Set title

by O’Donnell, Laurel

  Was this some a reminder to him from fate that he shouldn’t venture out? That the world would be better off without his interference?

  Yet he realized he couldn’t return to the way he’d been even last month, living a selfish life in his self-imposed prison. Though his attempts to venture out may have caused harm, he didn’t think that could change his course. He had to keep trying. Surely he could find some way to make up his mistake to the earl and Julia.

  He rose to pace the floor, wondering how to proceed.

  ~*~

  Oliver sat at his desk in the library the next day, but no message arrived. He wasn’t certain what to make of it. It was well past the time Julia had sent previous messages. Did that mean he should call? Or had Lord Burnham’s condition worsened in the past three days?

  His worry made it impossible to work. He couldn’t concentrate. Not only was he concerned about Lord Burnham but Julia as well.

  Should he call upon them anyway? Or wait another day? Or perhaps send a message of his own?

  Damn. He’d never been so indecisive in his life, and he detested it. Sitting here was solving nothing. He rose from his desk, determined to take action, right or wrong.

  ~*~

  Julia woke with a start, disoriented. By the brightness of the light coming through the parted drapes of her bedroom, she knew she’d overslept. The past three days were nothing more than a blur as she sat by her father’s side, hoping and praying for his recovery.

  His cough had worsened to a bone-rattling wheeze that left him gasping for each breath. It had been pure torture to listen to him, waiting to see if each rattle would be his last. The doctor had provided medicine for his cough but beyond that, could only shake his head, as uncertain of the outcome as she. Even Aunt Matilda had been beside herself with worry, and she was usually the hopeful one.

  Finally, in the dark hours of the night, his coughing had eased, and his fever had broken. He’d fallen into a more restful sleep, giving her hope that once again his will to live had battled back his longing to join her mother as if she’d love him more in the next life than she had in this one.

  Julia pushed herself up against the pillows, attempting to clear the fog from her brain. She knew she should rise and check on her father again, but exhaustion kept her in bed a few minutes more. Surely her aunt would’ve roused her if his condition had changed significantly.

  A knock on the bedroom door sent her heart pounding. Her maid, Sally, poked her head around the edge of the door. “Good day, my lady.” She stepped in once she saw that Julia was awake. “You have a visitor. Should I send him away?

  “Him?” Her heartbeat sped once more. “Who?”

  “Viscount Frost.”

  Her feet touched the floor before her brain decided whether or not to see him. Even as she berated herself for her eagerness, she tossed aside the covers and rose. “Do you know how my father is this morning?”

  “Your aunt says he’s improved. She’s with him now.”

  Relief filled her. “That is excellent news. Please tell Viscount Frost that I’ll be with him momentarily.”

  “Very well, my lady. I’ll return to help you dress.”

  With Sally’s assistance, she quickly dressed and gathered her hair into a manageable chignon. The entire time, her heart pounded fiercely. What on earth was wrong with her? He was here to see her father. But no amount of logic had it slowing.

  A mere twenty minutes had passed from when he’d been announced to when she arrived at the drawing room. She paused in the doorway, her hand tightly gripping the knob as she saw him sitting in one of the chairs, looking as out of place there as he had at the bookshop the day she’d met him. At times, she forgot how big he was—tall and broad-shouldered. The chairs were not designed for a man like him.

  He rose at once, concern etched in his features as he studied her as though simply by looking at her, he’d know how her father fared. A wave of relief came over his expression as he stepped forward.

  Could he read her so easily?

  “He’s better today?” Oliver asked as he paused before her.

  “Yes, at least when I was last with him early this morning. His fever broke, and his cough eased.”

  He raked a hand through his hair, shoving the overlong strands off his forehead temporarily. “I’m so pleased to hear that. I’ve been worried. When you didn’t send a message this morning, I wasn’t certain what to think.”

  “I didn’t realize it was so late.”

  Those green eyes studied her even closer. “You look exhausted.”

  “Thank you.” She sighed. Why had she bothered to try to be presentable for his visit? She should’ve just come down in her nightgown. The very idea of doing so had her cheeks heating.

  “I didn’t—I mean you look beautiful as always but weary.”

  This time she attempted a smile. She’d never seen him quite so ill at ease. “It’s been a long few days.”

  “I can only imagine.” He took her hands in his, making her stomach do the oddest flip. “And you? How have you fared?”

  His soft question with that intent look in his green eyes, as though he’d worried about her as well, was nearly her undoing. She must be even more tired than she realized. “Fine.”

  “Truly?”

  Where was the gruff, rude man she was used to? Who was this man full of concern and kindness? She hardly knew what to make of it. How could she defend herself against this one?

  She nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.

  “Julia.” He drew her into his arms, holding her tight. “You must’ve been so worried.”

  The urge to tell him how very frightened she’d been nearly had the words spilling from her lips. Instead, she rested her head against that incredibly broad chest. His warm hands ran along her back, comforting her even as they stirred a longing deep within her. Unable to resist, she tipped her head back to look up at him, wondering what he was thinking.

