The Viscount's Veiled Lady (Whitby Weddings 3)

‘No, I’ll manage. Don’t let me disturb you.’

He walked across to the range, ignoring half-a-dozen surprised expressions as he made a pot of tea himself and then climbed back upstairs, stopping in the bedroom doorway to look at Frances. She was half-lying, half-sitting on the bed, her shoes discarded on the floor beside her, though the rest of her clothing was still intact. Now he looked closer, however, he could see there were several damp patches, as well as specks of blood on the fabric. If she wasn’t careful she’d catch a chill.

He placed the tea on the bedside table and laid a hand gently on her shoulder. Tempted as he was to let her sleep, he doubted that anything had passed her lips since the middle of the afternoon and it was better for her to have something than nothing.

‘Frances?’ He called her name softly and she rolled over, murmuring something indistinct.

‘Frances?’ He tried again, sliding an arm beneath her shoulders this time and lifting her gently upright. ‘You need some tea. Sit up.’

‘Arthur?’ Her eyelids flickered drowsily.

‘The very same. You need to drink and get out of these clothes.’

‘I don’t care about my clothes.’

‘Well, you should. Here.’ He lifted the cup to her lips as if she were a child. ‘I’ve been told to look after you and that’s what I intend to do.’

‘Oh, very well.’ She took a mouthful and sighed appreciatively. ‘Perfect.’

‘Finish it.’

‘I hope you’re not going to be this bossy when we’re married.’

‘Worse, probably.’ He watched with satisfaction as she drained the last of the liquid. ‘Now, do you think you can manage to undress by yourself?’

‘I doubt it.’ She gave a wide yawn.

‘I’ll call a maid.’

‘No!’ She caught at his arm as he started up. ‘Don’t go. I’ll manage, but please don’t go. I don’t want to be on my own just yet. I don’t want to remember...’

She gave a visible shudder and he nodded sympathetically. ‘I know. I won’t forget tonight in a hurry either.’

‘Violet was incredible. She never gave up even when the doctor thought she wasn’t strong enough.’

‘Lance always said she was tougher than everyone thinks.’ He sat back down again, wrapping an arm around her waist and drawing her close.

‘He’s right. She’s indomitable.’

She nestled her head against his shoulder and he pressed a kiss into her hair, knowing that he should really leave instead. A gentleman, even a fiancé, oughtn’t to be alone with an unmarried woman at night, on a bed, in the near-darkness...especially a fiancé who still had secrets he needed to share with his prospective bride. He ought to get up and leave, but how could he? She was warm and soft in his arms and she’d asked him to stay, for comfort. Just for comfort... But he still had to undress her. As if the feeling of her in his arms wasn’t tempting enough...

He muttered an oath under his breath. ‘We need to get you out of this dress, Frances.’

‘Mmmm.’ She burrowed her head closer and he groaned inwardly. Her hair was tickling his neck, making every nerve ending there seem to tingle and throb with anticipation. It smelled faintly of jasmine, he noticed, but then that was her scent, his new favourite, the one that made his blood heat and his breath come in short, increasingly heavy bursts. A tremor of desire pulsed through him. Damn it all, the evening had been difficult enough. Now he had a feeling the night was going to be even more tortuous.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Frances moaned softly as Arthur moved away. She didn’t want him to move. Now that he’d woken her up, his reassuring presence was the only thing keeping memories of the afternoon and evening at bay. Violet’s pain, Lance’s barely contained panic, the doctor’s pessimistic expression...

He was right, though, she really ought to get out of her clothes. Despite the fire glowing in the hearth, her body felt damp with sweat and who knew what else. If only her fingers would do what she told them to, but they felt numb, as if they were as wearied as the rest of her.

‘I think I’ve forgotten how to do this.’ She laughed softly as she fumbled with the buttons at her neck.

‘Here.’

She let Arthur’s fingers take over, letting him unfasten the row of buttons at the front of her gown and then slide the fabric lightly over her shoulders.

‘Frances?’ His voice sounded soft and strangely guttural at the same time.