But he was only twenty-five. Three years of freedom were wafting right out the window, all because Corrie had chased after him to save him.
He cursed. Petrie said from the doorway, “My lord, you are flushed. Miss Corrie shouldn’t have disagreed with you, thus elevating your choler and perhaps bringing back the fever. I wanted to tell her to take herself off, but then she did it herself. Now, I have a bit of barley water that your dear mother left for me to give you.”
“Petrie,” James said, eyeing his valet of five years and that damned barley water, “there are some things a gentleman must face, even though it might bring back his fever. Give me that vile stuff then leave me be. I swear I will drink it down before I traipse upstairs and fall into my bed.”
“Her ladyship told me to tell you that she’d added things to the drink and that you would like it. Here, my lord. Drink it now.”
James sipped the barley water, ready to spit it out, but to his surprise, it wasn’t bad at all. He downed the entire glass, sighed, trudged up the stairs, and walked slowly down the long corridor to his bedchamber. When he was leaning his head against the pillows, he saw that Petrie had followed him, probably because he feared James might keel over. He lay there, wishing there’d been a different road to walk. He heard Petrie clear his throat.
“You’ll choke if you don’t speak, Petrie, so go ahead.”
“It is my experience, my lord, that young ladies must not be rushed into weighty decisions. They must be treated gently, without-”
“Petrie, I do wish you could have seen Corrie ride through that cottage door with a pitchfork under her arm. She stabbed one of the men in the arm. She is not fragile, she is not weak.”
“Perhaps you were delirious at the time, my lord, and only imagined what she did. Perhaps, and many of us agree that this must be the case, you yourself managed to escape the three men. You found Miss Corrie in the shed, huddled down and weeping, and you yourself carried her to that farmhouse where you finally collapsed because you’d carried her for ten miles and given her all your clothes to keep her warm. Surely this is what happened, since it makes far more sense.”
James could but stare. “You’re telling me that Willicombe subscribes to this, Petrie?”
“As to Mr. Willicombe’s beliefs on the subject, my lord, I cannot say.”
“Why the hell not? You have a say about everything else in this damned house. Listen to me. Not only did she save me, she also stuck her knee in the throat of a smuggler. What do you think about that?”
“You’re fevered, my lord, it is obvious. I will fetch your father.” And Petrie walked out of the room, shoulders straight, head up.
James lay there and continued to brood. Maybe he’d spoken too quickly, hadn’t given her time to let everything soak in.
Married to the brat. Dear God, this was something he’d never imagined when he was sixteen years old and had walked out of the barn, brushing hay off his clothes, a silly smile on his face, and she’d been standing there, watching him.
At least she’d been far too young to have a clue what he’d been doing with Betsy Hooper in that cozy back corner of the barn. He looked up to see the bedchamber door open; he was more than relieved to see his brother.
Jason was shaking his head. “You wouldn’t believe what Petrie is saying about all this, James.”
“Oh yes I would. He just unburdened himself to me after eavesdropping on my conversation with Corrie. I had not realized that he was such a misogynist.”
Jason sighed. “It could be worse.”
“How?”
“Corrie could be like Melinda Bassett.”
James moaned. That she-wolf had decided she’d wanted either him or Jason, it didn’t matter, and when she’d not gained her wish, she claimed they’d both raped her. It had happened seven years ago, yet he could still remember the awful impotence he’d felt at her accusations.
“Corrie saved us,” Jason said. “She told everyone the truth. You’ll have to say one thing about her-no one would ever think she’d lie about anything.”
“Yes, she saved us, saved me again, dammit.”
“You see? There are many more worse things in the world than Corrie. In fact, she’s a heroine, only no one will admit it as long as she’s not married to you. At least you won’t have to worry about unexpected bad habits in your wife.”
“That’s true. I already know all her habits, bad and worse. Damnation, Jason, how could this have happened? I’ve never been sick in my bloody life. Why did it have to happen at this particular time?”
“When I think of what led up to it, I thank God you’re not dead. Corrie’s a good sort, James. Beneath that disreputable old hat of hers, a lady was hidden. You must admit you’ve been surprised with her transformation.”
James looked glum.
“He’s right, James. More to the point, you’ve no choice in the matter, none at all.”
Douglas Sherbrooke walked to his son’s bedside, lightly touched his palm to his forehead, nodded, and sat down in the big chair beside the bed. “Corrie came flying into the library to ask me very nicely if I chanced to have some brandy that wouldn’t make her sick.”
“Did you give her any?”
“Yes. I gave her my special Florentine brandy guaranteed not to disrupt the innards.”
“There is no such thing,” Jason said.
“True.”
“Where is she, sir? Did she leave? Is she hiding in your library? Did she tell you why she wanted the brandy?”
Douglas nodded slowly. “After a bit of prodding. Blackmail, actually. I wouldn’t give her any of my special brandy unless she told me everything. She folded, said that you felt responsible for what had happened and told her that you two had to get married. She then tossed back the watered-down brandy, burped, if I’m not mistaken, and left without another word.”
“I didn’t do it well,” James said. “I mean I started out well, with a lovely sort of future metaphor about our children and grandchildren.”
“Now there’s an image to give me pause,” Douglas said.
James waved that away. “Sir, surely she must realize that there is no other course for us to follow. I don’t want to marry, at least right now, but there is simply no choice.”
Douglas was tapping his fingertips together, looking fixedly at the painting on the opposite wall that James had bought in Honfleur three years before. A young girl was sitting on a rock, her skirts spread around her, looking over a green valley stretching below her. Douglas found himself smiling. The girl looked remarkably like Corrie.
Jason said, “I’m having our friends over this evening to report on what they’ve discovered, though I doubt it’s much, else wise they would have come raging over here immediately. Shall we meet here in your bedchamber?”
James nodded. He suddenly felt so weary his bones ached. He closed his eyes. His father’s voice, warm and deep, said close to his ear, “You’re safe and you will get well, James. As for all the rest of it, things will work out.”
“I think Devlin Monroe is going to propose to her.”
That announcement brought two pair of startled eyes to his face.
“Why would Devlin do that?” Douglas said. “It makes no sense.”
Jason said, shrugging, “She is an original. Devlin likes originals.”
“She can’t marry him,” James said, “even though she does amuse him. She would kill him when she discovered that he still had mistresses waiting in the wings. She would run a pitchfork through his belly, then she would hang for it. I don’t want to marry her, but I also don’t want her hung.”
Jason said, “Maybe I should speak to Devlin. Tell him what’s what here.”
“Yes, do that, Jason. Cut him off at the knees. The last thing I want is for her to marry him to save me. That’s what she’s doing, of course. She thinks it isn’t fair that I have to marry her because of what happened.”
“I’m off, then,” Jason said, and his eyes darkened to near purple. And he smiled.
James said, “You know, with Corrie as my wife, I’ll never have to worry about boring her with talk of silver
