Duchess By Night (Desperate Duchesses Book 3) by Eloisa James

Author:Eloisa James [James, Eloisa]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2009-10-13T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-one

Of Rats and Their Ability to Change Their Spots

She opened her eyes to find him there, hanging over her, such painful anxiety in his eyes that she forgave him, although his sins were unforgivable.

“Is she badly frightened?” he whispered.

It was the first time that she’d seen the almost physical glow of intelligence and confidence that surrounded Jem Strange diminished. She felt an instant wish to bring it back.

And quelled the emotion by remembering what an ass he was, sleeping God knows where.

“It could have been a fire,” she said sharply, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

He had no wig. Of course not: he and his mistress likely didn’t close their eyes for a moment.

If he ever came to her bed, she wouldn’t sleep all night.

“God,” he said, running his hands through his hair. It sounded like a prayer. Harriet felt another wash of sympathy and choked it back down.

“She would have died,” she said, her voice steely hard, chill, logical. “No governess. She’d had no supper. No one washed her face. A rat woke her from sleep and bit her on the hand. I expect he thought she smelled like a buttered crumpet. Did you know that you had rats?”

He wheeled and stared at her, his eyes huge, the shadow of his lashes falling on his cheek. “Did I know I had rats?” he said, sounding almost dazed. “No. I suppose I should have known. I thought we had mice. Eugenia told me that she heard scurrying and little squeaks and I told her that old houses have mice.”

“Rat-bite fever,” she said, bringing her worst fear to the surface, but unable to say more than just the name of the disease.

“Which hand was bitten?” He moved to the side of the bed. Eugenia was sleeping in a tangle of dark hair. She was smiling a little, the tips of her lips turned up.

“The right,” Harriet said.

He picked it up. The four puncture wounds were a little swollen. “God,” he said. Again it sounded like a prayer.

“When a man on my estate died of the fever, it came on a fortnight after the bite. You’ll have to watch her.”

“I’m such a bumbling fool. I just thought I was keeping her safe!”

Harriet couldn’t think of anything to say.

“You can’t imagine what it’s like to have a child,” he said, falling into the armchair where she’d slept part of the night. “When her mother died, I thought I’d put her out to a wet nurse and then send her away to some female relative somewhere. That made sense, didn’t it?”

Harriet nodded.

“But then I picked her up and she had this odd face, with all that corkscrew hair going on—” He stopped. “You look a bit like her. I couldn’t send her away. I had the wet nurse here. Later I should have sent her to Sally’s aunt, where she’d be safe and with other women, but I couldn’t. Idiot!” he cried, clutching his head.

“It’s not that terrible,” Harriet said, speaking against every instinct she had.

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