How to Care for a Lady Read online

  She was lovely—that was undeniable, and not at all objective. She had flaxen hair and wide eyes the color of emeralds, situated in a heart-shaped face. But Graham was much more drawn to the darker beauty that sat beside him.

  Just now, little dots of the sunlight that streamed through the trees danced across her face so that she nearly sparkled, like some sort of fairy. She was utterly enchanting. Which was why Graham needed to be careful. Why he kept reminding himself that she was a patient, not a paramour.

  Damn. He wouldn’t know how to handle a paramour even if that were the case. He hadn’t been with a woman in a very long time—his bachelor life had been too comfortable to compromise for a woman. But now, for the first time in his life, he thought he might not mind compromising his comfort.

  “Then how did your brother come to meet her, if he wasn’t one for soirees?” Graham wondered.

  “Why, right over that garden wall.” Lady Beeston cast her gaze to the right, to the wall that separated their property from that of the neighbors. “Her sister, Lady Chloe, lives there.”

  “Well, that is a lovely happenstance, isn’t it?”

  “Quite romantic, really.” The baroness turned wistful as she looked out over the gardens. “I’m truly very happy for them, even if it is difficult to accept my own fate.”

  “You’re only thirty, are you not?”

  “I am,” she said. “And widowed, quite scandalously, I might add. And crippled. I am quite damaged, Dr. Alcott.”

  Damaged or not, he was drawn to her in ways he couldn’t describe. “You do yourself a disservice by thinking such things of yourself.”

  “I speak the truth.”

  “And yet, there are other perspectives to consider.”

  “Oh, really?” She turned her dark eyes on him. “Perhaps you can share them with me, for there is only one perspective from where I sit.”

  Graham swallowed and then cleared his throat. How much could he say without crossing that fine line between doctor and…something more?

  Chapter 10

  Hannah didn’t want to get her hopes high. He was her doctor. He was being paid to be encouraging. Surely, he was just being kind to help speed along her progress so he could move on to helping other patients.

  And yet, the way he looked at her, like there was no one else in the world. Like he wanted to devour her—oh, goodness! There it was again, that insufferable heat that infused her every time she was embarrassed. Blast her shy nature. How often had she wished she were one of those formidable and unflappable women who could cut a man down with a sharp tongue and quick wit? She’d spent hours dreaming up such scenarios where she came out the victor, and then, when truly in the face of an odious man—her own husband included—she’d cowered and run away, only to shed enough tears to drown an entire ballroom full of people.

  “If I may speak candidly,” he finally said.

  Hannah cleared her throat and nodded, unable to utter a single syllable.

  “I think you are quite the most lovely woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.” He turned in his chair, seeming emboldened all of a sudden. “Perhaps it isn’t right for me to say so, but it’s true, and I can’t let you sit here and deprecate your good nature when I know better.”

  “But you hardly know me at all,” she countered.

  “I don’t need to know you anymore than I already do to know what a good heart you have—what a good person you are. You love your family fiercely, and you have suffered with grace, that much I have deduced.”

  How he’d figured all that out in their short time together, she’d never know, and yet she couldn’t disagree with him. Although, to say she’d suffered with grace might have been an overreaching statement. She’d certainly done her best, but Lord knew she’d had her weak moments.

  “Do you know I fabricated a pregnancy when I was still married?” She wasn’t certain why she felt compelled to tell him that all of a sudden. Perhaps she didn’t want him to think too highly of her, lest he be disappointed down the line. Not that it mattered. She would likely reach a plateau in her progress and then there would be little need for his services.

  His thin brows nearly touched his hair. “I beg your pardon?” There was the trace of a smile at the corners of his lips, and that caused a little giggle to bubble inside of Hannah.

  She nodded, trying not to laugh. “It’s true. It was a horrible thing to do, but…” A sigh escaped her as she sobered a bit. “I thought it would make things better. I thought he’d stop…well, stop doing what he was doing.”

