Karen Harbaugh by A Special License

Author:A Special License
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Some days later, as soon as he had quit his business at the gatehouse with Mr. Potts, the bailiff, Rothwick knew he was developing a cold. It started as a little tickle in his throat and disrupted his interview with Mr. Potts. The bailiff was a meek, if competent, man and paused respectfully in his speech whenever Rothwick cleared his throat. Since his lordship needed to do so constantly, Mr. Potts interrupted himself constantly, and neither of them did get to the point of their meeting by the end of their appointed hour.

Rothwick gave it up. His throat was already sore, his nose tickled, and he was as tired as if he had not slept in days. It was that damned midnight dousing he had given himself, he was sure of it. Well, at least he would not be tempted to make love to Linnea while her foot healed; sneezing profusely somehow put one off any sort of amorous activity. He went into the house.

Intent on going up to his rooms, he walked up the curving staircase, and upon turning at the end of the landing, he found himself face-to-face with Linnea.

“Good morning, my lord, er, Will.” She smiled uncertainly at him.

Once more Rothwick cursed his sister’s choice of Linnea’s clothes. He had prided himself on staying away from his wife for the last three days since that disastrous wedding night, trying to content himself with a kiss on her hand or her cheek. He now saw he would have to give up kissing her cheek. It was too close to her delectable neck, now emphasized by the delicate frill that edged the V neckline. It drew his eye downward: unfortunate, for as much as he tried there was something irresistible about the lines of the dress, and he did not think it was the fabric.

With an effort he raised his gaze to her face. “Do you not have any other dress more—more modest than this one?” he snapped.

Linnea’s face became pink, and a spark gleamed in her eye. “I am sorry, my lord, but dresses like this one comprise nearly all of my wardrobe. I believe I informed you of this some days ago, so you need not bite off my head.”

Rothwick’s expression stiffened. “You must excuse me, ma’am. I have had a most trying morn—ahh, ahh—” He hurriedly pulled out a large handkerchief and covered his nose. “Achoo! Achoo! Achoo!” He shuddered, then eyed Linnea’s suddenly sympathetic look with suspicion.

“Oh, dear, it sounds as if you have a cold!” she said kindly.

“And if I interpret that look in your eye correctly, ma’am, I suspect the next thing you will propose is some noxious remedy to correct the problem.” He dabbed his nose one last time and moved to go past her. “I thank you, but no.”

Linnea’s eyes widened. “Why, how did you know?”

“You forget, my dear, that I have three sisters.” He continued through a door and down the hall. Linnea hobbled after him.

“But what has that to do with anything?”

“Quite simply, it has to do with survival.

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