Sharon Sobel by Lady Larkspur Declines (v5.0) (epub) Page A

thinking in complete disarray …”
    “And yet you appear very clear and lucid just now.”
    She paused and glanced towards her mother. Ben admired her tenacity, for he guessed her scheme was entirely of her own working and would have little support if he chose to challenge her in front of the others. It would be easy to defeat her, and thus bless her marriage to Raeborn.
    But for reasons he did not care to examine too closely, he preferred not to do so. Not yet.
    Lady Larkspur cleared her throat. “It comes and goes, I am told. I doubt I will remember anything of this interview an hour from now,” she said with a deep sigh.
    “A pity,” Ben answered, “for I believe it will remain fixed in my memory for many years to come.”
    “And why might it be so? What interest do you retain in this affair?”
    “Why, none at all, except for a professional one, and a sense of some obligation to a relation.”
    “We are scarcely related at all, sir.”
    “So you have told me at least as many times as we have met. I am often admired for my keen intellect, and therefore I assure you your words have been completely understood. But you misunderstand me. I did not refer to our own tenuous connection, but rather to the stronger one I share with Raeborn. He and I have not enjoyed many occasions on which to meet, but my present business in London—and his concerns—have brought us together for a common purpose.” Ben’s own convictions strengthened as he spoke, and he added, “He is not a bad person, my lady.”
    Lady Larkspur looked at him with patent distrust.
    “I am sure he is a perfect gentleman. I hope he will not be shattered when you tell him I am not the woman for him, for I am incapable of becoming a wife.”
    “You seemed perfectly competent a week or so ago when you expected to marry Mr. Floor,” Ben said and lifted her hand from the blanket. It felt warm and dry.
    She tried to pull away. “You have pained me all the more to remind me of his perfidy! Please do not do so again!” Since he would not release her hand, she chose to turn her face away. “And his name is Mr. Moore.”
    “Forgive my error. Perhaps it is due to the low estimation in which I now hold the man for the damage he has done to you.”
    A muffled sound came from the pillows, and Ben realized she was trying to stifle a laugh. It was the first time she had exhibited anything other than scorn in his company, and he marveled at his unexpected ability to produce such a response.
    “But he is best forgotten, even if forgiveness will not come easily,” Ben continued quickly. “Your present state of grief will pass, and your recovery will be complete. Raeborn assures me he will wait.”
    Ben knew he tested her, purposely inciting her to reveal the true state of affairs. He realized he wanted nothing so much as her admission of playacting her illness, and gambled that his consoling, conciliatory tone would achieve it.
    “He must not sacrifice himself for nought,” she sighed melodramatically.
    “You are too modest, my lady. I would not consider winning your hand in marriage to be of little consequence. The rewards would be very great.”
    “So is my pain! Please leave me, Mr. Queensman, for I fear there is nothing you can do, for all your reputed skills!”
    So rarely had a patient dismissed him, he felt unprepared for the flicker of anger it produced. The lady would not have Raeborn, but she would not have him either. And so it cut at his pride.
    “But I did not say I could do nothing, my lady. I could find nothing wrong, but physicians rarely concede their own powerlessness.” Still holding her, he unbuttoned her nightdress at the wrist with his free hand, and pushed up her sleeve. “Itis an age-old cure I propose, one guaranteed to release the fever. It would be a pity to scar your flesh, but you give me no alternative.”
    She sat up at once, and pulled her arm away with a strength unusual in a woman, let alone one on her deathbed. Ben had