Page 11 of The Marquess Wins a Wife
Imogen came in a moment later, sliding into her seat and looking dreadfully disappointed to find only stew awaiting her once again—but she snatched up two slices of bread the moment Lizzie laid it out upon the table without even a single word of thanks.
But Lizzie hadn’t the energy to correct Imogen’s bad manners at the moment—and she had a marquess to feed, besides.
“Lizzie?” Jo asked, her hand curled around her spoon as Lizzie worked to assemble a tray. “Aren’t you coming?”
“Not tonight, dear. I’ve a touch of a headache; I think I will eat in my room this evening,” she said as she laid out two slices of bread upon the tray alongside the bowl and spoon. “Just leave the dishes on the counter,” she said, collecting the tray in her hands and bending to press a kiss to the top of Jo’s head. “I’ll wash them tomorrow morning.”
And she tried not to meet Willie’s eyes as she left the room, unable to bear the suspicion in them.
Chapter Six
Probably, Luke reflected, he shouldn’t have antagonized the scheming little witch. He hadn’t managed to get to the bath after all, for all that he could see it from the bed. Every time he stood, he seemed to be overcome with a terrible dizziness in his head, and a weakness in his limbs that precluded all but a few steps—and he knew without even attempting it that the distance to the tub was just too farwithout assistance.
And for his presumption, he had earned himself at least one more day stuck in the acrid-smelling sheets and with a growth of beard that was, frankly, itchyas hell. Perhaps if he had simply attempted to make nice—just to give a show of it, just for the sake of being comfortable—he would have found himself in a different situation.
Or perhaps she was simply a malicious, cantankerousharpywho existed only to show him hell on earth before he reached it in the life hereafter. He turned onto his side, and his stomach gave a terrible little gurgle. Perhaps she meant tostarvehim instead. Perhaps a mere shooting was too quick a death and she meant to make him suffer.
He turned his head upon the pillow and considered the hip bath some distance away. The water had gone cold hoursago, but even cold water would be better than nothing at all.Ifhe could reach it. When he was reclining and lying still, it seemed an achievable goal—it was only when he hoisted himself to his feet that he was assailed with that wretched weakness which he assumed was a lingering remnant of his tangle with a raging fever.
But remaining in bed gave a man too much time tothink, and Luke had made a practice over the past few years of doing as little thinking as humanly possible. Luckily, the diversions available to a man of his station had made it simple enough to avoid thinking more so than was strictly necessary. Out here in the bloody pastoral countryside there was naught to do but sleep, stare at the ceiling, and perhaps occasionally redirect his gaze out the window.Thinkingwas simply a hazard of existence, and it was one he had unwillingly borne since he’d recovered from his fever-induced delirium.
A bath, then, provided he could get to it. The unpleasant odor that hung around him suggested that he ought tocrawlif necessary. The little harpy had brought soap, at least—or so he assumed, given that she’d left a jar ofsomethingnear the tub. Damn shame she hadn’t brought a razor as well. Probably she had correctly ascertained that providing him with sharp implements of any sort would hardly be to her benefit.
Luke hauled himself upright, ignoring the pain in his arm. Really, when one distanced oneself from it, it was a relatively simple matter to ignore unpleasantness. If only he could manage to ignorethe weakness that trembled through his legs when threw them over the edge of the bed and stood. There—steadied. He took a breath, and then another for good measure, hoping that the dreadful dizziness that continued to plague him would fade. He took a cautious step—
The door opened. His legs collapsed beneath him, and he only narrowly managed to fling himself back onto the bed, snatching the bedclothes over his naked lap asshewalked in.
“Do you everknock?” he cast out caustically. And it wasn’t feverthat swept over his face—it was the heat of embarrassment. God alone knew why he didn’t want her to see him in such a state when she’d seen him even worse—but at least he hadn’t been fully conscious for it then.Nowhis weakness was humiliating, humbling, and Luke had never been much given over to humility.
Her dark hair was pinned up haphazardly, and she had a harried sort of look about her—like she had better places to be, and too many other things to do than to waste her time upon him. Which only ignited the flare of anger her entry had flickered to life within his chest yet further. She ought to have damn well come running any time he’d so much as snapped his fingers—but she’d chosenthismoment to come at last.
“Regrettably,” she said tightly, “my hands were full.”
She carried a tray in her hands, so she’d probably had to maneuver the door open somewhat awkwardly. And thankGod, porridge did not seem to be on the menu.
“Set it here, then,” he said, flicking his fingers toward the space beside him and praying his stomach did not betray him with an inconvenient noise. It wouldn’t do to seem too eager to avail himself of his dinner; not when to do so might imply some sort ofgratitudefor it, to which she was not in any way entitled.
She muttered something beneath her breath as she approached, and the tension gathered about her jaw suggested that it had been nothing particularly complimentary.
“Speak, then, if you have somecountry wisdomto impart,” he said, even knowing it wasn’t precisely wise to condescend to a woman who could so easily slip a healthy dash of arsenic into his food at any conceivable moment. It was just that she made him so bloodyangry, with her refusal to understand her place, with her refusal to show any respect tohis. As if he had somehow trespassed against her, when the both of them knew that she deserved all of his scorn and more besides.
“I said,” she snapped, setting the tray entirely too heavily upon the bed beside him. “Youcouldattempt to bepolite.”
Polite?Polite!For what purpose ought he be? To spare the tender feelings of the woman who had placed him in the indignity of his current position? “I’m not in the habit,” he snarled, “of making nice with murderers. You are going to—”
“Hang,” she snapped. “I’m well aware, my lord. Shall I fetch you a damned rope?”
Dumbfounded, Luke felt his brows knit together.
But she had worked herself up into a fine snit, Miss Talbot—Lizzie—and she slapped a napkin down over his lap and said, “If you have no better manners than to shout your fool head off every moment of the day, and no bettersensethan to sling threats at me, then perhaps I should never have gone through the trouble of saving your miserable life.”
Miserable life. She had no idea how very correct she was, and yet the direct proclamation seared both his conscience and his tenuous grasp on control. This—thisnothingof a common, insignificant female dared to condescend to him? When he wasowedevery courtesy?
And she wasn’t even finished raking him over the coals. Chin tilted at a belligerent angle, she snapped out, “Eat your damned stew, my lord, and give us all some peace and quiet.”
Stew? Horrified, he glanced down at the tray that rested near his hip.Stew. Bits of vegetables bobbed in the brown broth, amidst shreds of some sort of meat or another—its provenance impossible to determine. She had some damned nerve, replacing the hated porridge only withstew. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so offended.
Probably when she’dshothim.
