Page 7 of Foolish Bride
Closing his eyes, he waited for the sharp agony of his wound to subside to a dull ache. “Another week will not change what Malmesbury has to say. Tell him to come up, please.”
A deep frown crossed her face. “As you wish, but I think he could wait a week or so.”
Forcing a smile, he pushed the pain to the side. “Your objection is noted.”
She brushed his hair back from his forehead. “Do not let him overtax you, or I will become cross.”
“Yes, ma’am.” It had been years since Mother had ordered him around. Hiding his amusement wasn’t an option.
With a nod, she left the room.
Michael’s hero status might have kept the bill collectors at bay after his father’s death, but nothing would stop Malmsbury from having his say. No amount of money or deeds done would help him now.
Hands flat against the mattress, he pressed himself more erect and endured the jolt of pain, clenching his teeth to keep from crying out.
As the door creaked open, Michael steadied himself and hoped his expression was mild and calm. “Come in, my lord.”
His face burned bright red as Rolf Burkenstock, The Earl of Malmsbury, entered the bedroom. “Sorry to bother you while you are still abed, Sir Michael.”
It was probably a lie, but Michael forced a smile. “It’s all right, my lord. I expected you would come at some point. Would you like to sit?”
Rolf trudged around the bed and stared up at the coffered ceiling, then ran his hand along the gold-trimmed chest near the window. “This is a fine house you purchased, Sir Michael. You should be proud of what you accomplished in the past few years.”
Wishing Malmsbury would just get on with it, Michael stifled a sigh and resigned himself to enduring the next few moments of his ruined life. “I was happy Stonehouse came available for me to purchase. Though, I can take no credit for the décor. Your daughter and my mother are responsible for filling the rooms with charm.”
Clearing his throat, Malmsbury clenched his hands behind his back. “Yes, well, they did a fine job. It is not your fault what’s happened.”
“Are we speaking of my injuries, my lord, or something else?” Michael longed to get out of the damn bed and face his foe, but longing was all he was capable of.
“Elinor is the daughter of an earl now.”
Michael had seen this coming. Of course, her father wanted to marry her off to someone at or above his new station. His injury was the perfect excuse. “I am aware of your recent good fortune, my lord.”
Rolf puffed out his chest like a pigeon on the prowl for a mate. “It was an unexpected boon from the crown.”
Another lie. Burkenstock had lobbied for the prize and won by kissing more ass than a royal courtesan. It made no difference. “I assume your admiration of my new house and your good fortune are not the reason for this visit, my lord.”
He bristled and walked closer to the bed, still keeping his distance as if Michael’s wounds might be contagious. “I regret this outcome, more than I can say. I have my daughter’s future to consider. She is our only child and such a delicate thing. I saw Lord Marksbury at Whites last week, and he is in the confidence of Mr. Church, who knows your surgeon quite well.”
Evidently, the nature of his injuries had become part of London’s gossip. It was only a matter of time. Michael wished he’d had a bit more. Elinor’s sweet smile and musical voice floated through his mind. “My prognosis is still unclear, my lord.”
Malmsbury gripped the back of the chair, his fingers biting into the red velvet fabric. “I am sure you wish it to be so, but word is you will never be the man you were. Even if the rumors are false, I cannot have my dear Elinor exposed to such harshness.”
More likely, the earl feared the gossip would hurt his political aspirations and relationship with the crown. He was in too much pain to risk any sudden movements, but the sting to his heart might have outshone the rest of his wounds. “I see. What does Elinor say?”
Malmsbury’s cheeks and ears flushed red, and he crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “Lady Elinor is a good girl who does as she’s told. The matter has been discussed with her.”
“Has it?” The notion that she knew of his inadequacies hurt almost as much as losing her.
“Of course. Her mother and I explained it this morning. She was upset, but she knows her duty. We’ll say no more on the matter. I assume you still care for her and wouldn’t wish to hurt her reputation.”
Fury burned his gut and twisted his mind. “You might find a willing duke to take my place, my lord. Wouldn’t that be a treat after nearly having to put her on the shelf last year?”
Malmsbury gazed at the ceiling, oblivious to Michael’s sarcasm. “Oh my, wouldn’t that be something.” He cleared his throat and shook his head, returning the concerned crease to the space between his eyes. “My family and I wish you a thorough recovery.”
“I would like to speak to Elinor.” She would be better off without him, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking for one last sight of her. Skivington was available. She could be the Duchess of Skivington within the year, a far step up from the wife of a knight who’d stolen a kiss at a ball and ruined her. Maybe she would laugh at the folly of the memory.
Backing toward the door, Malmsbury shook his head. “You wouldn’t want to confuse the girl. You know how she is, head always in the clouds. The kind thing to do is to make a clean break. She understands the situation. She’s a good girl.”
