from turpentine to whatever she was mixing was helping.
He would have to hire a reputable physician to give him a clean report and then not so discreetly let it be known that the young Mr. Germain’s assessment had been mistaken.
He rubbed his forehead, pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Perhaps you ought to return to your bed,” she said now. And then, quickly—sarcastically?— “Forgive me. You’ll need to define ‘advice’ so that I understand very clearly what recommendations I am allowed and which I am not.”
“Any recommendations pertaining to my choice of entertainment,” he ground out, “are strictly forbidden.”
“Then advice to take to your bed, depending on the circumstances, may or may not...” She trailed off, furrowing her brows even as a spark of triumph in her eyes made it clear she was toying with him. Still. Now.
Standing there in her bagwig and breeches, she probably fancied herself immune to seduction.
If he were willing to show her his hand and reveal that he had seen through her disguise, it would take all of five minutes to prove to her she was mistaken. And then they would see about that advice to take to his bed.
If he were willing to seduce a virgin. Which he was not.
The reason why not snuck in like a cold draft on a winter day, carrying his vow with it, and now he pushed himself off the sofa, keeping a hand on its back for balance against a sudden light-headedness.
“There’s been a change of plans,” he told her now, hearing himself as if listening to someone else.
Consider your ways, Winston. It was the only thing Edward had ever asked in the face of Winston’s sin against him so many years ago.
“We shan’t be traveling to Greece, but to my estate.”
“Your estate.” Her words shot across the room.
It was a ridiculous notion that wouldn’t change anything. The past was as immutable as the names on the headstones in that cemetery this morning. His sin against Edward—against Cara—could never be repaired.
Denying himself would not change that.
Keeping that ridiculous vow would not change it, either. And yet...
“Yes.”
“But the understanding was we would be traveling to Greece,” she said sharply.
Her eyes shot daggers at him. And...fear? “Indeed, it was. But circumstances compel me to return to my estate instead. I will still require your services for the journey.”
“But I can’t go to England.”
“No?” he asked irritably. “Are you in exile?”
She inhaled visibly. “What I meant to say was that I did not expect to go to England and I do not wish to go to England.”
“Much, perhaps, as I did not expect or wish for my medic to drive away my acquaintances by implying I am a threat to their health.”
She took a few anxious steps forward. “I shall tell them all I was mistaken. That I lied, even.”
Her sudden turn toward desperation was fascinating. “I haven’t changed my plans because of that, Mr. Germain.”
“Then why?”
Why, indeed. In those moments on the street, when a piece of that building could have fallen and smashed his own skull, he hadn’t actually made a promise to Edward. Hadn’t made a promise to anyone. They were just words, uttered in a moment of terror.
By God, I’ll do it!
It was more an oath than a promise, anyway. But he’d made a decision about Greece, and he would probably regret it, but it bloody well wasn’t Miles Germain’s place to question him. By withdrawing to his estate, removing himself from temptation, perhaps he would miraculously become the man Edward wanted him to be.
“Was there a reason you had hoped to go to Greece?” he asked.
“Not at all,” she said quickly. It was obviously a lie. He watched her thinking, contemplating the change of events, weighing her options—which, if he didn’t miss his guess, were few.
He already knew she was hungry for the wages from his employment. But her counting on Greece, as well...
Mattered not one whit to him.
“The journey to Greece would have been much longer than a simple jaunt to England,” she pointed out now. “The change will have an effect on my wages.”
“You needn’t fear for your wages,” he told her. “I intend to keep you in my employ at my estate until I make a full recovery, at which time you will be free to travel anywhere you like.”
And by which time he would doubtless have proved once and for all his own folly and the imprudence of reading too much into a single, random incident.
THEY ARRIVED AT the estate in the moonlight, amid the loud clang and clatter of carriages and the shouts of footmen as they pulled to a stop in front of a palatial house ablaze with whale oil and candles. Outside lanterns around the grand entrance cast V-shaped spills of light against the smooth facade, and already the main doors were being opened, and through them Millie could see servants crossing this way and that in a glittering entrance hall with red-and-white marble floors, preparing for His Grace’s midnight arrival.
“I think the wound on my thigh is bleeding again,” Winston said as he prepared to get up.
Of course it was. They should have stayed in Paris, where they should have been making leisurely preparations for Greece.
“Fysikά,” she said under her breath. Instead, they’d made a reckless and hasty journey here. To England.
He looked at her sharply. “Pardon me?”
“Naturally,” she repeated in English, and much more deferentially. “I shall inspect it the moment you’re settled.”
“Did you just speak to me in Greek?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. We are in England, Your Grace.”
Those devil eyes narrowed at her. His humor had deteriorated steadily the closer they’d come to his estate—a ridiculously hard push of travel aided by a full moon and perfect weather in the channel, which had put them here in less than two days.
He had required her presence in his coach in case he needed her, but had spent most of the time trying to sleep, and she had spent most of the time trying to read. Harris and Sacks and a few others came in the carriages behind.
A footman opened the coach door. Winston stepped out, and Millie followed without being handed down, as any man in service would.
The house seemed
