Hello Stranger (The Ravenels, #4)

by Lisa Kleypas

Love is not something to be missed, Dr. Gibson. Why do you think I, a comfortable widower, made a fool of myself over Mrs. Fernsby until she finally consented to be my wife?” “Convenience?” she guessed. “Good God, no. There’s nothing convenient about joining your life to another person’s. Marriage is a sack race: you may find a way to hop together toward the finish line, but you would still reach it more easily without the sack.” “Then why do it at all?” “Our existence, even our intellect, hangs upon love—without it, we would be no more than stock and stones.” Inwardly astonished by such a sentimental speech coming from Havelock, of all men, Garrett protested, “It’s no simple task to find someone to love. You make it sound as easy as shopping for a good melon.” “Obviously you’ve done neither of those things. Finding someone to love is considerably easier than finding a good melon.”

“Since we don’t seem to be mincing words, I’ll tell you what caused it: holding a woman I’d already dreamed about more than I should. Being near you is all it takes to put me in high blood. But I’ve no business wanting you. I shouldn’t have come to you tonight.” At first Garrett was too stunned to reply. He wielded honesty like a weapon, she thought dazedly. Now he’d left them nowhere to hide. Coming from a man as secretive as he was, it was astonishing. “You had no choice,” she eventually said. “I summoned you.” Her cheek curved against his shoulder as she added, “My genie of the whistle.” “I don’t grant wishes,” he said. “A second-rate genie. I should have known I’d get one of those.”

“You’re used to being in charge,” he murmured, “every second of the day. With no one to catch you if you set a foot wrong.” His voice curled around her ear, making her shiver. “But I’m giving you the night off. You’ll have my arms to hold you steady. Drink more wine, if you like. There’ll be music and dancing later. I’ll buy a ribbon for your hair, and waltz you across the green at midnight. What do you say to that?”

“I’ll thank you to let me choose my own companion,” Garrett said. “If I took a husband, I certainly wouldn’t choose some milksop.” “Don’t mistake softness for weakness. Only a strong man can be soft with a woman.”

But in time, Ethan Ransom’s dark and dangerous allure would probably vanish, and he would seem entirely ordinary to her. A man no different from any other man. As she looked up into his shadowed face, however, she thought, He would never seem ordinary to me, even if he were ordinary.

“Stay with me tonight.” Filled with lust and yearning, Ethan nuzzled her flushed cheek. “Ah, darlin’,” he whispered, “you don’t want that. I wouldn’t be nice. I’d bring you to the edge of wanting, and keep you there ’til you were cursing and screaming your pleasure for all the neighbors to hear. And after I’d brought you to a long, hard come, I might turn you over my knee for being such a noisy lass. Is that what you want? To spend all night in bed with a big, mean bastard?” Her voice was muffled against his shoulder. “Yes.”

When you meet the right man, the list of things you would never do suddenly becomes much shorter.

With effort, Garrett managed to speak. “Is that the man you referred to as your mentor? Why did he want me to be here tonight?” “It’s a warning for me,” Ethan said flatly, not looking at her. “A warning about what?” The question seemed to fracture Ethan’s self-assured façade. “He knows that where you’re concerned, I . . . have . . . a preference.” Guiding her past the palms, he opened the service door and took her to the landing of a servants’ stairwell. The abrupt cessation of noise was an unspeakable relief. It was cool and dimly lit in the stairwell, the dank staleness relieved by a slight breeze filtering in through outside air vents. “Preference,” Garrett repeated cautiously. “What does that mean? You prefer me to what?” As they stopped in a corner, Ethan’s head and broad shoulders were silhouetted in the faint glow of a sconce on the opposite wall. She began to tremble as he stood over her, big and dark, his nearness awakening a pulse of high music in her. “I prefer you to everything,” he said gruffly, and bent to take her mouth with his.

“They reminded me that I might never see you again.” “After tonight, you probably won’t.” “You say that every time we meet. However, you keep popping up like a jack-in-the-box, which has made me increasingly skeptical.” Garrett paused before adding in an abashed tone, “And hopeful.” His gaze caressed her face. “Garrett Gibson . . . as long as I’m on this earth, I’ll want to be wherever you are.” She couldn’t help smiling ruefully. “You’re the only one who does. I’ve been in a foul mood for the past two weeks. I’ve offended nearly everyone I know, and frightened off one or two of my patients.” His voice was dark velvet. “You needed me there to sweeten your temper.” Garrett couldn’t bring herself to look at him as she admitted huskily, “Yes.”

Ethan’s gaze fixed on hers as he spoke with effort. “The first moment I saw you, I knew you were my share of the world. I’ve always loved you. If I could choose my fate, I’d never be parted from you. Acushla . . . pulse of my heart, breath of my soul . . . there’s nothing on this earth more fair and fine than you. Your shadow on the ground is sunlight to me.”

Clumsily Garrett drew away from him to rummage in her bag, yanking out a stethoscope. Her heart was dashing itself to pieces. She wanted to throw herself on him and howl in despair. I’m not strong enough for this, she thought. I can’t bear it. God, please don’t let this happen . . . please . . . But as she looked down at Ethan’s ashen face, a mantle of calm determination settled over the blaze of anguish. She would not lose him.

Ethan subsided, realizing there would be no stopping her. “You haven’t one romantic bone in your body,” he muttered. That sounded so much like his usual self that Garrett almost smiled. “I reassembled an entire disarticulated skeleton in medical school. There’s no such thing as a romantic bone.”

She knew Ethan understood how close to death he was, and had resigned himself to what he thought was inevitable. He wanted to spend the last few minutes of his life lucid and aware, in the arms of the woman he loved. But instead of caressing him, her hands would be plying surgical instruments. Instead of gazing at him adoringly, she would be examining inner contusions and lacerations. No, her way was not romantic. She wouldn’t be the woman he loved, however, if she didn’t use all her skills in an effort to save him.