  “I must admit, I’m quite surprised by this,” Dr. Alcott said. “You seem so innocent, completely incapable of such a thing.”

  “And yet, I did it. So there. Not quite the saint you paint me to be, am I?”

  He sat back in his chair, his eyes fixated on her, a grin fixed on his face. He crossed one long leg over the other. “If you think you are going to make me think less of you with stories from your past, you don’t know me at all.”

  “Indeed, I know very little about you,” she replied.

  “Then perhaps we should remedy that.”

  Hannah’s heart was racing all of a sudden. Whether it was from the doctor’s attention so pointedly focused on her or the fact that she was more than ready for a rest, she couldn’t be certain. Either way, she didn’t have to say anything.

  “But perhaps not today,” Dr. Alcott said, scooting to the edge of his chair, his brow furrowed with concern. “How are you feeling?”

  “A bit tired, is all,” Hannah replied. “This has all been quite an adventure.”

  “There will be many more,” he promised. “I will carry you up to bed and dress your wound before you sleep.”

  Hannah nodded gratefully just before he scooped her into his arms once more. It was quite a horrible thought, but part of her hoped she was never healed enough to actually walk again. She imagined she’d be fine having him carry her about everywhere instead. In spite of having such a long and lean appearance, he was rather strong beneath his coat. She could feel the band of muscles that supported her back, and the ones on his chest that currently pressed into her side. Why, he didn’t even grunt or breathe heavier when he trekked up the stairs. It wasn’t fair of her to compare him to her deceased husband, but truly, Beeston would have keeled over of a heart attack had he attempted to do something like this. He hadn’t always been fat and weak, of course. He’d managed to carry her over the threshold on their wedding night. But that was the last time he ever carried her anywhere. Even the day he’d shot her, he’d been too beside himself to be of any use to anyone.

  The memory of that day always made her stomach churn. What a stupid little fool she’d been, and for what? So what if Evan had shot the man dead? He was a duke—the magistrate wouldn’t have been so hard on him, especially considering Beeston’s reputation. But Hannah hadn’t wanted to risk it. She didn’t want anyone fighting on her behalf, and she certainly didn’t want any bloodshed. Least of all, her own.

  By the time they reached her room, Hannah’s senses were all a whirl. She had no choice but to admit that she held a certain tendre for her doctor. It was innocent, of course. She could never act upon it. He was her doctor, after all. How scandalous that would be to abscond with her doctor in the wake of her husband taking his life. Still, she could hold him in high esteem, couldn’t she? He was handsome and kind and intelligent, after all—a woman would have to be deaf, blind, and dumb not to feel the same way. But even then, it was his calming presence that spoke to her the most—that made her feel an easiness, a peacefulness that people rarely made her feel.

  Of course, she loved her family, but they all had a way of draining her. Evan with his forceful air that practically shouted I’m the duke! Then Mother always looking down her nose at everything and everyone and exerting power, even when it wasn’t her place. And Grace, who was so sweet and wonderful, and yet so very chatty and excitable. Yes, Dr. Alcott was the calm amidst the storm. Almost as much as that lit
tle bottle of laudanum was.

  Which reminded her…

  “Can you make certain my bottle of laudanum is replaced?” she asked as Dr. Alcott set her gently down on the bed. He stood over her, his brow still furrowed, his hazel eyes filled with concern. Hannah was starting to resent that look. She knew it meant he disapproved of her taking the stuff—that he knew she was taking more than she ought, blast it all. But she was in pain, and she needed sleep, didn’t she? His poultice had helped the pain, but it hadn’t calmed her nerves or put her to sleep like the laudanum did.

  “I will ask that your maid administer the correct dosage throughout the day, but I don’t think it wise to keep it here.” He pointed to the nightstand.

  “You may be my doctor, but you are not in charge of me. I am a grown woman, and I can make my own decisions.”

