“I don’t like leaving you alone, miss,” Mr. Johnstone said.
“I thank you for your concern, Mr. Johnstone,” Catriona said. “But they need to get to Ballindair.”
The town house was becoming crowded. Unbeknownst to her, James had hidden three kittens and a mother cat in the trunk they’d carried from Old Town. Between the kittens, the cat, Edeen, James, and Christel, they were up to their ears in noise.
She’d never appreciated the silence or the peace in the household until now.
“I can assure you, Mr. Johnstone,” she said, “I will be fine in the time it takes for you to travel to Ballindair and return.”
“I’ll just make sure the doctor knows I’m gone,” he said, his face set in mulish lines.
“What does Dr. Thorburn have to say about this?” she asked.
Mark had come to treat Christel in the last week, his appearance necessitating that his identity be explained to the maids. All of them tittered about the masquerade, except for Artis, who looked at her strangely.
She’d managed to avoid him for three days. Now Mr. Johnstone considered him an ally of sorts?
“Neither of us believes the fire was an accident, Miss Cameron,” Mr. Johnstone said. “You know how I feel about what happened in London.”
Indeed she did. She was hard-pressed not to have him discuss the topic whenever they saw each other.
“I assure you,” she said, “I’ll be fine. There’s no need to involve Dr. Thorburn.”
She wasn’t at all sure he had listened to her. No doubt he sent a message to Mark and she could expect him on her doorstep any moment.
Still, the two of them being so protective warmed her.
As they watched the carriage pull away, Catriona turned to Dina.
“You never told me that benevolence could be so exhausting,” she said.
Dina’s laughter brightened the gray day. “I don’t adopt whole families, my dear,” she said, her words creating small puffy clouds in the cold air. “Or such a precocious young boy.” She sighed. “I wonder what will become of him?”
“At Ballindair, anything,” Catriona said. Look what had happened to her.
“I do so love the castle,” Dina said. “As soon as your sister has her child, we should arrange to visit her.”
She nodded, but as much as she loved Jean, she wasn’t in any hurry to witness her happiness with Morgan or see the newest member of the family. Until now she hadn’t much experience with envy.
She hated feeling petty, hated being restrained in her emotions. Most of all she hated the knowledge that she’d always had these flaws and ignored them until recently.
They entered the house together, standing in the small room off the kitchen to remove their coats.
Isobel entered the kitchen. “Dr. Thorburn just arrived,” the maid said, her color high and her eyes twinkling.
“He’s come for Christel,” Catriona said.
Dina looked at her, a small smile on her lips. “He knew they were leaving this morning. In fact, he sent along his records for the physician who will be caring for her. He’s a dedicated and talented doctor, you know.”
“I’m sure,” she said, moving toward the stairs.
“He’s been asking about you.”
She stopped and looked back at Dina.
“I don’t want to see him,” she said.
To her surprise, Dina shook her head. “Is that entirely wise? Perhaps if you wouldn’t ignore him, he wouldn’t be so curious about you.”
He wasn’t curious; he was intrusive, as well as irritating, annoying, and too unforgettable for her peace of mind.
Suddenly it was a moot point. He came through the hallway, large and tall, a wall of determination.
“Are you going to hide in your room?” he asked, frowning at her.
Dina stepped away with a murmured excuse. Cook and Elspeth likewise disappeared. Isobel would have remained behind if Aunt Dina hadn’t pulled her away by her apron strings.
Wasn’t she supposed to have a chaperone? Why had everyone left her alone with this man?
She couldn’t go through him, and she doubted he would allow her to go around him. Inwardly, she sighed, resigning herself to yet another confrontation.
She feigned composure, all the while wishing she was up for the battle. For days now she’d been feeling weepy, a circumstance no doubt brought on by lack of sleep.
“Why are you here?” she asked. “Christel has left.”
“You’re shivering,” he said.
Had his voice always been that deep, so filled with a Scottish burr? Mark would be a success in the drawing rooms of the ton. Women would flock to him, lean over him, brush against him. They’d engage him in conversation to simply hear him speak.