“Tell me you love me,” he whispered. Panicked words fluttered and darted inside her . . . I love you I need you Oh God please stay with me . . . but she had the terrifying premonition that saying it would allow him to let go. As if she would be giving him permission to pass away peacefully instead of fighting for his life. “Later,” she said gently. “When you wake up after the surgery, I’ll tell you.”

you have any problems with the sight of blood?” “Lord, no, I’m a farmer. I’m around blood all the time, both animal and human.” Garrett regarded him dubiously, blotting her cheeks with the edge of her sleeve. “There’s that much blood involved in farming?” Ravenel grinned. “I didn’t say I was any good at it.”

“That I should make Mr. Ransom comfortable during his last few minutes on earth instead of torturing him with surgery?” “No, you’ve already managed to ruin a moving deathbed scene. I couldn’t wait to hear what came after ‘your shadow on the ground is sunlight to me,’ but then you started giving orders like a drill sergeant. You might as well operate on Ransom: we won’t get any more good lines out of him tonight.”

“Let go! I have to take care of him—he needs me—” “I can manage the basics of nursing him while you sleep.” “No, you can’t,” Garrett said weakly, and was horrified to hear a sob breaking from her throat. “Your patients all have four legs. H-he only has two.” “Which means he’ll be half the trouble,” West said reasonably.

“Touch me again,” Ethan growled, “and I’ll kill you with this.” West drew his hand back instantly, his gaze falling to the utensil in Ethan’s grip. “That’s a spoon.” “I know.”

West continued, “now that my blood is running through your veins, we’re practically brothers.” Ethan shook his head, perplexed. “Transfusion,” West explained. “You received ten ounces of Ravenel ’forty-nine . . . a fairly decent vintage, it seems, since it brought you back to life when your heart stopped after surgery.” He grinned at Ethan’s expression. “Cheer up, you might develop a sense of humor now.”

“Aye, you’re in for a hard time of it now, love. You wanted me, and now you’ll have me.”

“There’s family for you: ‘more kin than kind.’” The quote snared Ethan’s attention, the motion of his breathing pausing beneath Garrett’s head. “That’s from Hamlet, isn’t it? Do you have a copy of it here?” “There’s a complete set of Shakespeare’s plays in the library,” West said, “including Hamlet. Why are you interested?” “Jenkyn told me to read it. He said it was a mirror to a man’s soul.” “God. No wonder I hate it.” Garrett drew back to look at Ethan. He was pale and exhausted, the lines of his face set in a way that she knew meant he was in pain. “The only thing you’re going to do for the next week is lie still and rest,” she told him. “Reading Hamlet is too much excitement for you.” “Excitement?” West repeated with a snort. “It’s a play about procrastination.” “It’s a play about misogyny,” Garrett said. “Regardless, I’m giving Mr. Ransom an injection of morphine now, so he can sleep.” “‘Good night, sweet prince,’” West said cheerfully, and left the room.

“Soon after Devon’s son was born, he came to me and said, ‘Someone has to absorb all the poison that’s been passed down through generations, and keep it away from the ones who come after us. It has to stop with me. God help me, I’m going to protect my child from my own worst instincts. I’m going to block every violent, selfish impulse that was instilled in me. It won’t be easy. But I’ll be damned if I turn out a son who’s exactly like the father I hated.’”

“You told me you were monotonous,” she reminded him. “Now, look at that for a lie,” he murmured, his eyes sparkling. “I said no such thing.” “You did!” “I meant to say ‘monogamous.’”

“You haven’t been kind to yourself. You must deal more gently with yourself.” He nuzzled into her palm. “I have you to be kind to me. I have you to deal with me in any manner you wish.” “I’d like to domesticate you just a little,” she said, holding her thumb and forefinger a half-inch apart. “But not so much that you would feel like a lap dog.” “I wouldn’t mind.” Amusement glinted in his eyes. “It all depends on the lap.”

After Garrett had gone into the carriage, West grinned at Ethan’s expression. “There’s no need to glare daggers at me,” he said. “As delightful as Dr. Gibson is, she doesn’t have the makings of a farmwife.” Ethan’s brows lifted. “Are you thinking about taking a wife?” West shrugged. “The nights can be long and quiet in the country,” he admitted. “If I found a woman who was an interesting companion and attractive enough to bed . . . yes, I’d consider marrying her.” He paused. “Better yet if she were educated. A sense of humor would be icing on the cake. Red hair isn’t a requirement, but I do have a fatal weakness for it.” West’s mouth twisted with a self-mocking grin. “Of course, she’d have to be willing to overlook the fact that I was an undisciplined and obnoxious swill-tub until about three years ago.” A nearly imperceptible look of bitterness flashed across his face before he masked it. “Who is she?” Ethan asked softly. “No one. An imaginary woman.” Averting his gaze, West used the toe of his boot to flick a loose pebble to the side of the drive. “Who happens to despise me,” he muttered.

“Why would Hamlet obey a father who commands him to do something evil? Why doesn’t he ignore the ghost and leave the vengeance to God, and choose his own destiny?” “Probably because if he did, the play would be shortened by about two and a half hours,” West said. “Which, to my mind, would be a vast improvement.” He regarded Ethan speculatively. “I think Sir Jasper was right—the play is a mirror to the soul. But I suspect you’ve drawn different conclusions than he intended. No man is entitled to your blind obedience, no matter what he’s done for you. Furthermore, you don’t have to be your father’s son, especially if your father happens to be an amoral arse who’s hatching plots to kill people.”