Page 17 of The Cornish Bride

Ysella inclined her lovely head, her chestnut curls bobbing against her alabaster neck. A finger of electricity coursed down Sam’s spine making his knees weak, even though he was sitting. He had to fight to still the shake in them.

“Every child needs their mother,” she said, stretching out a hand and resting it on Sam’s knee. Could she feel the tremor in it? He willed it to be still. She regarded him out of candid dark eyes. “I would have been such a sad specimen had I not had my own dear Mama throughout my childhood.”

Sam couldn’t drag his own eyes away, much as he longed to. She had him snared.

Heat radiated from her touch, across his legs, down to the tips of his toes and up to his… stomach, making him want to twist with discomfort and shake her hand off even though at the same time he never wanted her to remove it.

“I can’t bear to think of that dear little mite up there having to grow up without his mother,” she went on, oblivious to what her touch was doing to him, still holding his gaze. “I went into the nursery to see him, and he is the most delightful creature. No name, as yet, his wetnurse told me. Her own child is a girl, so there’s no fear of mixing them up. She told me that, too, and laughed a little as she said it. I daresay at some point in history a wetnurse’s child must have been confused with the true heir, if both were boys, and a peasant brat has grown up to be a lord. But she’s very sad for poor Morvoren.”

Sam got to his feet and made an elaborate show of fetching another couple of logs for the fire, watched with approval by the spaniels, Dash and Duster, although Hector the labrador didn’t even cock an ear. When he sat down, to his relief, Ysella kept her hands to herself.

“We shall just have to keep praying that Doctor Busick is right and her fever will break tonight,” he said, feeling this to be a lame statement. Being this close to Ysella had rendered his brain in some kind of soupy fog and, try as he might, he couldn’t find anything sensible to say. She’d be thinking him an addlepate. Which he was where she was concerned. So much easier to talk to Kit than his sister, but then, he wasn’t nurturing disturbing feelings of love for Kit.

The library door, as if in answer to his prayers for a distraction, opened yet again, and two of the footmen carried in a tray each, the plates covered by the silver domes of cloches. Bannerman accompanied them bearing a tray with a decanter and glasses. These he set down on the round table between the two wingback chairs. “Cook rather thought you would like your dinner on trays, like his lordship and the dowager.”

Sam jumped to his feet, his blanket falling to the ground, but Ysella remained seated. The first footman lowered his tray onto her lap and stood back, hands behind his back, chin up.

“This is perfect,” she said with satisfaction. “Like a picnic. Bannerman, we’ll be fine without you and Albert and Joseph. You can all return to the servants’ hall for your own supper. Mr. Beauchamp will serve the wine. No need at all to stand on ceremony when the house is upside down like this.”

Sam sat down, the feeling of awkwardness increasing, and Albert handed him his tray. Both the cloches having been removed, the servants departed on silent feet. Cook had provided a light chicken dish with small whole potatoes and a few vegetables. Sam wasn’t sure he had the appetite for any of it. Not with Ysella this close.

It appeared she didn’t either, for she only picked at the food with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. But that was probably from worry about Morvoren. Cook would not be amused.

After a bit, she raised her eyes to meet his. “It’s no use. Worrying about Morvoren has taken my appetite away entirely. Even though I’ve hardly eaten today. And Cook has made such an effort.” She put the tray on the floor beside the fireplace, and all three dogs, who must have been feigning sleep, leapt up to clear the plate in an instant. Sam had to smile. Cook was going to think Ysella had licked her plate clean herself.

She smoothed down her blanket. “But I am feeling a little warmer. I think I’ll take a glass of that claret. I feel my spine needs some fortifying for this night.”

Sam, glad to set down his own tray, for which the dogs repeated their efficient clean, filled two glasses and handed one to Ysella. “Best not drink too much on an almost empty stomach.”

She shook her head. “On the contrary. I feel it would be a good idea to lose myself in the claret. Otherwise, I shall never sleep this evening but lie awake worrying, even though there seems nothing I can do. Mama and Kit and Loveday have the sickroom all sorted, and I’m nothing more than a spare part. I feel quite useless.”

Sam drained half his glass. Maybe he too needed to find solace in the wine. It might numb the overwhelming feelings for Ysella he was fighting to control. Her two months away had proved the truth in the old adage that absence makes the heart grow fonder.

She did the same with her wine, bestowing a wan smile on him over the rim. “In fact, I’m very tired now after our precipitate journey, and I think I might retire to bed myself.” She drained the glass and held it out. “Another one, before I go.”

Sam shook his head. “Unwise, Miss Ysella. You might be called upon to help during the night, and you wouldn’t like to be found the worse for drink.”

She squinted up at him, a slight frown furrowing her brow. “Perhaps you are right. But the temptation is enormous.” She rose to her feet and put the blanket to one side. “I shall retire now, before that temptation overcomes me.” She settled her shawl more firmly about her shoulders, drawing it close at the front. “And it is still very chilly in here. I’ve had Martha put a hot brick in my bed for me so that at least should be comfortable. I bid you goodnight, Sam, and a safe walk home.”

Sam, who had risen to his feet as well, went to open the door for her. With only a fleeting backward glance, she hurried across the cold hall to the staircase and, with her gown swishing on the treads, disappeared from sight.

Sam sighed. Maybe he wouldn’t go home tonight, not with the crisis looming for Morvoren. Maybe he’d try and sleep here in front of the library fire so he could be on hand if Kit were to need him. He went back to the fire and gathered up the two blankets. The wing back chair was comfortable enough. Having stoked the fire again, he dragged the second chair close enough to put his feet on and settled back under the blankets. This was going to be a long night.