The Infamous Duchess Page 4

  Quite the opposite.

  But, she was first and foremost a caregiver who’d made a promise to Florian. So, with the same degree of trepidation most people would feel if forced to jump from a cliff, she marched into Mr. Lowell’s room and ignored the furious pounding of her heart.

  “Why must you disrupt things?” she asked, speaking before she had time to think.

  “Is that what I’m doing?” His dark brown eyes followed her as she went to the chest of drawers by the wall and collected a few supplies.

  “Emily is perfectly capable of changing your compress and bandage.”

  “I’m sure she is,” Mr. Lowell said, “but I want you.”

  The words were softly spoken. A verbal caress meant to break Viola’s defenses. She turned to face him. “Why?”

  He smiled then, disarming her completely. One second ago, she’d been ready for battle. Now, however, her legs had grown weak while her brain seemed to sigh with pleasure.

  “Because of this.” He gestured between them. “You challenge me, Viola.” He paused for a second as if considering, then chuckled lightly and added, “You’re also lovely to look at.”

  She glared at him, which made him frown. And then he said, “You disagree.” He shook his head as if such a concept was inconceivable to him.

  Instead of engaging, Viola rolled her eyes and brought the materials she needed closer to the bed. “Come on then,” she said, resigning herself to the task at hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

  He eyed her coyly while she pulled back his sheet and proceeded to lift up his shirt. Her hands made contact with his skin, and just as before, she felt herself tremble.

  “I like it when you touch me like that,” he murmured as if his voice alone could entice her to do the wickedest things.

  She cleared her throat and met his gaze as frankly as she could muster. “Perhaps you would like the orderlies to give you another bath, Mr. Lowell?”

  He started to laugh, then winced with pain and fell silent. The tension between them was effectively dispelled, allowing Viola to focus. She worked quickly, intent on going to check on Mrs. Richardson again as soon as she was finished.

  “There. That ought to do it,” she said, satisfied with her work. She began pulling down Mr. Lowell’s shirt but froze when he caught her wrist.

  To her chagrin, her entire body came alive beneath his touch, her skin warming precisely where his fingers made contact. “I’m sorry if I have made you feel uncomfortable.” He released his hold on her slowly, as if preparing to grab her again if she tried to flee. “This wasn’t my intention. I just . . . I like having fun, Viola, and flirting with a woman who’s able to respond in kind is vastly entertaining. It is also the only source of amusement available to me at the moment.”

  To Viola’s surprise, Mr. Lowell looked utterly sincere. The mischievousness from earlier was gone from his eyes. In fact, he appeared to be truly concerned he might have offended her somehow.

  Against her better judgment, she chose to take pity on him. “It’s all right,” she said. “I suppose the days can be rather long when all you’re doing is lying in bed.” She recalled the paper he’d been reading yesterday. “Did you at least manage to solve all the puzzles?”

  “All except one. It was mathematical in nature and I simply couldn’t figure out the missing numbers.” He reached for the paper and held it toward her. “Here. Why don’t you give it a try?”

  Taking a step back, Viola deliberately started tidying away her supplies. “You can read it to me while I work. It’s more efficient that way.”

  He frowned but refrained from protesting, for which she was grateful. “If two plus one is thirteen, and five plus three is twenty-eight, and seven plus five is two hundred and twelve, then how much is nine plus two?”

  “Oh, it’s one of those.” Viola poured a glass of water for Mr. Lowell and handed it to him. “Here, it’s important for you to drink.”

  He did so and winced. “Perhaps I can have some more red wine later?”

  She laughed. “Maybe. If you promise to stay on your best behavior.” She considered the problem. “I think I need to see this written down.”

  “That’s what I thought, but you said I should read it out loud so—”

  “No, I mean like actual numerals. Spotting the pattern is difficult when the numbers are spelled out. It doesn’t make the same sort of sense.”

  “Oh. Right. Do you have a pencil?”

  She picked one from her pocket along with the small notebook she carried with her, placing the paper at just the right distance so she could see what she was writing. She jotted the numbers down from memory and studied them for a moment. “Ah!”

  “Ah?”

  She cut a glance at Mr. Lowell and smiled. “The answer is seven hundred and eleven. You have to subtract first and add afterward. So take two away from nine, which gives you seven and then add nine to two in order to get eleven.”

  He knit his brow and considered the sums she’d written down. “I really hate it when mathematics doesn’t make any sense. This is ridiculous.”

  “I agree, but it was listed as a puzzle, which I suppose it is. Even if the numbers don’t add up as they should.”

  “Well, at least you have put my mind at ease. That problem would have kept me up at night otherwise.”

  “I seriously doubt that, Mr. Lowell.”

  He grinned. “How well you know me already.”

  A moment of silence settled between them and it occurred to Viola that she was reluctant to leave. Which was curious. He was a rake and she had no interest in that sort of man. Or in any man, for that matter. She’d gained her independence and was loath to part with it—to relinquish her freedom and submit to another’s will.

  No thank you.