If he chanced to kiss a woman, she’d never forget it. She’d press her fingers against her lips wonderingly, recalling that exact moment.
Such a thing had never happened to her, of course.
“Yes, I’m shivering,” she said, moving to pass him. “It’s a cold day.”
To her great delight, he moved aside. Should she try for the stairs?
Aunt Dina and the maids must be hiding somewhere, because none of them came to her aid.
“Your limp is worse.”
Why had he noticed that?
“I haven’t been walking lately,” she said. She wouldn’t make it up the stairs. He was directly behind her. So close, in fact, that it felt like he was herding her.
“You need a shawl,” he said.
“I don’t need fashion advice.”
“Then use your common sense. You’re shivering.”
“As well as limping,” she added, suddenly grateful for the absence of the servants. What would they have thought to hear such comments?
“Thank you for sending Edeen and the children to Ballindair,” he said, startling her. “Your kindness will save Christel’s life.”
Had anyone ever been as concerned about her as Mark was about Christel? Perhaps her parents, before the bad times. Always Jean, but she’d never appreciated her sister’s love and loyalty. Jean had always tried to protect her, even from herself.
Entering the parlor, she turned to face him.
“You’ll be happy to note that I’ve taken to eating with Dina, and my meals are surprisingly tranquil.”
He smiled at her, which would never do.
She’d missed him at meals and in her bed, but she wasn’t going to say that, no matter how great the provocation.
“My days are remarkably serene without someone to argue with,” he said, “or to challenge my every word.”
“I doubt anyone ever challenges you as Dr. Thorburn,” she said. “But I only knew the footman. You were an arrogant footman.”
“I was your equal in arrogance,” he said.
He was also her equal in passion, another comment she would not make.
“How impolite of you,” she said.
His eyes twinkled when he smiled. What a waste of time to be mesmerized by such a sight. She must dust her room, change the linens, stare out the window, and pace the confines of her suite, all worthwhile chores.
“Have you been well?” he asked softly.
He placed his hand on her shoulder, and she shouldn’t have been able to feel it, but she did.
“I am well,” she said. “Exceedingly so. I am the picture of health. As soon as I stand before a fire, I’ll be warm enough to stop shivering.”
“Would you allow me to recommend a physician to you?”
“You think I’m ill?”
“No,” he said. “I think you’re the picture of health. But I want to do everything I can to ensure you stay that way. I would be remiss if I did otherwise.”
She nodded. “As a physician, of course.”
“Or your lover.”
Moving closer to the parlor fire, she took a few moments to remove her gloves, taking her time in order to compose herself. With only a few words he’d destroyed her day, and no doubt her night as well.
“Do you think to call upon me in such a role, Mark? Do you think Aunt Dina would accept if you said, ‘Mrs. MacTavish, I’m here because passion brought me?’ ”
“Are you with child?” he asked softly.
“Is that why you’re here? No.”
He came to stand beside her, reaching for her hand. As her eyes widened, he bent and kissed her bare knuckles.
“That’s not the only reason I’m here, Catriona.”
Just when she thought he would leave, he moved both of the chairs until they were directly in front of the fire, then removed his coat and placed it on one chair. He led her to it and stood there until she had no choice but to sit, then pulled up his coat until it covered her shoulders.
“There, are you warm enough?”
She nodded, bemused.
“We’ve solved the problem of the shivers. Now we need to work on the limp. Why haven’t you been walking?”
She didn’t want to tell him, but she must. “My leg has been hurting too much,” she said.
To her shock, he knelt before her.
“What are you about, Mark?”
He reached for his bag, opened it, and withdrew an amber-colored bottle with a cork stopper. He set it down on the floor, then raised her skirts.
She slapped his hands away, but he only smiled and continued with his explorations.
“You can’t think to bed me here, in the middle of the day. What about the maids? Or Aunt Dina?”
“How adventuresome you are, Catriona,” he said. “I’ve no intentions of bedding you on the settee.” He leaned back, eyeing the furniture’s dimensions. “First of all, it’s much too short and too narrow. I’d never fit.”
She knew exactly how large he was, but she wasn’t going to say such a thing to him.
