Lord Stanton's Last Mistress Read online

  ‘It is not drivel to them. Anyone willing to bare his or her soul like that deserves some sympathy, whether you approve or not.’

  His mouth relaxed slightly in what might have been the beginning of a smile. It was the first time she had seen that expression on his face and her pulse, which had begun to calm, went into another gallop.

  ‘You didn’t sound very approving yourself just now, so I don’t think you can claim the moral high ground.’

  Christina flushed, wondering how on earth they had reached the middle of an argument when she should really be summoning the doctor or doing something sensible, but the taunting glimmer of amusement in his eyes kept her in her seat and she groped for something to say.

  ‘For your information, I have already read you the political pages from end to end. Twice. And those are equally as depressing. More so.’

  He frowned.

  ‘I remember now—you were reading something about the Tsar and the Sultan. But that news was well over a month old.’

  ‘The mail takes a while to reach us. The pirates have made trade difficult so the ships travel in convoys. Hopefully next week we will receive new newspapers from Athens.’

  ‘We... Who are you and why are you wearing a tent? You sound like you’re underwater.’

  ‘It is a bridal veil,’ she replied, with as much dignity as possible. ‘Brides on Illiakos wear them in public for the first month of marriage. It symbolises the period during which the married couple is dedicated wholly to one another.’

  ‘Good God, more sentimental drivel. I don’t envy you or your groom your wedding night.’ His laugh ended in a gasp of pain as he tried to sit up and she dropped the newspaper.

  ‘Please lie down, the doctor removed the bullet, but you lost a great deal of blood.’

  She sat on the side of the bed and pressed him back gently as she had during the throes of his fever. Except it was different now. His skin was no longer burning, but hers was. The moment her palms flattened on his shoulders she froze. She tried to reason that he was merely a sick man she was tending, but that wasn’t what it felt like. Her fingers were trying to curve over the velvet surface that covered the rock-hard ridges of his shoulders. Sitting like that, if she just leaned towards him a little, raised her head... Took off her veils...

  She removed her hands, but couldn’t gather any more resolution to rise. So she sat there with her hands clutched in her lap, waiting.

  He froze, too, and there was a confused frown in his ice-grey eyes now, as if he was struggling to remember a word.

  ‘You were here before, weren’t you? I remember...’

  He reached for the veils and she surged to her feet, which was a mistake because she tripped on the awkward yards of cloth and stumbled backwards.

  ‘Careful!’ His arm shot out to right her and with a groan of pain he turned chalk white and fell back.

  ‘Don’t move.’ Christina’s concern overcame her confusion and she gently pressed back the bandages, sighing with relief at the unbroken scab beneath. ‘That was foolish.’

  ‘I wasn’t the one leaping like a scalded cat,’ he muttered through gritted teeth. ‘You made your point; I won’t touch the veils. That blasted doctor may have extracted the bullet, but I think he left a sheave of knives inside me instead.’

  Despite her discomfort, her mouth curved upwards at his quintessential Englishness.

  ‘Not a sheave, just one. It is considered good luck.’

  ‘You are jesting, right?’ His eyes widened and she smiled at the apprehension in his voice.

  ‘Of course I am. He is merely terrified of the King which makes him a little clumsy. Please lean back while I apply some salve, it will soothe the inflammation and the pain.’

  ‘I don’t need any more ministering. That fool of a doctor did enough damage already by the look of it, and I’m damned if I will let you smear some noxious folk remedies on an open wound. What I need is to get off this island.’

  ‘It is merely some boiled herbs, including witch hazel and vinegar which are excellent for preventing putridity in wounds. I promise there are no bat wings and ears of newts. If you wish to recover swiftly, I suggest you let me apply the salve.’

  His mouth held firm for a moment at her scold, and then with a curse worthy of a sailor he leaned back and closed his eyes.

  His skin was hot and velvety beneath her fingers as she spread the salve. She worked slowly, smoothing it as gently as possible over the reddened area around the wound, her fingers just a butterfly’s flutter on the wound itself. He didn’t wince, but she could feel the tension in his muscles and see it in the way his hands fisted by his sides. She had an almost overwhelming urge to bend down and press a kiss to his bare chest, to ease that control, to reassure, explore... She knew she should draw back, but her fingers kept up their soothing strokes, until she exhausted her excuse and had no choice but to stop.

  For several heartbeats the room was utterly silent. His chest rose and fell slowly and his eyes opened, pinning her.

  ‘You have dangerous hands, little nurse.’

  She curled her fingers into fists and looked down.

  ‘I don’t think they qualify as dangerous. Not next to whoever did these to you.’ She indicated the scars on his arm and shoulder, but tried not to look further. He raised his arm, inspecting the scars as if surprised to see them.

  ‘These are just useful reminders not to wander around the bazaars of Constantinople after a night of heavy drinking when you are not welcome in that town.’

  ‘Someone tried to kill you?’

  ‘Not everyone finds me charming.’

  ‘I can understand that, but it is hardly a reason to try to kill you.’

  ‘Thank you. Foolish of me to expect a disavowal.’