  And yet, she wasn’t eager to go and check on Mrs. Richardson either. So she lingered, unsure of what to do next. To her relief, Mr. Lowell came to her rescue.

  “Would it be presumptuous of me to ask you if you would like to play a game of cards with me?”

  She hesitated. Her friends’ warnings echoed through her head. They were right to be worried on her behalf. But her acquaintance with Mr. Lowell would be temporary. He would recover and leave, and when he did, he’d give his attentions to someone else.

  Consequently, she shook her head. “Not at all. It’s been a while since the last time I played so I would enjoy that, though I do have a few other tasks to attend to first.”

  “In that case, I shall rest awhile and gather my strength,” he said. “If you play as well as you care for a man you would rather avoid, I believe it will be a challenging game.”

  It took longer than Henry expected before Viola returned to his bedside. During her absence, he contemplated the conversations they’d had over the last two days. They’d been refreshing and full of quick rejoinders. Which made him wonder about her upbringing and her education. Certainly, she would have to be middle class to hold the position she did within the hospital. From what little he’d seen, it appeared as though Emily was her subordinate, which placed Viola in a position of some authority, making Henry all the more curious about her background.

  “Does vingt-et-un suit?” Viola presently asked, positioning the table next to his bed in a way that allowed for their card play. Opening a small box, she poured a pile of counters onto the table surface and distributed them equally between the two of them.

  “It is one of my favorite games,” he said, even though he generally preferred playing it against more people because of the increased challenge.

  Pulling up a nearby chair, Viola took a seat. “Shall we draw to see who’s the banker?” she asked, producing a deck of cards and spreading it into a fan. He picked a card and so did she, beating him with a king to his ten. She smiled. “I’ll deal then.”

  He watched her do so with the skill and fluidity of someone accustomed to handling cards. “Who taught you to play?”

  Her expression grew wistful. “My father. It was
his favorite diversion after work.” She proceeded to deal the first card and he checked it, happy to find an ace.

  He selected five counters and pushed them toward the middle of the table. “And what was your father’s profession, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  She dealt the second card. “He was a physician.” She checked her cards without a hint of what it contained.

  Henry did the same, frustrated to see a five. “I’ll split my hand,” he said, placing his cards face down on the table and adding an additional five counters. She gave him two more cards and he was happy to discover that one was a queen. “It makes sense then, that you would become a nurse.”

  She added five counters as well and dealt herself another card. “My father taught me everything he knew. He was not of the opinion that women should be restricted on account of their sex. Had it been up to him, I would likely have gone to university to study medicine.”

  He presented her with his vingt-et-un before collecting his winnings. “Does it bother you that you couldn’t?”

  She gathered up the cards and handed the deck over to him. “I have been blessed with incredibly good fortune, Mr. Lowell. In some ways I believe I may have been able to accomplish more than most physicians do in their lifetimes.”

  Well, that was a pretty boastful statement. And yet she didn’t sound as if she was trying to show off, although he was of the opinion that she gave her profession more credit than it deserved if she honestly believed that being a nurse was a greater accomplishment than being a physician. The difference was, a nurse wasn’t trained to do a physician’s work, while a physician could easily do what a nurse was trained to do, if necessary.

  But perhaps Viola viewed herself differently. If her father really had taught her everything he knew, then perhaps she was able to set a broken limb and maybe even perform minor surgery. He considered this while shuffling the cards and dealing, watching her closely as he did so.

  “Does Florian let you help in the operating room sometimes?” he asked.

  She gave her card a quick look and pushed a few counters forward. A swift nod followed. “I often assist.” She raised her gaze and met his across the short distance between them. A fire burned there, and in that moment Henry wished she would feel such passion for him. “I was there when he operated on you. It was I who cleaned your wound and handed your brother the necessary tools.” The smile she gave him next was conspiratorial in nature. “I have seen inside you, Mr. Lowell.”

  He held his breath, aware only of her stormy eyes and the pounding of his own heart. “And what did you find?” Were they even talking about his wound anymore?

  She paused for so long he was almost tempted to reach out and shake her. But then she chuckled and leaned back, relaxing against her chair. “A bloody mess.” And with that final statement, she placed her cards face up to reveal two kings and an ace.

  Damnation! He’d been so mesmerized by her he hadn’t even known he’d continued to deal. “I think I’d like a brandy,” he muttered.

  She grinned openly, and for a second he knew he saw her. The true Viola. The one she hid from the world with her serious façade. To his stupefaction, it occurred to Henry that what he wanted most in the world was to make her laugh like this daily. He wanted to be the man who made her happy.

  The realization quieted his mind in a way few things had in recent years. He’d been so busy turning The Red Rose into the successful club it now was and helping his father with his financial difficulties, he’d had no time to reflect on what really mattered. For the past year he’d thought it was getting married, and perhaps that was true if his bride-to-be was a woman of Viola Cartwright’s dedication and intellect. He didn’t like knowing that the most he could hope to have with her was a brief acquaintance destined to end the moment he left the hospital.

