint seemed to cry out in fatigue. He gestured to the glass on the small table by the bedside. “When he wakes, try to have him drink that. Check his brow regularly for any sign of fever. And see that the pillows don’t shift?—”

She took his arm and guided him towards the door, her grip tightening as his knee buckled slightly. “I am no stranger to the sickroom. Rest assured I’ll see to everything.”

He managed a smile. “I know … W-What’s this?” He stared at the glass she had placed into his hand.

“I made a draught for you. For your leg.”

“Good lord, you needn’t feel you have to take care of both of us,” he muttered as he limped towards the door.

“I don’t mind,” she whispered at his retreating back.

* * *

Max’s face took on a mutinous expression. “I don’t want to drink another glass of the odious stuff. And I don’t want to stay cooped up in bed, with Mrs. Gooding and you fussing over me as if I were not able to lift a finger for myself.”

Allegra lay aside the book she was reading aloud to him and fixed him with a steady gaze. At least, she noted, his features were returning to normal, despite the petulant cloud hanging over them at that moment. The nasty swelling had disappeared, the cuts were healing nicely, and the worst of the bruises had faded to a dull grey.

“I’m sure you don’t. But until Dr. Graham gives leave for you to rise, you will stay where you are, even if I am forced to fetch a length of rope to tie you to the bedposts.

He tried to scowl but a grin materialized instead. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course.” She looked at the stack of other books that lay piled on the floor. “Would you care to hear something else, or would you rather I put the candle out. You must be getting tired since Mrs. Gooding told me you didn’t nap before supper was brought up.”

“I’m not tired—” He made to sit up but the movement sent a spasm of pain through his ribs, causing him to bite off his words with a sharp intake of breath.

Allegra raised one eyebrow. “You are sure you don’t wish to drink the medicine?”

“Well, perhaps one more time,” he said through gritted teeth.

She passed him the glass, then stood up. “If you don’t mind, I am tired. I shall see you in the morning.”

“Sorry to be such a bother,” he mumbled. “I know it must be deucedly flat to sit here with me for hours on end—I don’t mean to be such an ill-tempered companion.”

“You know I don’t mind.”

He flashed her a grateful smile. “Good night then, Mrs. Proctor. And thank you.”

“Good night, Max.”

It wasn’t really very late, nor was she really as tired as she had led Max to believe. Before retiring to her own chamber, she decided to visit the library to borrow a book she had been meaning to start. There were so many wonderful volumes in the earl’s collection. She wished she had a chance to devour them all, for she doubted she would ever have access to such a vast choice ever again. A sigh escaped her lips at that depressing thought. At least the earl had been kind enough to let her run tame among them while she was here.

She was busy perusing the shelves next to the fireplace when the sound of the door opening interrupted her thoughts. She turned around with a guilty start.

Wrexham was standing in the doorway. He had removed his coat and the knot of his cravat was loosened in a casual manner. A book was tucked under his arm.

“Oh! I thought you had already gone upstairs, sir. I didn’t mean to intrude on your?—”

“You are always welcome to avail yourself of any book here.” He came into the room and stirred the fire until a flame leapt up from the banked coals. “Has Max kept you captive until this hour? I’m sorry if he is making life a sore trial for you.”

She let out a little laugh. “It is a delight rather than a trial to see him recovering so quickly. But I fear we are not going to be able to keep him abed much longer. I’ve already had to resort to threats of tying him to the bedposts.”

Wrexham chuckled. “Which no doubt you would do.”

“That’s exactly what he said.” She raised a brow. “Am I such a harridan?”

“Not at all.” He put the book down on his desk and strolled over to the sideboard to pour a glass of brandy. “Merely someone with, shall we say, strong ideas and the resolve to see them carried out.”

“Ah. Worse than a harridan—a managing female.”

The earl’s mouth twitched at the corners. “I see I should cease trying to cross verbal swords with you tonight Mrs. Proctor, for no doubt I will end up neatly skewered in no time.” He gestured towards the arrangement of bottles. “Would you care to join me? A brandy, perhaps?”

Allegra shook her head. “You might be required to lug me upstairs again like a sack of grain. I don’t believe I have ever apologized to you for that.”

“Rest assured you are quite unlike a sack of grain.”

A faint color stole to her cheeks. She quickly bent her head and made a show of studying the gilt titles.

“A sherry, then,” he continued. Without waiting for a reply he poured out a glass for her along with a brandy for himself and carried them towards the fire.

She took a moment to select a slim volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets from one of the lower shelves, then came around to accept the glass and take a seat by the hearth. As Wrexham sat, stretching out his long legs towards the blazing logs, the grizzled deerhound rose from where he had been slumbering in the shadows and padded towards the earl, stopping first to deposit a rather wet token of his affection on Allegra’s hand before greeting his master with a contented whoof .