  ‘Besides, not all these scars are from the same event or weapon,’ she added, ignoring his unconvincing attempt to look offended.

  He glanced down at his torso with a frown.

  ‘No. I’m afraid I carry a diary of my follies on my person. This new one will be a particularly inglorious chapter; I didn’t even do anything to merit it but be in the wrong place at the wrong time. How demeaning.’

  ‘The others were merited?’

  ‘Except for this one.’ He turned over his left hand to show a white patch along the root of his palm. ‘This was from trying to save a friend from his folly when he climbed back into our room at school in the middle of the night during a storm and almost ended up an ornament on the bushes below.’

  ‘Folly appears to be contagious. Are your friends as foolish as you?’

  He smiled.

  ‘No, Raven was like that before I met him. I was still deep in my obedient phase and very determined not to succumb to the family curse of depravity. I held out quite a while, too.’

  She frowned at his tone. ‘I don’t believe in curses.’

  ‘Of course not, nurses must be sensible, right? I’m not fond of the notion myself. Too Greek. I accept full responsibility for choosing which side of my family tree I emulate. I made every effort to behave like the proper half of that tree for almost two decades and found it not only stultifying, but also unappreciated. So for the past five years I have been enjoying a grand tour of the other half. Aside from these...’ he indicated the scarred topography of his body ‘...I am finding it suits me very well.’

  ‘I am glad, because I would hate to think you derived no pleasure from trying to kill yourself.’

  She hadn’t meant to speak quite that sharply. He smiled, a slow wolfish smile, and her legs pressed together, readying herself to move.

  ‘I’m deriving a great deal of pleasure at the moment from being resurrected. I’d derive even greater pleasure from seeing what my little saviour looks like under those veils, but don’t worry, I don’t need to be slapped more than once to learn not to steal cakes from cook’s t
able. I will just have to exert my imagination; it is very creative. Shall I tell you what it is weaving?’

  ‘No, thank you. I have little doubt it is an improvement on the reality. Now, you might be accustomed to injury, but you are still very weak and what you need most is rest. If you need help, call for Yannis. He is outside. The King is a good man and has every interest in seeing you in good health so I suggest you not try anything foolish.’

  ‘You are a fiery little thing, aren’t you? You don’t sound as terrified of this King as the doctor appears to be.’

  ‘I have no reason to fear him. I owe him everything and he has always been kind to me. However, he does have a temper and I suggest you don’t provoke it if you wish to have your way.’

  He smiled, his eyes lightening with laughter.

  ‘That is excellent advice, darling. I promise not to provoke him, but I don’t know if I can promise the same to you, as it is too much of a pleasure to watch, or rather listen, to you rise to the fly. I do promise to keep my hands to myself, but for your information, the best way to put a man’s fantasies to rest is to confront him with reality. Perhaps these veils have more merit for newlyweds than I gave them credit. Marriage is a tedious business and anything that introduces a touch of mystery is welcome.’

  ‘Are you married then?’ The words were out before she could stop them, her skin still tingling from his casual endearment.

  ‘No, thank God. I’ve watched too many disasters on that front. When I do marry, in the very, very distant future, it will be to someone whose expectations can be measured in worldly goods and who knows her limits and mine.’

  It had nothing to do with her, but it hurt like a personal rejection.

  ‘I will return later with a tisane for the pain, but you should rest now. If you need anything, summon Yannis and he can send for me if there is a need.’

  ‘And pull you from your husband’s arms? Tempting but not very chivalrous, my dear. I shall make do with this Yannis.’

  The lingering falsity of her marriage stuck in her throat. It wasn’t like her to lie. Not that she had actually said she was married, but she had certainly not corrected him and that was bad enough, wasn’t it? All she had to do was tell him—I’m not married; the veils were the King’s idea. Then he would laugh and tell her to take them off, that she stood in no danger from him.

  And that would be a lie, too. Even if he meant it. He might poke fun at her, but somehow she knew the moment he knew she was unmarried even that taunting freedom in her presence would cease. She might not know him, but she knew that. Still, the next time he said anything about her married state she promised she would tell the truth. However uncomfortable.

  She glanced back—he looked weary, but his smile lingered as he watched her, part warmth and part mockery. She was so tempted to stay so she left.

  * * *

  If she had an ounce of sense she would have stayed away from that point forward, but she didn’t. The first week of his illness was unsettling, but the second exhausted all her reserves of self-control. She found all forms of excuses to visit the Englishman, though any servant could have delivered the tisanes she prepared and she was gaining no favours with the doctor by insisting on applying her salves to the wound. She drank in every moment in his company like the Illiakan plains drank in rainwater after the long dry summer. He never demanded she remove the veils again, and thankfully he never again referred to her marriage, so she could at least continue to shove away her guilt at perpetuating the lie and enjoy the pleasures of his company, from the unsettling effect of touching him as she nursed him to the more innocent pleasure of reading to him. She loved lingering over the agony columns just so he would tease her and then she could berate him for his insensitivity and watch the laughter light up his austere face.

