Page 56 of Yielding to Love

“I’ll send James over.”

“James?”

“My underbutler. Superb fellow.”

“To spy on me?”

Hazard chuckled. “Face the fact that your loved ones worry. And yes, I will ask James to report back to me. It’s either that or I’ll come visit you daily. I don’t trust your word.”

“Fine.” He needed a manservant and hadn’t the energy to go through the process of hiring one. “There are rooms in the attic for valets. What do you pay him?”

“I’ll pay him. He is my spy. And don’t imagine you can bribe him. He is irreproachably honest.”

Crispin tried to scowl and protest, but a wave of dizziness swept over him. Evidently, the quaking of his legs was obvious, because Hazard said, “Sit down. I’ll get the tea.”

He didn’t argue. He sat. Hazard took off his own coat, laid it on a chair, then disappeared into the next room. He reappeared several minutes later with a cup of lukewarm, weak tea.

“That is the best you could do?”

Hazard shrugged. “I have not cultivated the skill.”

“You can’t boil water?”

Hazard stepped to the grate and stirred the coals. Then turned. “How sick are you? You look like hell. Should you have been out walking?”

“Why are you still in London? Aren’t you going to spend Christmas in Gladnorshire with your…friend?” He loaded the word with innuendo.

Hazard replied evenly, “That was my initial intent. Until Alice said I should go, and she would go to Chaumbers. As it is our first Christmas as man and wife, I thought it better to spend it together.”

“I suppose you cannot get a child on her if you are half the breadth of England apart. Are you disappointed she would not go with you to Lord Chesterfield’s?” He snorted. “Tell me, how is that supposed to work? It’s hard to picture.”

Hazard gave him a dark look. “Recall, if you will, that you are speaking about Alice.”

Crispin’s gaze fell first. He’d meant only to turn the conversation away from himself. “You’re right. And I apologize.”

Hazard flicked his hand. “You’ve always been a bit of a turd.”

Crispin laughed. Then he drank up his tea and set the cup down.

“Do you want another?” Hazard asked. When Crispin shook his head, Hazard walked away from the grate to the umbrella stand. “This is what you ventured out for?” He reached for the books. Crispin grimaced as Hazard lifted the bundle and untied it, then unwrapped the first book.

“Devotions upon Emergent Occasions?” Hazard glanced up. “Donne’s treatise on death?”

“I would say rather his treatise on eternal salvation.”

Hazard opened the book and skimmed the first page. “‘We die, and cannot enjoy death, because we die in this torment of sickness.’”

“It suits my mood.”

Hazard set it down and picked up the other. Crispin started to protest, but realized it was better to make little of it. Hazard peeled off the paper.

“Aretino’s The Genuine and Remarkable Amours?” The book was a detailed chronicle of the author’s sexual adventures. Hazard threw back his head and laughed. “Only you would link these two books together. Or perhaps you and Donne.”

He had thought they both might be instructive. “I am building my library. I have great hopes for its variety.”

“You are off to a fine start.” Hazard pulled out his watch. “And I am late. I’m supposed to escort Alice to a lecture. Will you come to supper tomorrow night?”

“No. I will be reading.”