Wrexham’s fingers ruffled the silky fur. “You are one of the chosen few, you know. Sasha usually tolerates only Max and myself.”

“I told you, animals seem to like me.”

“Animals and children,” murmured the earl with a hint of a smile. He cleared his throat. “I don’t believe I have properly thanked you for all you have done for Max. Your quick thinking quite probably saved his life, and the constant concern and attention with which you attend the sickroom?—”

She lowered her eyes. “You need not thank me as if I am performing some duty, my lord. I have become very … fond of Max.”

He nodded, a strange expression on his face. “I suppose it is that for which I am grateful. My son has not had….” His words trailed off as he stroked Sasha’s massive chest. The dog wriggled in pleasure. “You—” began the earl, before he stopped abruptly, a faint color rising to his cheeks.

Allegra’s curiosity was piqued. The notion that Wrexham could be discomfited was intriguing to say the least. “What?”

He shook his head. “Never mind. I was about to make a rather cow-handed remark.”

She smiled at that. “Surely you know by now that there is little that can offend me.”

His lips twitched in return. “Very well, I was going to say I am sorry that your marriage did not result in your own children. You would be a very good mother.”

Allegra felt a stab of sadness and some other emotion altered her face for the briefest of moments. Just as quickly, she composed her features. “That is … most kind of you to say, sir. However it will never be.”

* * *

Wrexham regarded her thoughtfully for a long moment “You may remarry, Mrs. Proctor,” he said quietly.

Her face paled. “I have told you, I don’t intend taking on the bonds of matrimony again, but if I did, there is no reason to believe I would be any more capable of giving my husband a child than I was before.”

He didn’t miss the longing behind the matter of fact words. Though he knew perhaps it would be best to let the subject drop, he went on, driven by a sudden need to know more about her and her life before she came to Stormaway Hall. “How long were you married?”

Allegra took a deep breath. “Six months. An influenza epidemic swept through our village and my husband insisted on tending to many of the parishioners. He had a weak constitution to begin with, so when he contracted a case himself, there was little the doctor could do.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Max has told me your wife also succumbed to the fever?—”

“Yes.” The earl’s voice was clipped. He immediately steered the conversation back to her. “Your bereavement is … recent?”

She shook her head. “Quite some time ago, when I was young. I married at eighteen.”

“A childhood acquaintance?” he persisted.

“No. He was my father’s curate.” A wry expression played on her lips. “He was the first person I had ever met besides my family who expressed an interest in books or ideas. I took his long silences for deep thought and a sensitive intellect. Once we were married, I found out that they were merely long silences.”

Wrexham gave a choke of laughter. “Forgive me,” he apologized. “I am not making light of it.”

She flashed him a look of understanding. “Absurd isn’t it, how foolish we can be in our youth.” She hesitated a fraction. “Though I don’t imagine you would know anything of that. Max has also told me his mother was both beautiful and lively—everything a gentleman could wish. You must miss her very much.”

The earl’s mouth hardened. “My wife, Mrs. Proctor, was the most selfish and shallow lady imaginable. I was perhaps a greater fool than you in thinking she would ever care for aught but the next ball or flowery compliment.”

Allegra looked confused. “But Max thinks?—”

“I see no reason why Max should know of how little his mother cared for his existence.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Why, when Max was four, he nearly died from a raging fever. I remember holding him in my arms one evening, his body wracking by vomiting, his skin burning to the touch. My wife looked in at his room, dressed to go out, and her main concern was not to sully her new ball gown.”

His black brows drew together in an angry line at the memory. “No, Mrs. Proctor, I do not miss my wife in the least.” A sigh followed. “For two halfway intelligent people, we seem, as you say, to have made some rather ridiculous mistakes in our younger years. I, for one, do not intend to ever again repeat such folly as letting the heart overrule the head.”

He wrenched his gaze away from the flickering flames of the fire and turned to regard her intently. “But you—do not despair of having children, Mrs. Proctor,” he said, abruptly changing the subject. “From my extensive scientific readings and from … practical experience on an estate, I am aware that it can sometimes take longer …” He broke off, not quite sure how to continue on such a delicate topic.

She smiled tightly. “It is kind of you to imply I may not be … barren. But it seems unlikely. Six months should be … adequate.” A burning curiosity warred with her sense of propriety. “Shouldn’t it?” she couldn’t help but add in barely a whisper

“Er, that would depend on the, er, frequency….”

Allegra sighed. “I imagine that four times is quite?—”

Wrexham stared at her in disbelief. “What?”

