My Lord Wicked (Historical Regency Romance) by Cheryl Bolen Page A

afternoon as Stacks was cross pollinating two flowers, he heard a squeaky meow and turned to see a thin orange kitten with white markings. He called to the cat in a softened voice, but it shied away. Immediately, he thought how alike the kitten and Freddie were. Too proud to be pitied, to proud to accept favors.
    The next day, the kitten returned. Stacks spoke softly to it, and it came closer, then skittered away.
    On the following day, the kitten came close enough for Stacks to grab it and hold the little fur ball in his big hands. He remembered Freddie telling him about her dog, Champs. She had even called out the dog's name during one of her delirious nights.
    If only this little kitten could replace her long-revered dog.
    That evening when he entered Freddie's chamber, Stacks took the kitten with him. His voice soft, he approached her bed and said, "I've brought you a present."
    Her lids slowly lifted.
    He placed the fluffy kitten on her pillow and watched as a smile came to Freddie's pale, dry lips. To his surprise, the cat did not run away.
    Freddie's thin hand came up to stroke the kitten's white neck. She looked up and met Stack's beaming gaze. "For my very own?"
    He nodded, moisture coming to his eyes.
    "I shall call him Marmalade," she said in a hoarse whisper, petting the kitten's soft coat.
    "Your clothes have arrived," Stacks informed her, trying to sound cheerful.
    She began to cough. When the coughing subsided, she sighed. "I fear I have no strength to put them on."
    "You will get stronger," he said convincingly. And he believed it.
    ***
    The following morning Freddie was strong enough to sit up in bed and drink broth Maggie offered. Marmalade lay beside her, curled up in a snug ball, purring softly. The sun shone through the room's gothic windows, and a fire blazed at her hearth. No longer suffocating with fever, she felt a comforting warmth, especially over the revelation that her guardian himself had tended her during her illness.
    Bent on conversation, Maggie prattled on incessantly. "Whoever would have thought--what with the abbey full of servants--his lordship himself would see fit to sit by your bedside all them nights. I don't believe for a minute those wicked things they say about him."
    Freddie stroked her kitten, her brows lowering, worry pounding in her breast. "What wicked things?"
    "I ---uh, I really couldn't say, miss."
    Just then the door swung open, and a strange man entered her bedchamber.
    "How very good it is to see you up, Miss Lambeth," he proclaimed, crossing paths with Maggie, who left the room.
    She shot a quizzing glance at him, bringing her blanket up to cover her breasts which showed under the thin linen of her shift. "And you are?" A deep, wracking cough sapped her strength.
    "Dr. Edgekirth," he said, strolling confidently to her bedside.
    "You have been very sick," he told Freddie.
    "For how long?" She watched as his hand came to rest on her forehead. It felt strong, yet gentle. Like she sensed he was.
    "Nearly two weeks."
    "You bled me?"
    "I did."
    She nodded. "And you came every day?"
    "Twice each day."
    "You gave me lungwort?" she asked, her voice hoarse.
    "I did."
    "And aqua cordials?"
    He nodded.
    "Then you must be a good doctor."
    "And on what do you base that determination?"
    "On the fact that I've spent my entire life administering to the infirm. My father was a surgeon."
    "Where?"
    "In Sussex. A village known as Chelseymeade."
    "He attended Oxford?"
    She nodded. "Until he fell in love with my mother and cut short his studies. He had hoped to be a physician."
    "When did he attend Oxford?"
    "At the same time as Lord Stacks. They were the greatest of friends."
    He nodded firmly and moved to lift her cover.
    She pulled it tightly over her chest. "As you can see, Dr. Edgemont, that is totally unnecessary. I am quite on the road to recovery."
    "Edgekirth," he said with a grin. "Tell me, how would your father have acted had a female patient treated him as you are treating