The Delicate Matter of Lady Blayne by Natasha Blackthorne Page A

sat. “The lass hasn’t eaten much. Why don’t you go and see if there is something she’d like better. Maybe you ought to send out for some cakes?”
    Donna gave her husband a steady stare. “He can’t just take her away, alone. There are proprieties that must be observed. Even for famous naval heroes.”
    “Go on and see to the lass.” Carson glanced at James. “Lord Blayne and I will have a little chat.”
    Donna continued to glare at her husband. “You know what he suggests is madness.”
    “The better part of life is often madness. Now go see to the lass.”
    She arose and hurried away in a rustle of crisp skirts.
    “So, what’s all this?” Carson asked in a confidential, slightly conspiratorial tone.
    James sat stone-faced, suddenly seething at the implied salaciousness in Carson’s tone.
    Carson reached out and grasped James’ shoulder. Gave it a stout squeeze. “You’re talking to me now, not Donna. I have eyes, man. I can see the temptation.”
    “She’s Freddy’s widow.” James ground the words out past his clenched jaw. “I owe her nothing but the highest respect.”
    Carson chuckled softly. “I had not remembered Lady Blayne as being quite so beautiful. I can see your dilemma.”
    Earlier, James had caught the glint of lustful admiration in Carson’s gaze when he had first seen Sunny. That had angered him, though against all reason, and now he wasn’t pleased to be reminded of it. But even more infuriating was Carson’s shameful implication that James would consider Sunny fair game.
    God, had James been gone from so-called “polite” Society so long as to have forgotten the lockstep mindlessness of it all?
    Well, perhaps he had. But he had returned to it to some degree in London. Apparently, he hadn’t readjusted himself to it deeply enough.
    Of course everyone would assume that either he played completely by the rules or else he would fall into utter, depraved debauchery with his cousin’s widow.
    But he’d believed he could trust his friends not to make the same judgments.
    He’d made a mistake in coming here. He could see that now. He would not make the same mistake again. He needed to take Sunny someplace where there were no prying eyes to recognize either of them. Somewhere they might blend in.
    But it was all so damned risky. For them both. He didn’t fancy being the cause of her ruination. Nor did he wish to endanger his own political ambitions.
    But she wanted complete privacy.
    Indeed, it might be absolutely vital to her recovery that she have it.
    What the blazes was he to do? Take her to the countryside? Yes, surely. But he would also need to employ a doctor.
    Anywhere near Landbrae was out of the question.
    He could take her to his new estate in Sussex, Wyndwick Court, however, those were new servants he had there. He hadn’t had the time to fully engage their loyalties, nor to weed out the bad sorts.
    Yes, generous bribes might ensure silence. But such was not always a given. He’d feel a lot better if he knew the people.
    Where to take her?
    France?
    Probably the safest thing.
    But how would she do, crossing the Channel?
    “Where will you take her?” Carson asked, as though reading his mind.
    James said nothing, studying Sunny’s pale profile. Donna was fussing over the younger woman. Sunny didn’t seem very responsive.
    “Why don’t you come to Brownwood? There’s a grange at the edge of our property. ’Tis quite cozy. You can take her there, alone. No one will know her. If someone were to catch a glimpse of her, they would simply think her your mistress.”
    At the last two words, at the wickedly amused note in Carson’s voice, James’ spine went rigid. He jerked his gaze to his longtime friend’s. “Watch yourself, Carson.”
    Carson paled. He placed a hand up between himself and James. “God, man, don’t look at me like that. I was merely making a suggestion about how best to handle the situation.”
    Rage seethed inside James. He was being