Dark Surrender by Ridley Erica

Author:Ridley, Erica [Ridley, Erica]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Regency, Historical Romance, Victorian, Gothic, Historical Fiction
Publisher: Intrepid Reads
Published: 2014-02-28T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Master. Master!”

Alistair jerked upright so quickly his pince-nez flew from his nose to the floor. All that noise hadn’t been the pounding of his migraine after all, from struggling to memorize anatomical diagrams and minute scientific terminology.

“Come in,” he said wearily, then recalled he was the sole possessor of a key to his office. Sighing, he pushed back his chair, rescued his pince-nez, and managed to pull himself upright on sleep-prickled feet. After shaking off as many kinks as he could, he hobbled across the room and swung open the door. “Pull yourself together, man. What’s the meaning of all this racket?”

Far from abashed, his staid manservant eyed him with concern. “Master, you must cease doing this.”

Alistair rubbed the corded muscles at the base of his neck. “Doing what? Researching a cure?”

“Locking yourself in your office for ten solid hours.” Roper’s gaze held steady. “You didn’t answer my knock at noontime or for supper. You won’t do anyone any good if you fall ill.”

Alistair’s hand stilled. “Did you say—ten hours? That must make it . . .”

“Half-eight, master.”

“Half—” Alistair stepped into the corridor, pulling the office door closed behind him. Half-eight meant he had but an hour to splash water on his face and get to the sanctuary to bid his daughter goodnight. He hadn’t skipped their bedtime story ritual even once in her nine years, and certainly did not prefer “epithelium” and “urticaria” to castles and princesses. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Surprise registered on Roper’s usually impassive face. “Master, I—”

“Look alive, Roper.” Alistair quirked a smile as he strode past his manservant. “I’m just . . . ‘bamming’ you, to borrow a phrase.”

Roper’s surprise did not diminish. “Bamming me, sir?”

Whether his manservant’s shock was due to Alistair’s use of a slang term or the idea of his master bamming anyone in the first place, Alistair paid no mind. He ducked into the corridor, intent on a quick detour to the kitchens. Now that his stomach had been made aware of time’s passage, he could not go another minute without at least a bite to eat.

He was polishing off the last of a wedge of cheese when his housekeeper bustled in, swaddled head-to-toe against cold weather.

“Good evening, Mrs. Tumsen.”

She started guiltily. “Oh! G-good evening, sir.”

“Have a seat.” He rose to his feet. “I was just leaving.”

“Were ye, now?” Wide-eyed, Mrs. Tumsen took the offered seat. “I . . . I was just . . . ”

More than a bit tipsy, if the scent of her breath did not deceive. Alistair retrieved the knife from the sink in order to slice off another portion of bread and cheese. “Enjoy your holiday with your sister?”

“Ohh, did I.” Mrs. Tumsen peeled off her gloves and unwrapped her scarf, revealing flushed cheeks and a suspicious expression. Her lack of siblings was an open secret amongst the staff, and she was apparently just realizing there were no secrets from her master. “Nothing new with good old Ginny, sir, although the town is abuzz with a bit of news from Lancashire.

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