Her cheeks turned a vivid shade of crimson as her gaze slid to where her hands lay knotted in her lap. “No doubt you think me a wanton, on top of everything else,” she stammered. “Is that … a lot? Harry felt it was his duty to suppress any weakness of the flesh, but on occasion he could not.”

“Good lord, the fellow must have been a bigger gudgeon than you have indicated,” he muttered.

Her eyes came up with a flicker of hope. “You mean—his behavior was not … normal?”

“Most certainly not. There is nothing shameful or sinful in a husband and wife sharing intimacies.”

“I had wondered about that,” she said in a small voice. “My mother died when I was quite young and so there was never a chance to …” She swallowed hard. “Even with my cousin Lucy, well, it is not the sort of thing one discusses over breakfast.”

The earl gave a harried laugh. “No, I should think not,” he agreed.

Allegra began to smooth at imaginary wrinkles in her gown in order to cover her jumbled emotions. She suddenly stood up, the book she had chosen clasped to her breast. “Thank you for the sherry, my lord.” Her chin rose slightly, as if to bolster her flagging spirits. “Once again, I have need to apologize to you. I’m afraid I’ve shown a shocking want of sensibility in discussing such private matters with you. But I suppose by now my highly improper behavior comes as no great surprise to you.”

She drew a long breath. “If you don’t mind, I think I shall retire for the night. It has been a long day.”

Before he had time to reply, she had fled the room.

He stared at her untouched glass on the sidetable. She may not need a drink, but he certainly did.

Perhaps more than one.

Wrexham sat in silent contemplation, the flames slowly flickering down to mere embers. But still he didn’t stir from his chair. Releasing a low oath, he raked a hand through his locks, as if in search of exactly what it was that had him so overwrought.

Hell’s teeth, she was nearly an innocent, he thought. And her fears and vulnerability were touchingly like those of a young and inexperienced girl. He would never have expected it from the self-assured, worldly female she chose to appear.

But then, he had never really attempted to look behind the mask—after all, she had merely been an employee. He had been smugly satisfied with his own assessment of her character and it had only been by merest chance that he had learned the true details of her life. Details that painted an entirely different picture of his son’s tutor. It didn’t take the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach to make him realize he was thoroughly ashamed of himself.

The earl tightened the grip on his glass. Had he really become so blind? First he had missed the subtle changes in his own son, and then he had failed to sense the complex emotions underneath the acerbic intellect of this unusual female who had appeared at his door. Perhaps Bingham’s gentle barbs were on the mark. Perhaps in locking away a part of himself he was becoming a different person, one that he wasn’t sure he liked.

A muttered oath drew the sleeping hound’s attention. The big hound raised his shaggy head, then scrabbled to his feet and came to lay his muzzle on his master’s lap.

“I’m not sure I deserve your loyalty, old fellow,” murmured Wrexham as he scratched behind Sasha’s ears. “I’ve been a pompous ass.”

His thoughts turned back to Mrs. Proctor. He wasn’t sure what about her disturbed him so. It wasn’t as if he was unaware of life’s vagaries. She had been forced to endure more than her share of pain and suffering—but so had a great many people in the world. That life was not fair was hardly a shock to him. If anything, his own experiences had made him quite cynical in that regard.

Yet somehow, Wrexham found himself thinking that she deserved more. Instead of feeling sorry for herself, she had shown spirit and courage in the face of adversity. She had not tucked her tail between her legs and tried to hide from her misfortunes, he though with an uncomfortable twinge. And her own hardships had not dulled her capacity for compassion , even lo?—

His mind froze on the word. Yet there was no doubt that she cared for Max as if he were her own child. Damnation, she should have children of her own! Why the devil hadn’t some man had the good sense to recognize what a unique female she was—caring, capable and one that wouldn’t bore a man after a week of marriage.

And damnably attractive too. Contrary to what he had told Bingham, he had noticed.

With a heavy sigh, he wrested his thoughts away from that direction.

Besides, he knew the answer to his question. Most men didn’t want a unique female. The rare one who might appreciate her qualities was highly unlikely to meet her, given her situation.

The gnawing inside him became a little sharper. That his plans for her would only exacerbate her problems did nothing to assuage his already tender conscience. But there was nothing for it. She simply couldn’t remain as Max’s tutor—though why was still something he couldn’t quite explain to himself.

It simply wouldn’t do was the only rationale he could muster.

However, Wrexham vowed to himself, he would see her comfortably settled before all of this was over. He would make sure that she had her precious independence and wouldn’t have to take a position of servitude again.

So why didn’t that make him feel any better?

It was far past midnight before the large hound heard the tread of his master’s footsteps retreating up the stairs to his bedchamber.