  He looked down at her, his gaze searching her face before falling to her lips. She’d never wanted anything as badly as she wanted him to kiss her.

  Slowly, with great care, he granted her unspoken request. His lips were firm and warm. He was so strong and felt amazing pressed against the length of her. Though her aunt had been at her side much of the time, she’d still felt very alone during her bedside vigil. Whether it was that loneliness or simply Oliver, she wasn’t certain, but she wanted to stay in his arms forever. Being with him filled the empty void inside her.

  She reached up to touch him, loving the feel of the roughness of his jaw. Wanting more, she deepened the kiss, her knees nearly buckling as his tongue swept into her mouth. He kissed her like a parched man quenching his thirst, as though he couldn’t get enough.

  “I’ve been so concerned about you,” he murmured against her lips only to kiss her again. Those hands that had been such a comfort only moments before now roamed the length of her, setting her body aflame everywhere they went. “Your messages drove me mad.”

  She drew back to look at him, confused why that would be.

  “I couldn’t decide how to interpret them.”

  The uncertainty in his voice, that hint of vulnerability in this strong man gave her pause. “I didn’t intend for them to be confusing.”

  He kissed her forehead, his lips lingering there. “I tend to overanalyze words. Perhaps it’s because of my field of interest.”

  She smiled. “I don’t have that excuse, but I confess your messages were a puzzle to me as well.”

  His gaze held hers again. “I’ve missed you.”

  Oh, there it was again, the flip of her stomach—or was it her heart?

  At the moment, it felt like her entire being overturned, leaving her breathless. She was completely out of her element. Despite her father’s advice ringing in her head, adding to a voice telling her to protect herself at all costs, the words slipped out. “I missed you too.”

  Rather than making her feel vulnerable, the admis
sion felt right. Especially as he kissed her once more.

  “Will you stay while I break my fast?”

  His nod and smile made her heart beat all the quicker.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “Truly enough these seedling recruits of the criminal population are the most difficult to reform. They are impregnable alike to persuasion and threatening. They have an ingrain conviction that it is you who are wrong, not them.”

  ~The Seven Curses of London

  Oliver settled into the chair beside Lord Burnham’s bed and cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the task before him. The expectant look on the old lord’s lined face had him bracing himself. With a resigned sigh, he opened the book he’d brought, regretting his impulsive offer for the hundredth time.

  “Here by beginneth the Book of the tales of Canterbury,” he began. It was no easy task to translate the Old English words into a more meaningful version as he read aloud from Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales.

  He continued with the prologue of the book, glancing up, his ire at the task falling away at the look of happiness on the lord’s face. His voice was far from pleasing, he was sure, still somewhat rusty from disuse. But he pressed on, grateful Julia wasn’t in attendance to hear his attempt to entertain her father.

  At least this was better than searching for a topic of conversation, he decided. They’d run through his limited ideas on the previous visit, and he refused to discuss the weather again.

  While he truly did want to help the lord regain his strength in whatever way possible, he also enjoyed the excuse to see Julia each day. He was growing accustomed to it. He much preferred the bubbly version of Julia than the quiet, worried one that was a shadow of her normal self. It had taken much effort on his behalf to coax a smile from her these past two days. Each one was a precious gift, a suitable reward for his efforts.

  Though she hadn’t greeted him upon his arrival this day, he was still hopeful she’d make an appearance before he left. Her worry over her father was understandable, but it almost seemed that she took his general well-being even more personally than a daughter should. As though his health, both mentally and physically and even spiritually, was her responsibility.

  This burden she shouldered had worn her down the past several days during her father’s illness. She still appeared tired, and he would hazard a guess that she’d lost some weight as well. He made a mental note to request tea and sandwiches to make certain she ate, assuming he had the opportunity to see her before he left.

  He resisted the urge to analyze why he’d taken to worrying over her well-being. She’d become a friend at the very least. She was a kind, generous soul and if fate had temporarily brought them together, who was he to question it? Nor did he care to question what the coming days might bring. It was all he could do to take one day at a time.

  “There was with us a knight, a worthy man who, from the very first time he began to ride about, loved honor, chivalry, the spirit of giving, truth and courtesy.” He continued the story, falling into a rhythm as he read, the words both familiar and dear. His own grandfather’s voice echoed in his head.

  He’d spent many pleasurable hours with his grandfather who had read the tales to Oliver, stopping here and there to ask Oliver’s opinion and his interpretation, sharing his enthusiasm for the carefully chosen words.

  That was where his love of ancient texts had begun. His father preferred more modern books but had still encouraged Oliver’s love of reading.

  He’d read several pages of the text when he glanced up again to find the old man snoring softly. He wasn’t certain whether to be annoyed or pleased. Had he bored him to sleep, or had the earl found some peace in the reading that allowed him to drift to sleep?

  As Oliver closed the book, he decided it surely was the latter. Reading the book gave him a certain level of peace as well.

