By morning, word had spread through the house that in the physician’s opinion the bloodletting had caused the duke to run a high fever, which proved that his body had responded to medical treatment. Dr. Buchan had completed an anatomical examination of the duke and declared him fit.
Ivy was astonished when she was called into the drawing room. Smartly turned out in a white muslin shirt with a steel gray coat and matching trousers, James did not resemble the monster she had met in the hall last night. True, he looked a trifle pale. His cheeks seemed drawn. And she was hesitant to meet his gaze. She was afraid she would find his eyes devoid of any emotion for her. She was too vulnerable to have him dismiss what they shared with a look, or worse, to act as if nothing had changed between them at all. Nonetheless, she had known what she risked.
But then courage compelled her and she looked straight up at him. There was a sexual heat in his gaze that she might have attributed to lingering fever—until he strode from the fire to kiss her on the cheek in front of Wendover, Carstairs, and the two footmen who had just entered the room behind her.
“I’ve shared the news,” he said in a hoarse voice that made her shiver in her shoes. “I hope you don’t mind. Wendover is to be my best man. We’ll arrange the wedding plans this week.”
She glanced around, savoring the smiles and murmured congratulations reassuring her that James had remembered his promise. His smug grin also reassured her he hadn’t forgotten the hours of pleasure spent in his bed. She felt as though she’d walked through a storm and emerged in the middle of a rainbow.
How had he managed to return so quickly to his devastating self after scaring the wits out of her? It was a tribute to his unbendable will and stamina and her answered prayers. Now if only she could forget Oliver’s surprise visit and hope that Mary had already put it from her mind.
“If you don’t stop touching me, James, everyone in the house will guess what we’ve been doing,” she whispered as one of the footmen placed a tea tray on the table.
He led her to a chair, speaking in her ear. “I’m only doing my duty.”
“Seducing the governess?”
“Begetting an heir,” he said rather loudly.
She glanced around. She was certain she saw one footman grin at another. “Not before the wedding.”
“A fortnight or so won’t matter. Nor will anything else in the past. It’s not as if we’re going to stand at the altar after we’ve said our vows, waiting for the vicar to shout, “On your marks, get set—”
“I hope not.”
“Whether we marry here or in London, we’ll have to celebrate with our tenants. Do you ride a horse?”
“It’s been years,” she confessed.
“Can you hold several glasses of apple cider?”
She gave him a strange look. “Do you mean in my hands while I’m astride?”
He grinned. “I’m not asking whether you can perform in a circus. Our tenants will want to toast our well-being, and Ellsworth produces a potent cider.”
“That doesn’t surprise me in the least. In that case, however, I think several sips will probably be my limit.”
“We’ll decide on your limits later, shall we?”
“Do you have to speak in such a loud voice about these things?” she whispered.
He blinked. “What does it matter? We have nothing to hide.”
He didn’t. Ivy did, and she felt horrible. To start things off by keeping a secret from him felt like a betrayal. And she hadn’t done a thing to encourage Oliver. He’d brought nothing but trouble into her life.
James straightened, leaving her to blush and meet Wendover’s knowing smile. How was she supposed to conduct herself now? Like a servant or a newly engaged lady? Despite James’s insatiable appetite for passion and his return to good health, she had to consider what sort of impression she made. As duke he could get away with murder.
He could even make a covert gesture to his best friend, ignore the second footman who brought him the post on a salver, and mumble some excuse about asking Ivy’s opinion on whether she preferred that their wedding be held in London or here in the country, and would she mind walking upstairs to inspect the late duchess’s suite that she would soon take personal possession of . . . in which the duke, she assumed as he trailed on, was to take immediate possession of her.