Page 18 of Captivating the Countess
If the marquess didn’t fling her out on her ear, a very real possibility. She couldn’t help the duke unless she knew more about him, and Rainford didn’t seem eager to allow her to do so.
Surely his ghostly grandmother couldn’t expect Bell tohealanyone. That was Rainford’s—
Rainford had said hewasn’ta Malcolm healer! So he couldn’t heal his father. No wonder he was like a lion with a sore paw. And the spirit wishedBellto fix the situation? How?
She had better write the Malcolm librarians for advice—but she already had a niggling notion she’d rather ignore.
Iona had magnified her husband’s Malcolm ability bytouchinghim. Her twin had hinted that the marital bed had enhanced this gift even more.
When consulted, the librarians had told them there were other incidences of Malcolms uncovering latent gifts, all involving... physical... activities. Lydia had explained that some Malcolms were like tuning forks, emitting just the right vibrations to focus the energy of people receptive to their gift.
If there was any chance that the Librarian was right—Bell had to persuade the arrogant marquess to hold her hand while he attempted to heal his father.
Ifhe had a healing gift. She might make a fool of herself for nothing and get herself thrown from the castle if he had no healing power. Still, she had to try.
Rainford was nearly gnashinghis teeth by the time he’d bandaged the last patient and sent them into the winter gloom. At least the snow had stopped.
He needed to search his medical journals for incidences of erratic heartbeats. He’d write Viscount Dare as well. His sister’s heart had been damaged by fever, but they found a solution. Perhaps he could send the countess to Dare’s sanitarium—
The countess couldn’t pay and wouldn’t go. Perhaps it was a simple matter of diet and exercise. He’d consult with his father. The duke didn’t have the strength for hands-on healing anymore, but he still had knowledge.
Plotting his course, Rain strode down the office corridor, half-afraid he’d find the countess dead on the floor.
He wasn’t completely relieved when he found her wrapped in a heavy cloak and preparing to lock up with an armload of ledgers weighing her down. He removed the ledgers and flung them back on the desk. “They’ll still be there tomorrow. You are to rest before dinner.”
“I will go to the library before dinner,” she said coolly. “I should like to meet your librarian and assure him that I will not abscond with his precious volumes.”
Women were supposed to be pretty ornaments who nodded agreement when he told them what to do. As his guests, his sisters attempted to humor him by staying out of his way—as they always had. He returned the favor, and the house was happier for it.
But he had to consult with his steward regularly. Perhaps he should begin looking for a new—male—one.
He would have no molars left at all. “Since I have a book I need, I’ll escort you there. And then to your room. If you do not stay there and rest, I’ll have a footman follow you everywhere.” He had some expectation of hisstafffollowing orders.
She stiffened and shot him a miffed glare. “Really, my lord, I cannot like this excessive interest. I’m merely a servant. You must have better use for your time.”
“Riding herd on my siblings? Listening to my father’s complaints? I’m sure I have no end of fascinating tasks. A trip to the library is the one I have chosen.”
He had no idea why he was fretting over the damned woman, but he may as well have chosen a trip straight to hell as to escort her anywhere. She turned up her pert little nose and froze him out in icy silence—a blessing in this household—as he led her down the long, drafty corridor to the library wing. Since the books didn’t mind the cold and the upper story housed an empty ballroom, this wing wasn’t heated to any great extent. The librarian had a grate in his office.
The countess huddled in her cloak as she greeted the crotchety old man and asked for an explanation of his filing procedures. Of course, she’d once worked for a librarian. She knew about catalogs and shelving.
Rain left her to the librarian while he hunted down the tomes he needed. Arms loaded, he waited for the lady to record the volumes she’d chosen, then escorted her back to the main part of the house. He didn’t dare ask to carry her books for fear she’d bite off his nose. Or ear.
He'd noticed she’d removed several from the medical shelves. He’d have to go back and see which ones.
As they reached the marble entry stairs, he signaled a footman. “Carry Lady Craigmore’s books to her room and send up a maid with tea and a beef broth.”
She tried to cut him dead with her topaz glare, but Rain was impervious to female wrath. “If you should sleep through dinner, I’ll have the staff carry up a tray later.”
“I think that very unlikely.”
A door slammed, a child screeched in rage, and a cacophony of string instruments took up a somber refrain, almost to prove her correct.
“No wonder the opera singer stayed. The sound transmission in this entry is better than any theater.” She marched off, leaving him with his load of books.
At least she’d deigned to speak with him.Tohim. Civilized conversation seemed unlikely. Generally, Rain preferred it that way. Women had nothing to say that he wanted to hear.
Although he had a niggling suspicion he might enjoy civilized conversation with the countess. But he was long out of practice with exchanging more than formal inanities with the female sex. He didn’t count his sisters among that number. Sisters were a different gender entirely.