  “Your decisions could lead to a dependency that you become helpless to. I’ve seen it too many times to let it happen to you.”

  On the one hand, she was touched that he cared enough to not let her waste her life away to laudanum. On the other hand, she knew she’d never sleep again without it. “You are being quite boorish,” she said, regretting the words almost as soon as they were out of her mouth. But if Dr. Alcott was hurt by them, he didn’t indicate as much. As a matter of fact, he gave a little laugh.

  “If that is how you think of me for protecting your health, then there is nothing for it. I will be as boorish as an army general if I must be.”

  Hannah was angry. And at the same time quite moved by his concern. Not that she was going to tell him that. She wanted her laudanum, and she wanted it now. No matter how kind and thoughtful he was being toward her, she would put up a fight until he gave in.

  “And I shall match your boorishness with obstinacy.” Much to her frustration, he was grinning to himself, as if he had some secret about her that was so very humorous. “What are you laughing about?”

  “Oh, nothing,” he said, attempting to school his features into a more somber expression…and failing miserably.

  “You’re making fun of me,” she pouted. And really, it wasn’t like her to be like this, all pouty and obtuse, but she couldn’t help herself. He seemed to alternately bring out the best and the worst in her.

  Well, perhaps not the worst. Beeston had done that. He’d made her meek and afraid and guilt-ridden—being petulant was far better than that, wasn’t it?

  “Never,” Dr. Alcott replied, and his voice had dropped to something low and sincere that made Hannah flush all over. “Tease you, perhaps. But never make fun.”

  “Oh,” she said, for really, she couldn’t think of anything else at all to say.

  Their eyes were locked—she was completely lost in his hazel depths, in the way they caught the light from the window, making them so green and mesmerizing. Her heart raced, and she found it hard to catch her breath, which was why she ultimately turned away, gasping for air.

  Dr. Alcott set to work readying the poultice, and Hannah pulled her nightrail up until her wound, covered in the large, white bandage, was revealed. The air was cool on her leg, and something inside her stirred. Longing. A desire for him to caress her bare leg. To hold her gaze again. To crawl into the bed with her and stay from dusk until dawn. She was being ridiculous and fanciful, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

  “Everything all right?” he asked, pulling her out of her romantic reverie as he removed yesterday’s bandage, revealing the hole in her leg.

  “Goodness, that looks much improved, doesn’t it?” she remarked, quite taken aback that the wound wasn’t as red and festering as it had been a few days ago. “What in the world is in that poultice?”

  “A great many things,” the doctor said as he pressed the moistened cloth to her leg. It stung, but not as badly as the day before. “But of all the ingredients, it is my belief that the Frankincense is the most beneficial. It is the most rare and most expensive. But, of course, all the oils and herbs are working toge—

  My lady?”

  Hannah popped her head up to look at him, only just then realizing she’d reached up to touch his shoulder. Dear God.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, stuttering over the simple words and flushing to what she was certain was a tomato-like color. How utterly humiliating. “I didn’t mean…that is, I was just…”

  “You needn’t apologize.”

  He was staring at her again, gazing right into her eyes, down into her very soul. She wasn’t in her right mind, not with him so close and her leg so bare. This went far beyond propriety into downright scandalous behavior.

  She ought to say something else—something to break the tension that hung so palpably in the room—but she couldn’t think of a word to say. At least, not an appropriate word to say. Kiss me was most definitely not appropriate. And yet, it was what she wanted. To feel his lips on hers, his lean body pressed against her. To run her fingers through his head of sand-colored hair. How she longed for intimacy, and not with just any man, but with Dr. Alcott. Only he would do.

  Blessedly, he saved her from having to say anything more when he turned back to his black leather bag and began to pack his things away. “I do think this was a success, don’t you?” he asked, and it was as if that awkward and charged moment had never happened. “You must be tired though, now.”

  In truth, she was wound tighter than a brand new pocket watch. “I should probably rest,” she agreed. “I will see you tomorrow?”