  ‘Enough. That one was by far the most pathetic,’ he stated after she found a particularly tearful advertisement. ‘What is wrong with people? One would think with all of human history at our fingertips we would have realised this love nonsense is a waste of energy. Imagine how much could be achieved if only we applied all that energy to something productive.’

  ‘I think love can be a great force for good, perhaps the greatest. I do know that love changed my life. My parents didn’t really know how to love me, they were too busy with their concerns, but when I came to live with the Princess when I was ten and she four, I discovered what it was to love and be loved and my life changed utterly. I can’t imagine who I might be today if I hadn’t been so lucky.’

  ‘I’m glad for you, but that kind of love is different.’

  ‘How? Love is just love. It is caring for another person, sometimes more than you do for yourself. It is wanting that person to be happy, feeling their pain, wanting to understand them and wanting them to understand you. How is it different?’

  ‘Because what you are describing is not what people mistake for love between men and women, but affection between siblings or a mother’s love for her child. At least I presume it is. My own parents were sadly deficient on that front, though to give my father credit he meant well—he was just so sanctimonious. But I think I can understand a little of what you described—when I was ten my father remarried a lovely woman who did her best to make up for both my parents’ deficiencies.’

  ‘Did she succeed?’

  He smiled and warmth spilled through her. Love. Perhaps this was an answer, too. It was different.

  ‘Up to a point. From that point she did something even better, she gave birth to my sisters. I was also ten when this happened and it changed my life, so I think I can understand what you mean. What was wrong with your parents?’

  ‘Perhaps there was nothing wrong with them. Perhaps the fault was in me.’

  ‘Good God, no. Trust me on that. What were they like?’

  ‘My father was a doctor and my mother was very ill and couldn’t tend to me. So I was sent to stay with my uncle and aunt against their will until my mother died and my father came to work at the castle. Coming here saved me. Are your sisters like you?’

  His mouth quirked at her change of subject and for a moment she thought he would persist, but then the mocking smile returned.

  ‘That sounds suspicious. What is like me?’

  ‘Are they also convinced they are cursed or are they more sensible?’

  ‘Oh, much more sensible. And since my mother’s side is the bearer of the curse, they don’t have to carry that particular burden. They aren’t like me in the least; they both take after their mother, thank goodness.’

  ‘Do they share your belief that you are cursed?’

  He hesitated.

  ‘For the moment they are too young and sheltered to think I am anything but their big brother. Hopefully they won’t despise me too much when the scales fall from their eyes. I admit I resolved to despise them when they were born, but I held out for about three minutes from the moment I set eyes on them. I would certainly do anything for them. On most matters I am distinctly on the sinful side of my joint family tree, but my sisters and my two best friends still manage to bring to the surface whatever of my finer principles remain intact.’

  She sighed.

  ‘I’m envious. I always wished for an older brother. My cousins were brutes so they don’t count and the King is more like an uncle.’

  His eyes narrowed.

  ‘I’d volunteer for the post, but that wouldn’t be quite honest since brotherly feelings aren’t what you evoke in me. Which brings me back to the distinction between the love you described for the Princess and what you might think exists between men and women. Those two are very different in both quantity and quality, believe me.’

  Under the veils, the now familiar heat gathered, like steam in a tent. She wanted to rip everything off and bare herself, lies, dreams and everything. She prayed he wouldn’t say the words that would force her to honour her promise to tell t
he truth. She didn’t want this to end yet, not yet.

  The sting of her need made her voice hard. ‘You may be as cynical as you wish, but you don’t know everything.’

  ‘Hardly, but I have a little more experience on that front than you and your young love.’ His eyes had become stormy grey again, a transformation which always marked the point she felt she was trespassing on something personal.

  ‘How can you have more experience in something you don’t believe exists?’ she countered and his mouth curved into a reluctant smile.

  ‘In its fallacy I do. Certainly in the varied shades of relations between men and women. On the strength of that advantage may I give you some advice?’

  ‘I don’t think I will appreciate it, will I?’

  He laughed and the storm grey turned warm and inviting again, sinking her further.

  ‘Good point. I have had reams of advice flung at me by my father and appreciated none of it. Still, you can do what I do and ignore it. For what it is worth I suggest you never depend on your husband to fulfil all, or even most, of your needs. That is a recipe for disaster. Men are rather useless fellows and tend to buckle under pressure, especially when that pressure is applied by women. Especially by someone like you who is far too strong for their own good and as argumentative as one of those philosophers who lived in a cave or a barrel or wherever. Learn to row your own boat. There, if only you listen to my advice I’d consider my debt paid in full.’

  She took a deep breath. She had made a promise after all.

  ‘I am not married.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I’m not married. You assumed I was because of the veils.’

  ‘I assumed... But you said...’

  ‘I said the veils are bridal veils and they are. The King ordered me to wear them while I tend to you, for my protection. After all, we did not know anything about you. Well, we still don’t since you won’t even tell us your name, but... But I am not married.’

  Her hands were clenched so tightly together they hurt. She unclenched and flexed them. There was no need to feel so horrid and guilty and...exposed.