Part 5 (2/2)

Serena couldn't imagine her mother ever being in love with a man other than her father. ”Thank thee for telling me that. I will remember.”

Her mother gave her a squeeze. ”Now take his royal highness his tea-” she laughed-”and we'll leave to thy father the task of teaching him servitude.”

Serena's eyes widened with shocked laughter. ”Poor Father.”

DRAKE LOOKED AROUND the room, not particularly liking the disdain he felt for it, but feeling it none the same. It was positively spa.r.s.e. Plain white walls, no paintings, no tapestries, no rug to warm one's feet on the cold wood floor. There were plain, cream-colored linen curtains and a few pieces of furniture made of st.u.r.dy oak-heavy, dark, serviceable: a simple highboy, a small chest at the foot of the bed, and the four-poster bed without curtains where he was currently reclining. But the bed was stuffed with soft feathers and conditions were vastly more comfortable than those in the s.h.i.+p's hold. He was grateful for the warmth, the care these people had given him, the many kindnesses. He felt almost good enough to get up and wondered how much longer he could endure the sickbed.

He was contemplating what he might do first when he got out of it when Serena glided in bearing a loaded tray and a surprisingly handsome silver tea service. She set it down on the round table with a clatter and then turned to face him, her hands held loosely behind her back, a shy smile on her face-an expression endearing and stirring at the same time. It never ceased to amaze him, this effect she had on his senses. Drake Weston was no stranger to beautiful women. Some of the most sought-after women in English society had sought after him. But none had given him the physical jolt this simple but lovely creature did just by smiling at him.

”Thou art feeling better?”

His smile deepened. He could listen to her thees and thous all day long. Her voice had such a lilting quality to it. ”Yes-” he cleared his throat, still a little hoa.r.s.e from disuse-”thank you.”

”I brought tea and toast.” She smiled again at him, this time with adoring eyes. Did she have the vaguest idea what she was doing to him? ”Just the way thou likest.” She smiled, handing him the cup.

A memory of abruptly correcting her yesterday flitted across his mind, and he frowned. ”Thank you. I beg your pardon if I was demanding yesterday. I am unused to lying abed. It seems to have a grating effect on my nerves.” He gave her the practiced smile that never failed to melt a woman's heart.

She didn't seem to notice, only waved it off with an endearing, delicate move of her hand. ”Thou art forgiven.” Handing him a plate she perched on the feather mattress beside him and reached out to feel his forehead. ”Thy fever has broken and thy eyes look clear. I do believe thee will recover, sir.”

”Please, you may call me Drake. 'Sir' makes me feel old enough to be your father.”

”Drake.” His name was breathless on her lips. ”What does it mean?”

The jolt coursed through him again. No one had ever asked him that. He reached over and took her hand. Rubbing little circles in her palm with the pad of his thumb he said deeply, ”Dragon, I believe. My father was obsessed with them.”

”Oh.”

She would be so easy to seduce. Drake drew her hand to his mouth and just touched the backs of her fingers with his lips. She inhaled sharply, and he smiled. ”I don't have to ask what Serena means.” He watched the play of emotions on her face. ”'Tis obvious.” He glided her fingertips across his lips. ”And so fitting.”

Serena gasped, s.n.a.t.c.hing her hand away. Hot color filled her face. ”What art thou doing?”

Drake released an abrupt laugh. Some part of him, some part he hadn't known was there, felt like he had known her forever. ”I don't know. I fear I lose my grasp on reality and propriety when you are near.” He looked down at the covers for a moment, pondering the surprising truth in his own words, then looked back at her with a grin. ”But since I am forever begging your pardon, I will beg for something else instead.”

He couldn't fault her the apprehension on her features. He raised his hand to his face, rubbed his jaw, looking at her. ”I would dearly love to remove this beard. It itches.”

Serena's relief was apparent in her escaped breath and shy smile. ”I should like to see thee without it.” Then, as if realizing what she had disclosed, her eyes grew round and she clapped her hand over her mouth. His deep chuckle followed her as she turned and fled the room.

Drake leaned back, pondering this enchanting creature and her effect on him. She made him feel so . . . so . . .

He sat up, the blankets falling to his waist. She made him feel as no woman ever had. It was unaccountable. And yet, he could not deny the strange feelings flooding him.

Was it possible? Could he, for the first time in his life, be . . . in love? He swore softly at himself. The bleak reality was, it didn't matter. He had nothing to offer her. He was a nothing, a n.o.body. Falling in love would not change that.

The door opened, and one of the other sisters came in with the shaving supplies. Apparently, Serena was still feeling shy.

”And which one are you?” Drake asked as pleasantly as possible, trying not to scare the pretty little thing away.

”Mercy, thy highness,” she said with a bright smile and a curtsy. ”I am eight.”

Drake laughed out loud. He couldn't help it. This household was full of imps, and a body just couldn't settle into a good misery no matter how badly one wanted to.