  He turned his perfectly handsome and kind face to her. “And every day until you are well enough to do without me.”

  Then I shall never get well.

  Chapter 11

  The following days tending to Lady Beeston were some of the most difficult of Graham’s professional life. After she’d touched his shoulder, with her gentle hand, so absently, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, well…Graham had struggled to maintain his professionalism. Thankfully, her family had been quite involved, all of them in and out of the baroness’s chambers, never once leaving them alone. And on their trips to and from the gardens, for her ladyship felt the fresh air was quite instrumental in her progress, her brother had carried her up and down the stairs. Graham wondered if perhaps Lady Beeston had said something to them about their meaningful glances and obvious attraction, but not a one of them seemed to treat him any differently. Surely, the young duchess would find it hard not to grin and giggle at him, or the duke not to scowl at him menacingly, or the dowager to keep her mouth shut on the matter. Surely, she would never approve of her daughter, daughter of the Duke of Somerset and titled as a baroness, falling in love with a doctor.

  Graham shook his head. In love? That was a bit far-fetched, wasn’t it? Goodness, he was becoming quite fanciful. Even Daphne would laugh in his face for such a notion.

  “Graham, is that you?”

  Speaking of his sister… “Good morning,” he greeted her. She was looking quite lovely this morning—the glow of motherhood high in her cheeks. “You have quite a glow about you today.”

  “That, dear brother, is sweat,” she corrected. Then she snapped open her fan as she plopped onto a nearby settee. “But tell me, what brings you this way?”

  Graham sat down in yellow wing-backed chair. “I was hoping to ask a favor of you.”

  Daphne continued to fan herself. “Perhaps you could open a window before you do. Some cool air might make me more inclined to say yes.”

  Graham laughed as he did her bidding. “Better?” he asked as a cool breeze wafted into the room. Thank heaven it wasn’t terribly hot today, as August could tend to be.

  “Much. Now, go on. What is this favor?”

  “Well,” Graham said, taking his seat again. “I wonder if you might call on a friend of mine today.”

  Daphne raised her brows at him. “You have friends?”

  “Admittedly, not many, but yes, I do,” he replied pointedly.

  “I hardly think it would be appropriate for me to call on one of your doctor friends.”
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  “But it isn’t a doctor,” he corrected. “It’s a woman.”

  He let the word hang in the air. It would only be a matter of seconds…

  “A woman?” Daphne shot up on the settee, her bright blue eyes suddenly filled with interest.

  “A patient,” he amended.

  “Go on.”

  “Lady Beeston, to be precise.”

  Now Daphne’s eyes, already round of nature, widened even more. It was the same look their mother used to give their father when he said something surprising, like to report that a young woman was pregnant out of wedlock or that a man in his prime had been struck by an attack of the heart. It was in little moments like this that he missed his parents and wondered what his life would be like if they hadn’t perished in that fire.

  “Oh, yes!” Daphne said, clearly remembering their conversation of last week. “How is she faring?”

  “Better,” he said, feeling rather proud of himself. “I’m quite pleased to say my treatments are working.”

  A small smile spread Daphne’s lips. “Oh, if only Father were here to see you.”

  “Do you not believe he is looking down on us? Watching from above?”

  “I like to believe that. But it would be nice to hear their voices again, wouldn’t it? To know that they’re happy with the choices we’ve made.”

  “I’ve no doubt they’d be very proud of the Viscountess Wolverly.”

  “And the grand London doctor.”

  They laughed and then fell silent.

  “So, will you go?” he asked.

  “Are you certain she’s receiving visitors?”

  Graham nodded. “It is part of her treatment, but I don’t want to overwhelm her. Someone who knows and understands the situation is ideal. You’ll hardly be put out if she wilts like a flower and needs to go back to bed.”

  “Of course,” Daphne said. “I will be agreeable, and I’ll even bring some rum butter. That ought to cheer her sufficiently, don’t you think?”