our arrangement?”
“She’s more than amenable; she’s elated. She told me so herself. You have no worry on that score. When I left Aurora, she was nearly pacing the halls, waiting to meet you.”
Courtney felt strangely touched by that notion. “Very well, then. Your logic is sound, though I still question the fairness of our arrangement. Nevertheless, I’ll stay at Pembourne—for the time being—and act the part of Lady Aurora’s companion. Although how in the name of heaven I can counter the allure of the outside world, I haven’t a clue. But I’ll try, my lord.”
“Thank you.” The earl’s fingers tightened briefly on Courtney’s nape, belying his casual tone and alerting her to the significance of his next words. “By the way, with reference to given names, mine is Slayde. Not ‘my lord.’ ”
“All right—Slayde.” Reluctantly, Courtney drew back, wincing a bit at the resulting discomfort. “I assume you’d like to bring Lady Aurora in now.”
“Not until you’ve rested.” His momentary tension having dissipated, Slayde eased Courtney to the pillows.
Panic erupted inside her, screaming out that to sleep meant she would relive the dark fires of hell. “I don’t want to sleep,” she blurted.
“Then don’t. Just rest.” Astutely, Slayde studied her stricken expression. “I suggest a half-dose of laudanum, enough only to soothe the pain and make you doze. How would that be?”
“A half-dose?” Courtney breathed in a hopeful voice.
“Um-hum.” His lips twitched. “In a whole dose of brandy. Much-needed brandy, I might add, to fortify you for your meeting with Aurora.”
“Will you stay with me while I rest?” Mortified, Courtney realized she sounded like a frightened child. But, God help her, that’s just what she felt like.
“Yes, I’ll stay with you.” Slayde could have summoned Matilda or Miss Payne, but he didn’t. Instead, he stood, pouring a goblet of brandy and adding a small amount of laudanum to it. “Drink this,” he murmured, supporting her head while she did. “All of it, as I’m sure you’ll be delighted to do.”
Courtney smiled, taking four or five appreciative swallows, then resting before she downed the remaining contents of the glass.
“Well done. I’m impressed.” With a teasing glance at the empty goblet, he lowered her back to the bed.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome.” He gazed down at her from beneath hooded lids, his expression unreadable. “Now, let the medicine do its job. When the pain subsides, I’ll summon Aurora.”
Murmuring her agreement, Courtney sank into the softness of the bed. Within minutes, her body began to feel light, tingly, everything around her unfolding in slow, soothing motion. Her lashes fluttered, then fanned downward, her mind gratefully devoid of thought, her entire being blessedly absent of pain.
Slayde watched her sea-green eyes grow vague, then drift shut, and he was accosted by that same oddly bemused feeling he’d experienced earlier—odd because he wasn’t a man given to emotion, nor to personal affinities of any kind. In fact, Aurora’s assessment of him had been quite right. He was a loner, a man who relied upon only himself for constancy. Never until this moment had he ever tried so hard to convince a woman to stay with him, nor had he every truly cared if one did. Further, he’d certainly never requested that anyone—woman or man—address him by his given name. And yet he’d just done both, with a woman who was, in her own words, a virtual stranger.
Why?
Could it be the chord of memory she struck within him? Doubtful. He’d recovered from his parents’ deaths years ago.
Perhaps he felt responsible for her. He had, as fate had deemed, saved her life. That idea was even more farfetched than the first. Decency, after all, was not a forbearer of sentiment.
Then what?
Pulling up a chair, Slayde lowered himself into it, leaning forward and searching Courtney’s
“She’s more than amenable; she’s elated. She told me so herself. You have no worry on that score. When I left Aurora, she was nearly pacing the halls, waiting to meet you.”
Courtney felt strangely touched by that notion. “Very well, then. Your logic is sound, though I still question the fairness of our arrangement. Nevertheless, I’ll stay at Pembourne—for the time being—and act the part of Lady Aurora’s companion. Although how in the name of heaven I can counter the allure of the outside world, I haven’t a clue. But I’ll try, my lord.”
“Thank you.” The earl’s fingers tightened briefly on Courtney’s nape, belying his casual tone and alerting her to the significance of his next words. “By the way, with reference to given names, mine is Slayde. Not ‘my lord.’ ”
“All right—Slayde.” Reluctantly, Courtney drew back, wincing a bit at the resulting discomfort. “I assume you’d like to bring Lady Aurora in now.”
“Not until you’ve rested.” His momentary tension having dissipated, Slayde eased Courtney to the pillows.
Panic erupted inside her, screaming out that to sleep meant she would relive the dark fires of hell. “I don’t want to sleep,” she blurted.
“Then don’t. Just rest.” Astutely, Slayde studied her stricken expression. “I suggest a half-dose of laudanum, enough only to soothe the pain and make you doze. How would that be?”
“A half-dose?” Courtney breathed in a hopeful voice.
“Um-hum.” His lips twitched. “In a whole dose of brandy. Much-needed brandy, I might add, to fortify you for your meeting with Aurora.”
“Will you stay with me while I rest?” Mortified, Courtney realized she sounded like a frightened child. But, God help her, that’s just what she felt like.
“Yes, I’ll stay with you.” Slayde could have summoned Matilda or Miss Payne, but he didn’t. Instead, he stood, pouring a goblet of brandy and adding a small amount of laudanum to it. “Drink this,” he murmured, supporting her head while she did. “All of it, as I’m sure you’ll be delighted to do.”
Courtney smiled, taking four or five appreciative swallows, then resting before she downed the remaining contents of the glass.
“Well done. I’m impressed.” With a teasing glance at the empty goblet, he lowered her back to the bed.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome.” He gazed down at her from beneath hooded lids, his expression unreadable. “Now, let the medicine do its job. When the pain subsides, I’ll summon Aurora.”
Murmuring her agreement, Courtney sank into the softness of the bed. Within minutes, her body began to feel light, tingly, everything around her unfolding in slow, soothing motion. Her lashes fluttered, then fanned downward, her mind gratefully devoid of thought, her entire being blessedly absent of pain.
Slayde watched her sea-green eyes grow vague, then drift shut, and he was accosted by that same oddly bemused feeling he’d experienced earlier—odd because he wasn’t a man given to emotion, nor to personal affinities of any kind. In fact, Aurora’s assessment of him had been quite right. He was a loner, a man who relied upon only himself for constancy. Never until this moment had he ever tried so hard to convince a woman to stay with him, nor had he every truly cared if one did. Further, he’d certainly never requested that anyone—woman or man—address him by his given name. And yet he’d just done both, with a woman who was, in her own words, a virtual stranger.
Why?
Could it be the chord of memory she struck within him? Doubtful. He’d recovered from his parents’ deaths years ago.
Perhaps he felt responsible for her. He had, as fate had deemed, saved her life. That idea was even more farfetched than the first. Decency, after all, was not a forbearer of sentiment.
Then what?
Pulling up a chair, Slayde lowered himself into it, leaning forward and searching Courtney’s
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