”You mustn't call me that.” He took a bite of the honeyed toast. ”I am Mr. Winslow, or Drake even, and would be most pleased to hear you say it.”

She looked a little nonplussed, dumped the shaving supplies in his lap, and then complied in a sing-song voice. ”Drake Even, Drake Even, Drake Even . . .”

”Cease!” He softened the order with a grin. ”That's enough for now, thank you. How would you like to sit and tell me all about your family? I've only spoken with a few of you, but I hear there are more.”

The child was thrilled with the idea of having his undivided attention and plopped down next to him on the side of the bed. ”Wilt thou finish that toast, Drake? My mother won't give me another crumb until noon, and I am very hungry.” She leaned close, every inch the conspirator. ”They lock up the food or Mother says she would get nothing else done. I don't really take her meaning though-it's not as if she would be the one eating. I can surely get my own food from the cupboards. I am eight.”

Drake thought it wise to agree with the little sprite and handed her the rest of his breakfast. ”You may have my toast, Mercy. Now, tell me about your sisters while I shave.”

Mercy nodded happily and took a giant bite. Without waiting to swallow, she proceeded. ”Serena is the oldest, but then you have met her. She is like our father. He's a silversmith. He makes beautiful things from silver. Serena, though, she likes to paint and makes the most wonderful pictures. Thou hast to come upstairs and see the walls; she has painted whole walls from floor to ceiling up there.”

Drake felt oddly proud. ”What does she paint?”

”Oh, scapes, I think they call it, and animals and people and . . . anything. Sometimes she goes to the river and paints, or she might bring her pencils to one of the picnics and sketch the people there. She is a wonder with a pencil, sir.”

Being something of a connoisseur of the arts, Drake decided to suspend judgment until he could view her work, but he was undeniably curious. He waited for more information while little Mercy took another bite and chewed.

”Mary Ann is next. She is more like Mother, and Father says she's full of mischief. I like to play paper dolls with her because she has the best imagination and says the funniest things and everyone has their own voices! She can even mimic Mrs. Crane-she is the meanest Friend-and it's so funny when she does it. Then there is Hannah. Hannah likes to read and sew and play the harpsichord. We don't have one, but our neighbors, the Lowrys, they let Hannah play theirs whenever she wants to. She helps out with their two boys, William and Charley. I hear they are 'a real handful.'”

Drake tried not to grin as he carefully ran the sharp razor down the side of his chin. He couldn't remember the last time, if ever, he had shaved himself, and it was proving a challenge. If not for the child on his bed, he'd be irritated by now. ”Go on.” He nodded to her.

”Well, Rachel is next. She is ten. We get along most times.” Mercy sounded completely unconvinced. ”I guess she is my closest sister.”

Drake laughed. ”When you're not fighting, that is?”

Mercy nodded and frowned. ”She likes to boss me.”

Drake laughed again and then grimaced as a trickle of red ran from the soap and down his cheek. Holding his finger to the spot to stop the bleeding, he said, ”And then there is you.”

”Yes. Can you believe Father had six girls? I know he would like a boy to help him in the shop, but he always says G.o.d gave him what he needed. But it does not seem that way. It seems like he needs a son.” She shrugged at the puzzle and abruptly switched topics. ”I love the outdoors. Since it is winter and cold, I cannot go out much and Mother says that makes me agitated.” She shrugged. ”But Christmas is coming soon and that will make up for having to stay indoors so much. Last, there is the baby, Lidy, who is really no baby at all. She is four and everybody loves her the best, which is fine, because she is the baby.”

Christmas. He'd forgotten Christmas was coming. His last few Christmases had been hectic with parties and the lavish gifts that brought gasps from his friends. Then there were the women-dark-eyed Louisa, golden Flora, and Kate, the sensual redhead from Ireland, to name a few-all hoping to become the next d.u.c.h.ess. There were other Christmas memories, too. The deep scent of pine that filled the castle, decked out in all its glory for a season of entertaining. Even though his mother was long gone from them, his father had insisted on a sensational Christmas. If nothing else, they had agreed that it was good for their growing fortune. He remembered the self-congratulatory toasts between he and his father when another investor had succ.u.mbed to their combined brilliance. How proud his father had seemed in those moments, and how desperately he'd wanted to please him.

Now he knew. It was all a lie.

And it was gone. All of it. The glittering life, the belonging to a world of privilege and respect, the envy of most everyone around him. In an instant of cold awakening, Drake realized he'd reveled in their envy, thinking himself so much better than most of his acquaintances. Sickened, the razor suspended midair, he stared at the hollow-cheeked man in the mirror.

”Art thou well, sir? Might I get thee a drink of water?”

Drake struggled to bring himself back into the room with Mercy. Back to his new reality. ”What a delightful family you have,” he said, but all the lightness was gone from his voice. He wiped off the last of the soap and studied his reflection in the small hand mirror. Who was this strained and thin creature peering back at him? He feared he no longer knew. But he didn't like him. He looked weak . . .

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