“Or the floor? Is that what you’re thinking? That might be acceptable.”
She frowned at him, and wished he could see her expression.
He pulled up her skirts again and rolled down her left stocking. She tried to roll it back up, but he held her hands with one of his and grabbed the bottle.
“What is that?”
“Liniment,” he said. “It should take away some of the pain. Do you object to that?”
She sat back.
He poured the lotion on his palm. The pungent odor was strong enough that her eyes watered. She leaned back as he rubbed his hands together, then placed them on her knee. How large and warm his hands were.
Her heart thudded. Her mouth grew dry. Warmth traveled throughout her body, its origin not hard to decipher. He was warming her with his touch and the twinkle in his eyes as he knelt there.
Suddenly, it was difficult to breathe. Perhaps it was just the noxious odor of the liniment. Or was it Mark’s slow and teasing smile?
She looked away but felt his fingers splay around her knee. Was she supposed to sit here meekly and be mauled? He pressed against her skin, the heels of his hands gently massaging away the pain. She closed her eyes, wished he were gone and, paradoxically, would never stop what he was doing.
If no one were at home, would he have seduced her? Or would she have urged him up the stairs and into her room again?
Dina deserved better than to be the subject of gossip.
Her own reputation hardly mattered anymore. She’d never be like the rest of society. She’d be Catriona Cameron, the woman wreathed in black or blue, an object of speculation and rumor. What did it matter if she indulged in hedonism from time to time?
She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to enfold her arms around him and lose herself in the feel of him, warm and smelling of medicine and wild, winter air. She wanted to press her lips against that spot on his temple, the place that would go to silver one day.
“How does that feel?” he asked, bursting her bubble of conjecture.
She opened her eyes and watched as his smile faded. Long moments later the twinkle in his eyes had disappeared, replaced by an expression she could only guess at. Was it hunger she saw?
They were so close she could reach out and touch him, trail her fingers through his hair. Her thumb would brush against that full lower lip, coax it into another teasing smile. Her knuckles would brush against his jaw, her palm against his cheek, feeling the hint of afternoon beard.
Her heart was so full she felt as if she wept inside. Tenderness was a dimension to passion she’d never experienced. Or perhaps what she was feeling had nothing to do with passion.
She clenched her hands into fists to keep from touching him.
He rolled up her stocking, patted her thigh, then lowered her skirt. She was the picture of propriety yet somehow could still feel his hands on her.
“Is that better?” he asked, his voice soft, low, and too seductive.
She nodded. “The pain has gone away.”
He moved back, sitting on his heels. He hesitated, as if considering something and then thought better of it. A kiss? What would she do if he reached over and tried to remove her veil?
Standing, he picked up the bottle and placed it on the mantel.
“Perhaps it would be better if you used gloves when you applied it. It stings after a while, but my hands are tougher.”
“What about the smell?” she asked. “What’s in it?”
“Camphor, I imagine,” he said. “Some herbs, perhaps some alcohol.”
Her leg was still tingling where he touched her, and she doubted it had much to do with liniment.
Take me upstairs.
He took one step toward her then halted, stopping himself before he could reach her.
She stood, and unwisely walked to him, placing her hand on his jacket, above his heart. She felt the rapid cadence of it against her palm, closed her eyes and simply drew in the moment.
Mark, standing there silent and male.
She, wanting him so desperately that it was an ache.
“Take care, Catriona,” he said, the words a benediction in a Scottish burr.
“You, too,” she said, stepping back.
He nodded, bent to grab his bag, and retrieved his coat.
It would be wiser to simply send him away, forget all that had happened between them. But, oh, how difficult that was proving to be.
He didn’t move. Neither did she. Yet the yearning was there for that kiss. A farewell kiss, perhaps. Or a preface to something more?
She watched as he left the room, feeling as bereft as if she’d lost a loved one.
He was a confusing man in whatever role he played, footman or physician.
She wouldn’t think about him anymore. Whenever he entered her mind, she would banish him. When Dina spoke of him, she would change the subject. If she saw him again she would simply treat him as a polite stranger.