A Belated Bride by Karen Hawkins Read Free Book Online

was suddenly aware of how high the sun stood in the sky outside the window. It must be late afternoon. No wonder he was famished.
    Still . . . he looked at the brown liquid in the cup. The two women reminded him far too much of the witches in Macbeth to drink any brew of their making. He gently pushed the cup away. “If you could just send for my valet, I could find Satan myself—”
    “Oh, no. You will not be rising for many days to come,” Jane said. “You are too ill.”
    “Nonsense. A few days’ rest and I will be as good as new.”
    “Oh, but we cannot allow that to happen!” Emma said. His astonishment must have shown, for Jane immedi- ately added, “What Emma meant to say was that we can- not allow you to risk your health. Besides your shoulder, you also have a grievous wound to your head.” She thrust
    the steaming cup under his nose. “Now drink this.” “But I—”
    Jane neatly tipped the cup into his mouth. He was instantly assailed with sweet warm wine mixed with cin- namon, cloves, and just the faintest hint of nutmeg. He
    took a second drink. Swirls of delight trailed down his throat and into his empty stomach.
    She pressed the cup into his hand and straightened his covers. “There. We’ll have you feeling the thing in no time at all.”
    He took another sip, savoring the ambrosia before swallowing. “What is this?”
    “Mulled wine and tonic,” Emma said. “The sheep love it.”
    He blinked into the cup. “You waste this on sheep?”
    Jane sent a quelling glance at her sister. “Emma, get the poor duke another blanket. He looks chilled.”
    Lucien sipped his wine. Not only were his aches reced- ing with each passing moment, but his mind was acutely clear, as if he’d spent his entire life looking through a clouded fog that had suddenly been blown free. By God, he would have Hastings learn how to make this magnifi- cent tonic and serve it every night before bed. Lucien tilted the cup over his open mouth and let the last few drops fall onto his tongue. Hell, he just might drink it with every meal.
    Emma helped Jane spread a blanket over his legs. “We get so few dukes in Yorkshire.”
    “True,” agreed Jane. She removed the tumbler from Lucien’s nerveless hand and set it on a side table, then slipped his arm under the blanket and tucked it in so tightly that he couldn’t move. “Barons, viscounts, and an occasional earl, but very few dukes.”
    “And such a duke.” Emma cast an admiring stare his way, her eyes hideously magnified by her spectacles. “I vow, I shall not know how to go on.”
    Lucien smiled and would have waved a hand, had one been free. “Pray do not bother yourself, Lady . . .” He trailed off, wondering foggily if he knew their names.
    “Where have our manners gone?” Jane exclaimed. “Allow us to introduce ourselves. I am Lady Melwin.” She issued a short, jerky curtsy and then waved a hand at her plump counterpart. “And this is my sister, Lady Durham.” Wreathed in smiles, the rotund lady dipped a curtsy that caused an unholy crack to sound. Her cheeks red- dened. “Pardon, Your Grace. Age, you know.” She bright- ened. “Fortunately, I have my medicine right here.” She withdrew a small bottle from her pocket and took a swig.
    A whiff of prime cognac wafted toward Lucien.
    Jane stared down her aquiline nose at her sister. “Pray forgive Emma. She has a consumptive complaint.”
    “I’ve never been consumptive a day in my life.” She turned to Lucien and said in a voice dripping with mys- tery, “I have Female Problems.”
    Even in his now-hazy state of mind, Lucien found this bit of information alarming. But he was spared an answer when the door opened and small booted feet walked briskly across the floor.
    Lucien knew it was Arabella before she came into sight. The air charged with heat and his body responded as if he’d been stroked by a velvet hand. He should have been dismayed by his instant reaction, since it was clearly outlined by the