Page 62 of Yielding to Love

“Georgiana wants her,” Jasper said, stone-faced. “Arthur’s sibling will be here any day.”

Ah, right. Potent Reg and fecund Georgiana. So much pain. Love and pain. “Vanessa will be next.” Crispin heard the words come out of his mouth and cringed. That was the drug. He had no discretion.

“No, it will be Olivia.” Jasper let out a long sigh.

“Olivia?”

“They haven’t said anything. No one says anything anymore. We’ve become a family that keeps secrets from one another. But she has that look about her. And she isn’t riding.”

Crispin didn’t know what response to make. So he turned to Adam. “I can only assume Jasper offered you significantly better pay.”

Adam frowned. “Am I a mercenary? Then considering I received no pay from the Harringtons, I was under no obligation to stay.”

“No pay?”

“It is in arrears. Lady Bodwell assures me—”

“Lady Bodwell?”

Adam’s frown deepened. “The colonel has gone to live with the Bodwells. One of the staff will be assigned to his care.”

What the devil? “And what about Miss Harrington?”

Adam cocked his head. His frown disappeared. “Miss Harrington is Lady Bodwell.”

Crispin felt kicked in the gut. Or stabbed in the heart. The pain even penetrated the laudanum’s shield. He could do nothing but stare. He must have misheard. Misunderstood.

“She wed Sir Bodwell last week,” Adam said.

“She wed Sir Bodwell,” he echoed. She had said she wouldn’t marry. She wouldn’t marry him. And she would not marry at all. The sly she-devil. She lied. But he could not piece together her motive. Bodwell? God damn it! He wished he could think!

Jasper said, “I want to bring you back to Chaumbers.”

“What? No. I’m not going to Chaumbers.” If he were to go anywhere, it would be to Tonbridge to sort this out. Adam must be wrong.

“You should come home. It would do you good.”

“I’m fine here.”

“We want you near.”

“I don’t need a nursemaid.”

Jasper’s jaw set. “I am not comfortable bringing Vanessa to London. But if you insist you won’t travel, she will have to.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” He could not help a twitch of a smile. “Excellent use of filial manipulation, Jasp. I could not have done it better myself.”

*

“Not beef. I cannot eat beef. Not like this.” Crispin pushed away the plate with its repulsive slab of flesh. Ignoring Adam’s consternation, he turned his focus to the wall. His bedchamber. At Chaumbers. His walls, familiar since childhood, were covered with old light-brown paper with faded yellow fleur-de-lys. The symbol of French royalty. Whoever thought that was a good idea?

“Major.” Adam rapped his knuckles on the tea table. The table was a new fixture in the room where Crispin took his meals to avoid his family’s worried scrutiny. “You’ve determined it is not meat that makes you ill. If you wish to regain muscle, you must eat muscle.”

His throat tightened. He shook his head.

“Why? What is the difficulty?” Adam had a way of posing questions as simple interest. He didn’t twist arms. And yet, Crispin found it impossible to refuse to answer Adam’s straightforward why?

“I have flayed men.” He choked. “Do you understand? I never ordered a flogging unless I was prepared to carry out the punishment myself. Flogging tears a man open. It separates muscle from bone. I look at that plate…”