  He watched Lord Burnham for a moment longer then rose quietly, intending to slip out and find Julia, only to discover her standing in the open door.

  Embarrassment battled with delight, but he realized at once his feelings were far more complicated—far deeper—than that.

  ~*~

  Julia drew a quick breath as Oliver’s gaze tangled with hers, her face heating at the idea of being caught eavesdropping. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to regret it.

  Oliver’s deep, gravelly voice was perfectly suited for reading Chaucer. He kept just enough of the old English language to make it sound as though a knight were sitting in her father’s bedroom speaking to him.

  But now that knight, so big and strong, had risen and was facing her, his guarded expression giving no hint as to his thoughts. She backed up, out the door—partly so as not to wake her father and partly because Oliver kept walking toward her. He matched her step for step into the empty hall, closing the door behind him.

  “I didn’t mean to listen,” she offered though it was a complete lie.

  He quirked a brow and kept coming toward her, forcing her to take another step back. Which brought her against the wall.

  “I mean, I didn’t realize you were here. With Father. Reading.” No coherent words came to mind when he continued to regard her so closely.

  “How long were you listening?” he asked, his voice still quiet as he drew close enough that she could feel the heat of his body through her gown.

  “I’m rather fond of Chaucer.” She lifted a shoulder, hoping to avoid answering.

  “How long?” He reached out one long finger and ran it along her jaw, causing her heart to beat even more rapidly.

  “Nearly since the beginning,” she admitted. He almost seemed embarrassed at the thought of her listening. “I liked it.”

  Heat flared in his eyes at her admission.

  They were still speaking about the book, weren’t they? She swallowed hard as his gaze dropped to her lips, his finger following.

  “Did you?” That deep voice did things to her, sending chills of awareness down her spine then outward to other parts of her body best left unnamed.

  “I—I did. Yes. Very much.” Each breath she took was an effort. With one finger, he’d pinned her helpless against the wall.

  “What else do you like?”

  She frowned, wondering again if they were still discussing the book, yet what else could it be? “Chaucer is an excellent writer, is he not?” Her head tipped back of its own accord as his finger lowered to trail gently along her neck, heat building low in her belly.

  “Yes.” The word held intonations she couldn’t interpret though her body seemed to understand. “Yes,” he muttered again as his gaze trailed lower, following that finger.

  “Yes,” she repeated as her eyes drifted closed and sensation took over. Her entire world shifted to that single point of contact. The tip of her breasts tightened with desire as though preparing for his touch.

  “Yes, what?”

  Now she could feel his breath on her cheek while his finger traced a pattern along her collarbone then lower, teasing the swell of her breasts.

  “Yes, touch me. Please.” Where she found the courage to request such a thing was a mystery, but she was ever so glad when his finger teased the top of her gown.

  “Like this?” he asked, whispering the words in her ear to send another wave of shivers along her body.

  “Oh, yes.”

  As though a reward for her response, he kissed her ear, then her cheek, moving closer to her mouth. Unable to wait, she raised to her toes and turned to capture his lips with her own, her desire clearing all thought.

  He drew back far too quickly, that finger moving up to her collarbone. “We’re standing in the hall.”

  She opened her eyes, not understanding his remark.

  “Where anyone might walk by. Including your aunt.” The regret in his eyes eased her return to reality.

  “Of course,” she said, blinking several times to clear her mind.

  As though unable to resist, he placed a quick kiss on her lips before taking her hand in his and tuckin
g it under his arm. He turned toward the stairs. “Shall we?”

  It took every fiber of her being not to guide him to the privacy of her bedroom and lock the door. But if she did such a thing, she feared she’d be lost. She’d give him everything. She couldn’t do that, not when her father’s words about guarding her heart still echoed in her ears.

  “Of course,” she said, at last, this time meaning something very different than she had before. With each step down the stairs, she reminded herself he was not a noble knight come to save her. He was just a man, a temporary acquaintance. Why did she have such difficulty believing that?

  Once they reached the drawing room, he released her, leaving her bereft without that contact.

  “It’s very kind of you to visit my father,” she said, still attempting to gather her composure.

  “I enjoy speaking with him.” Oliver frowned. “Would it be rude of me to request tea?”

  “Not at all. Where are my manners?” She refused to be hurt by the knowledge that she was embroiled in emotional conflict while he was merely hungry.

  She rang the bell and ordered tea and sandwiches, grateful to have such a normal thing to do to help her regain her balance.

  “Thank you,” he said when she returned to his side after speaking with a maid. “I’m quite famished.”

  He gestured toward the settee then took a seat beside her, placing an arm along the back of it as he faced her. “Do you truly like Chaucer?”

  “Actually, yes. It was one of the first medieval texts I attempted to read.”

  “Many find it too difficult to bother.”

  “It’s a bit like a puzzle, isn’t it?” she asked. “Trying to determine the author’s meaning in today’s terms.”

  Oliver stared at her as if she were speaking a language with which he was unfamiliar.

  She raised a brow at his surprised expression, wondering what she’d said to concern him so.