The Heir - Catherine Coulter [60]
“Pork, hmm? Perhaps I can force myself,” Dr. Branyon said. He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece and quickly rose. “If I am to have a chance at snabbling any dinner, I must leave now and see to my patients. Six o’clock?”
Lady Ann nodded and walked from the drawing room to the great double doors with him. He turned, saying quietly, “Ann, something is troubling you. Ah, it’s the marriage, is it? You know that you must become used to the fact that Arabella is a married lady.”
Lady Ann didn’t know what to do. She looked up into his face, a face she had known since she was seventeen years old, a face so beloved that all she wanted to do was touch him and kiss him and hold him so tightly he would never let her go. The truth then, she thought, at least about Arabella. About her own feelings, they had to wait. She had no idea what he felt about her. Oh yes, he was fond of her, that much was obvious, but for anything more—
She said, “I promise that isn’t the problem. I believe Arabella was born being grown up. A married lady? I neither had nor have any difficulty accepting that.” She drew a deep breath. “There is something wrong between them. Something very wrong.”
Dr. Branyon frowned into her clouded blue eyes. It was on the tip of his tongue to make light of her concern, but he had found over the years that her perceptions about people were usually appallingly accurate. He said, “Since I haven’t seen them today, I can’t say anything to the point. This evening, well, I will watch them. I hope you are wrong, Ann. I really do.”
“So do I. But I’m not.” She wondered if she should tell him about Arabella’s ripped nightgown. No, that was going too far. It was far too intimate.
God, how he hated to see her upset. Without thought he lifted her hand. As his mouth brushed her palm, he felt a slight tremor in her hand. Her fingers closed over his. He forgot everything except his need for her. He looked hungrily at her mouth, then into her eyes. He didn’t at first believe what he saw there even though it was so clear a blind man couldn’t be mistaken.
“Ann, my dearest love.” There was such longing, such complete commitment in his voice that Lady Ann didn’t notice the groom approaching with his horse.
But he did. He tried to smile, difficult when all he wanted to do was kiss her until neither of them could breathe. He wanted badly to touch her, just lightly touch her, it was all he asked, but it wasn’t to be. He drew a deep breath and swallowed a lurid curse. “We have no privacy here. I would speak with you further, Ann.”
She stared up at him, at his mouth, and said without hesitation, “When?”
He chuckled and released her hand. “I want nothing more than to have you all to myself right at this moment. Damnation. I have patients.”
“Tomorrow then,” she said.
He took the plunge. “You know, Ann, the fishpond is lovely this time of year. Do you think you would enjoy a stroll around its perimeter tomorrow afternoon, say at one o’clock?” Actually he was seeing her on her back, her beautiful hair spread out about her face, lying in the midst of daffodils. He swallowed. He was losing his mind.
Again, she said without hesitation, “I think I should like it above all things.”
Dr. Branyon forgot the years he had spent without her, thinking now to the future. Actually, he was thinking about tomorrow at the fishpond. “Just maybe life is perfect.” He rested his hand lightly against her cheek and smiled at her tenderly.
“Tonight for dinner and I swear I will observe. Then, tomorrow at one o’clock, dearest Ann.” He turned and strode down the front steps to his waiting horse, his step light and confident. He waved to her before he wheeled his horse about and cantered down the graveled drive.
“Yes, Paul, just maybe life will be perfect.” She felt so full of happiness that, absurdly, she wanted to run after the retreating stable lad and fling her arms around him. She hugged herself instead.
By the time she returned to the drawing room, she had dimmed the outrageous sparkle in her eyes. She thought that only Justin would notice a change