of what you do offer. I’m not the same fool my brother was.”
Her eyes widened with surprise. A moment later, her gaze hardened and she looked away. She moved her hands to the wheels of her chair, but he stopped her from leaving with an outstretched foot in the spokes. “You need help up the stairs,” he said.
“I will find someone.” She tried to roll away.
That was what he was afraid of. He’d been angry with himself at dinner, and in his haste to get her out of his mind, he’d fallen back in his duties. But he wouldn’t allow anyone else to assist her. Even though the only male besides himself in the house was Gruver, a happily married man, Claire was a temptress, and he couldn’t expose his people to her.
He downed the last of his brandy and set the snifter aside, then rose and gladly wheeled her from his private domain. At the bottom of the stairs he paused, lifted her into his arms and started the climb.
Her arms came around his neck, her rounded breast flattening against his shirt. Her soft hair touched his ear, his cheek. He resisted the insane impulse to turn and bury his lips in the curls. He hated himself for having these intense reactions to his brother’s wife. Falling for her charms made him feel like a callow boy.
Perhaps she’d planned it. Perhaps she’d deliberately aimed for a vulnerable spot by offering sympathy. He was the stable one. He was the one who took care of others and did the comforting and handled what was unpleasant. No one else had comforted him. No one else had offered their concern and assistance. Even if there wasn’t a damned thing she could really do for or to him, she’d effectively searched out a weak spot in his armor.
He reached the top of the stairs and proceeded to her room. “A chair or the bed?” he asked.
“A chair,” she replied quickly. “Will you ring for Mrs. Trent, please?”
He propped her foot on a stool and pulled one of the bell cords connected to the servants’ quarters and the kitchen. When he turned back, she was attempting to remove her slipper by using her other foot.
“May I?”
She blushed to the roots of her hair. “I’m sure Mrs. Trent will be along shortly. It’s just that my foot seems to have swollen, and the shoe is quite painfully snug.”
He knelt before her extended leg and gently removed the shoe, noting her wince. It was ridiculous to allow her to suffer, so he reached beneath her skirts, found the stocking held up by her cast and gently rolled it down her ankle and from her foot, deliberating ignoring the rustle of petticoats and the feel of cool silk.
Her delicate toes were several shades of green and another shade almost yellow. Mrs. Trent came through the doorway just then, and a look of disapproval immediately puckered her face. She placed the sleeping William in his crib and hurried to Claire’s side.
“Fetch us some ice,” Nicholas ordered before she could take over the task of caring for Claire.
“Sir, I—”
“Now.”
Hastily gathering her skirts, she did as he instructed and returned with the ice.
“I’m going for her chair. After you’ve helped her with her nightclothes, prepare us some tea.”
“You’ll be taking tea here?” she asked in a deprecating tone.
“This is my home, Mrs. Trent. I’ll take tea wherever I see fit. And you’ll do well to keep your moral judgments to yourself.”
The woman pursed her lips and remained silent.
He returned with the chair to find Claire on the side of the bed and the nursemaid gone.
“Let me help.” Nicholas turned Claire to get both of her feet on the bed. He propped a pillow beneath her left leg and placed an ice pack on her swollen toes.
He noted her other foot, small and dainty, her ankle slim. The white nightdress exposed a curvaceous length of her calf.
“Cover me, please,” she asked in a strained voice.
He draped the counterpane over her legs, leaving only the foot he was treating exposed. “Do you have something to take for pain?”
“I don’t want to take it. William wakes during the night.”
He sat near her feet. “Mrs. Trent sleeps nearby. She can get him.”
“Yes, but I must feed him.”
“Perhaps we could find William a wet nurse.”
“No!”
Surprise brought his head up.
She looked away quickly.
“All right. I was thinking to make things easier for you.”
“That’s taking him away from me. That would not be easier for me.”
“You obviously have strong feelings about this.”
“He’s my son. I have strong feelings for him, certainly.”
“Certainly. He’s all you have left of Stephen. Besides a fortune in stock and investments Stephen left you in his will.”
She met his eyes, and the anguish he thought he read there almost made him sorry he’d said it.
Mrs. Trent returned with a tray, and placed it on the nightstand with a clatter that rattled the cups in their saucers.
“That will be all,” he said to her. “You may retire.”
Censure brought her brows together and she pursed her lips in a line.
“Good night,” Nicholas said deliberately, then poured. “Cream or sugar?”
“Honey, please,” Claire replied softly, with a sideways glance at Mrs. Trent.
The woman slipped into the dressing room where she slept on a narrow bed so she could hear William.
Nicholas stirred a spoonful of sweetener into Claire’s tea, handed her the cup and saucer and poured himself one.
“Call me if you need me, Mrs. Halliday.”
Mrs. Trent stood in the doorway in her robe, the front clenched tightly in her fist.
“Mrs. Halliday will call if she needs you,” he affirmed. Did the senseless woman think he was going to ravish his sister-in-law right here with her son a few feet away and his busybody nursemaid straining to hear?
She disappeared again, and he turned his gaze back to Claire. “You must have learned to favor honey in your tea from Stephen,” he said.
“I’ve always taken my tea with honey.” Noncommittal. Safe. Neither admitting or denying she knew of Stephen’s preferences.
“What were the qualities you appreciated most about Stephen?”
