Free The Delicate Matter of Lady Blayne by Natasha Blackthorne

didn’t care to wait. Such a horrific accusation cannot wait to be answered.”
    Aunt Frances’ eyes seemed to almost bug from their sockets. “You saw Catriona? When? Where?”
    He realized his mistake. “Earlier. Before I reached my chamber.” The lie rolled smoothly off his tongue. “She claims she is being held here against her will. That this physician you’ve hired to treat her is abusive to her in some fashion.”
    Aunt Frances narrowed her gaze, then leaped to her feet. As she approached him, James frowned, then continued. “What she said, it did not make complete sense. I’ll have the truth from you, now.”
    “Your face.” Aunt Frances reached up.
    He jerked back. ”What the devil?”
    She touched his cheek. “Just have a look at this, Agnes.”
    Grandmother Blayne gasped loudly.
    He leaned away from Aunt Frances’ touch. “What about my face?”
    “She raked you!”
    The scratches.
    Christ.
    He had forgotten.
    Now it was as though he’d left his trousers unfastened, or maybe this was worse than even that. Those feminine nail scrapes were glaring, damning evidence of the intimacy he and Sunny had recently shared.
    Yes, worse, definitely worse than being caught with his fall open.
    “This—” he pointed at where, now that it had been called to his attention again, his flesh did still sting a bit— “this is…well, it’s not—”
    His immediate thought had been to blame the scratches on some other woman, but he couldn’t say that to his aunt and grandmother. He scowled. “It’s not from Catriona.”
    What else could a gentleman do but lie to save a lady’s honor?
    “Now don’t lie to me, boy,” Aunt Frances said. “You didn’t have those when you arrived here today.”
    “I was out for the evening.” He deepened his frown for effect. “I don’t think I need to explain my—”
    He let his voice trail off, hoping they wouldn’t require further enlightenment as to what a gentleman’s nocturnal jaunts entailed.
    Aunt Frances’ mouth twisted and she shook her head. “You never could fool me, boy.”
    She cut her glance to Grandmother Blayne.
    “Oh,” Grandmother Blayne said, nodding with a grim expression. “Oh, he’s seen her, all right. She must have been in a fine form.”
    Aunt Frances and Grandmother Blayne exchanged another long glance, a certain knowing passing between them. That look turned to something bleaker.
    Maybe even despair.
    “It’s starting again.” Frances’ voice held a hopeless note.
    “At least her taste is improving,” Grandmother Blayne said dryly.
    “You would jest about this?” Frances asked.
    “It’s better than crying, eh?”
    James looked from woman to woman. “What is this about?”
    Aunt Frances frowned. “It is a very delicate matter.”
    “Delicate? You keep saying that. What the devil do you really mean?”
    “Delicate nerves,” she said with much dignity.
    “Ha! That’s no’ what they called it in my day,” Grandmother Blayne said.
    “What did they call it in your day, Grandmother?” James asked.
    She gave him a long, hard stare. “You were soft on Catriona.”
    Her voice carried equal parts accusation and sympathy.
    His mouth went dry. Had Grandmother Blayne actually seen his softness toward Catriona?
    Had anyone else?
    Did Catriona herself guess at what the depth of his affection for her had once been? With that thought, it was as though he had been stripped bare, clean down to his heart. His soul.
    But no. Surely, Catriona herself had not guessed.
    It had been the one scrap of pride he had been able to hold onto in his darkest moments—that she would never, could never know how badly he had ached over losing her.
    Grandmother Blayne and Aunt Frances were watching him. Closely. Intensely.
    He said nothing.
    “You will no’ want to hear this,” Grandmother Blayne said. Her voice was full of compassion.
    “Just speak plainly,” he said, struggling to keep all evidence of how shaken he suddenly was out of his voice.