The muscles of the earl’s face tensed until he looked as though he had been carved and polished out of marble. With a haughty glare, he pushed himself away. “Are you certain my life is so much better?”
“At least you don’t have to worry about hunger or deprivation.”
“I didn’t know that affluence, or possessing a title, for that matter, made me any less human, any less capable of feeling than other men.”
“My lord, if you had a heart beneath that fine dressing gown, you would not have forced me to betray my father’s memory to save my dying mother—” Her voice broke, causing Rachel to draw a shuddering breath that sounded more like a sob. Standing, she shoved past him and headed for the door, eager to make good her escape before she lost any more of her dignity. “I am going back, with or without your precious physician. So if you plan to kill me as you did your wife, you had better do it quickly.”
Catching her by the elbow, he spun her around before she could reach the door. “Kill you? You little idiot! If I were the monster you accuse me of being, you would have been dead long before now. Instead, you are alive and well enough to make damning judgments on matters you know nothing about. Do you think I felt no betrayal when my wife slept with other men? Do you think it wasn’t painful to be taunted by the knowledge of it? To receive the bland smiles of those I considered my friends, who had taken my wife into their beds? That I could not feel—that I still do not feel—the loss of my son, a life I valued more than my own?” His fingers tightened almost painfully on her arm.
“Stop, you’re hurting me,” she said, but he wasn’t hurting her. Not yet. She was just afraid he would. The pressure of his grip eased, but still Rachel could not twist out of his grasp.
“Not until you answer me. Do only the poor feel pain, Miss McTavish, while the rich know nothing but peace and happiness? By your own admission, you are an educated woman. Please, do not try to sell me that bag of rot.”
Rachel didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t think when he was so close. She blinked up at him, her heart pounding.
A slight flaring of his nostrils revealed the degree of his anger. “If you espouse such a philosophy then perhaps I am not the only one walking numbly through life.”
She didn’t feel numb now. She felt vitally aware of him, more aware of this man than any she’d ever met before, and it came as a total shock that he seemed to be having the same reaction to her.
His gaze dropped to her lips, which she instinctively parted. But then someone knocked, and he shoved her away.
The housekeeper entered, stopping midstride to glance curiously at them both. “Doctor Jacobsen is ready.”
The earl pivoted toward the fire. “Thank you, Mrs. Poulson.” He sounded calm and in control again. And when he finally turned to Rachel, his face was shuttered, revealing none of the heated passion that had played upon it a heartbeat earlier. “I will go change. But first, I have one more question.”
Rachel scarcely heard his words. The emotional storm that had gripped them both seemed to have passed as quickly as it had broken, but the earl’s touch had left her shaken, burning with a memory she already knew she’d never forget.
“Can you give me the names of any of those at the colliery who were involved in this with your father?”
Rachel opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “No.”
“Because you don’t know or because you won’t tell?”
“I don’t know.”
Sharp movements revealed the fact that he wasn’t as calm as he pretended to be when he retrieved the poker and stabbed the logs of the fire. “Very well, Miss McTavish.” He tossed the implement against its brass stand with a resounding clang. “You shall have your doctor. If you will excuse me, we will soon be on our way.”
The earl swept past her, leaving Rachel in a tangled web of half-thoughts and sensation. Had he really looked at her as if… as if he might kiss her?
Mrs. Poulson followed him out. When the door closed behind them, Rachel touched her lips, realizing with a flash of guilty insight that some small part of her had reacted to the passion inside him. Despite his role as a titled gentleman, there seemed to be a facet inside him that society could not tame, something stimulating yet dangerous, like standing at the edge of a cliff and feeling the mysterious, subtle pull to jump.
Overwhelmed, she dropped her hand. Her mother required a physician. The rest was madness and should be ignored. For better or for worse, she had fulfilled her half of the bargain with Lord Druridge. Now it was time for him to make good.
Staring into the fire, she waited for the housekeeper or Lord Druridge to return and escort her out. But no one came. The mantel clock ticked loudly above the fire, mocking the passage of time and drawing out Rachel’s nerves until she thought she might scream. When would they leave? Her mother needed her!
Finally, she could take no more. Regardless of the earl, or his doctor, or the storm that raged against the house, she was going home. Grabbing her cloak, she marched across the room, flung open the door, and stalked into the hall.
But there a sudden jolt knocked her to the floor.
Chapter 3
Rachel blinked up at the earl in surprise.
“Do you always charge from a room with such force?” he asked.
Having donned a white shirt and stock with his stirrup trousers, as well as a green brocade waistcoat with a knee-length overcoat and top hat, he reached down to help her up. He appeared unruffled and remote, while Rachel felt as though she had just barreled into the stone wall surrounding the manse.
“I am sorry. I didn’t know you were there,” she muttered as she regained her feet.
Ignoring her apology, he turned to Mrs. Poulson. “Has Wythe returned?”
“Aye, m’lord. He is asleep in his chambers.”
“Tell him I won’t be able to accompany him to the mine in the morning. I will meet him at the offices midafternoon.”
When Poulson nodded, Lord Druridge shook out a heavy cloak and lifted it to the level of Rachel’s eyes. Obviously, he expected her to turn so he could drape it around her shoulders.
Rachel clung to her own wet cape, which she’d folded over her arms, even though she knew such obstinacy could offer nothing but extreme discomfort.
“Miss McTavish?” The earl cocked an impatient eyebrow and, in the interest of time, Rachel turned. The weight of the garment settled around her, its length falling past her feet to drag on the ground.