  “The best I can offer is a glass of wine. And only if you are ailing.”

  He ignored the melancholy trying to grasp him and asked her as seriously as he could manage, “Would it help if I told you I feel a fever coming on?”

  The palm of her hand went swiftly to his forehead, cool and soothing and oh so wonderful. “Hmmm . . . Perhaps a small glass of wine would do you some good,” she said, and went to fetch one.

  “I was hoping you would join me,” he said when she returned with only one glass in her hand.

  “I am working, Mr. Lowell. To imbibe even a little would be irresponsible.” She handed him the glass and resumed her seat by his bed while he drank.

  Henry savored the spicy liquid even though it wasn’t the best he’d ever had. But he supposed the wine they kept here was for medicinal purposes and not for the sake of enjoyment. Still, it soothed and comforted and made him feel wonderfully relaxed. “Thank you.” He eyed the cards still on the table. “Shall we play some more?”

  “If you like.”

  They finished five more rounds before Henry was forced to name Viola the overall winner. He helped put the counters back in the box where they belonged while she collected the cards.

  “My brother says the Duchess of Tremaine is the hospital’s protector,” Henry said in the hope of encouraging more conversation and making her stay. Viola stilled, and Henry proceeded with the question he wanted to ask. “I was wondering if I might be able to meet her while I am here.”

  Viola slowly tied the cards together with a ribbon and placed the deck and the box of counters in a small drawstring pouch. “Why the interest?”

  He shrugged. “I suppose I find the notion of any woman building a business and running it successfully a fascinating one.”

  Viola crossed her arms and tilted her head. “Really?”

  “It cannot have been easy, is what I mean. I am simply impressed, that is all.” When Viola raised an eyebrow, he sighed. “Very well, I am also a little bit curious to see what she looks like, considering she never sets foot in Society.”

  “But you must have heard rumors?” She toyed with the skirt of her gown as if transfixed by the way the fabric moved.

  Henry watched her with interest. It wasn’t jealousy he sensed in the tone of her voice but something else altogether. Unable to put his finger on it, he answered her question. “They say she’s a social climber but I know from Florian’s accounts that this cannot be true.”

  The edge of her mouth lifted. Silence expanded between them until she finally spoke. “Did it ever occur to you that you might have met her already?”

  He tried to think, his mind shuffling through the faces he’d seen since arriving at St. Agatha’s. It couldn’t be Emily or any of the other nurses he’d encountered, which meant . . . His eyes locked with Viola’s, surprise hitting him square in the chest. “You?”

  The secretive smile she’d been wearing widened, and she dipped her head as if in greeting. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Lowell.”

  Viola hadn’t planned on revealing her true identity to Mr. Lowell because she knew he would see her differently the moment she did. But after enjoying their card play together this afternoon, she couldn’t be dishonest either. They had, after all, become friends of sorts, if only in the loosest of terms. But it was enough for her to know she’d feel guilty about lying to him.

  A rake of Mr. Lowell’s renown is more dangerous than you can imagine.

  Harriet’s words rushed to the front of her mind, but it was too late to regret her moment of honesty now. Aware of the risk she took by divulging her title to Mr. Lowell, Viola waited for his reaction, which would be either disbelief or admiration. She knew this from experience—from the peers she’d dealt with on the committee in charge of securing funds for the hospital. Most had initially found it hard to accept that she was St. Agatha’s patroness. Her age and her sex had both worked against her, which was yet another reason why she appreciated Florian’s support. She’d needed him, if only to make people listen.

  But as Mr. Lowell’s eyes widened, she saw that they also gleamed. Not with disbelief or admiration, but with something else en
tirely, namely a mixture of relief and opportunity. Viola instinctively schooled her features in response.

  “I can assure you the pleasure is all mine,” he said. “My brother has said such wonderful things about you, Your Grace, I confess I became intrigued and hoped to one day make your acquaintance.”

  Viola considered him. Perhaps she’d misjudged his initial response to her confession? “You needn’t address me so formally. In fact, I prefer if you don’t.” Seeing the question in his eyes, she explained, “My parents were not nobility and . . . Well, suffice it to say that I have never felt comfortable with my title. Viola will do, or Mrs. Cartwright, if you prefer.”

  “Then Viola it is,” he said with a grin while studying her as though seeing her for the very first time.

  Feeling a blush coming on, she deliberately dropped her gaze to her lap. The comfortable companionship they’d shared earlier had somehow been lost and replaced by extreme self-awareness on her part. She shifted slightly in her seat and considered taking her leave so she could return to her duties.

  “Your . . .” He hesitated briefly, and she glanced up to find him looking slightly perplexed. An odd sense of bafflement played across his face, and then he blinked and caught her gaze. “I suppose he must be your stepson, even if he is older than you.”

  A chill snaked its way along Viola’s spine. She clutched her hands together in her lap. “You refer to the new Duke of Tremaine. The former Marquess of Bremferrol?”

  “Precisely.” He watched her closely. Pensively. “He and I have known each other since adolescence.”

  Oh God!