by Meara Platt
Ian was still studying her.
She whirled to face him. “What?”
He acted as though he didn’t know what she was talking about. “Is there a question in that comment?”
“Why are you still looking at me?”
“Should I look away? You aren’t that hideous. Indeed, at times you’re quite nice to look at. Not right now, of course. I think Ivy gave you a shiner. And your earlobe is a bright, apple red.” He touched a finger to her ear, and then trailed it lightly down the side of her neck. The pulse at its base began to throb and a deliciously hot tingle ran up her spine. Mercy!
“Stop it, you clunch. And why don’t you care that you haven’t found out who was after you? If I were you, I’d make it a priority to run those villains to ground.”
“But you’re not me.”
He sounded quite smug. Had she felt sympathy for his plight? Well, no longer. She wanted to grab him by his exquisite lapels and shake him till his teeth rattled. “Fine, don’t look for them. I won’t save you the next time. No, I’ll stay cozy in my room and pop grapes in my mouth while I stand by my window and watch you slowly bleed to death.”
He let out a deep, unrestrained laugh. “Dillie, you’re the farthest thing from a bloodthirsty wench I’ve ever met. Your instincts are to nurture and protect. You’re far too generous, you love faithfully, and you’ll protect even those you don’t like very much. Such as myself.”
“Are you mocking me?”
He took her hand and stuck it on his arm. “No, quite the opposite. I just gave you a compliment, you impertinent little baggage. You’re soft-hearted and yet quite fearless when you need to be. I’m still in awe of the way you chased off my attackers. Who taught you how to shoot an elephant gun?”
“My Uncle George,” she admitted with a wince. “He caught Lily and me one morning trying to break into the cabinet where he stored his collection of weapons. Rather than scold us, he thought it safer to teach us how to use them. We were twelve years old at the time and that gun was enormous, much bigger than we were. He taught us how to load it, but wouldn’t allow us to fire it because he thought the force of the recoil would break our young bones.”
He glanced at her shoulder and frowned suddenly. “I never thought to ask. You didn’t appear to be hurt, but—”
“I wasn’t.” She shook her head and laughed lightly. “Although the force of the recoil did knock me onto my dainty derriere. Twice. The thick carpet in my bedchamber cushioned my fall. I’m surprised Uncle George didn’t come tearing into my room at the roar of that first shot, but he’d been up for two days straight with that important patient of his and was exhausted. He fell asleep fully clothed—jacket, cravat, boots—and was snoring before his head hit the pillow. Nothing was going to wake him up.”
“Except your butler.”
Still smiling, Dillie nodded. “Poor Pruitt, he had to duck my uncle’s fists as he shook him awake. But all turned out well, thank goodness. You’re alive.”
He covered her hand with his own when she began to tremble, for it was still resting on his arm where he’d placed it when preparing to escort her into Daisy’s parlor. “Come along,” he said with unexpected tenderness, “or Daisy and Gabriel will wonder what’s become of us.”
They managed only two steps before Dillie held him back. “I forgot to mention, Uncle George and I never said a word to anyone about... you know.”
He arched an eyebrow. “About my week in your bed?”
“I wish you wouldn’t put it quite like that. We thought it better to keep the incident to ourselves. No one knows but the three of us.”
“And Pruitt. And Ashcroft,” he pointed out. “And your footmen and my coachman.”
Dillie pursed her lips in thought. “But they’re all loyal. They wouldn’t tattle, would they?”
He shrugged. “Let’s hope not.”
***
The quiet afternoon Ian had hoped for turned out not to be so quiet after all. He had expected to meet Gabriel at his home to discuss business and other matters of national importance, including who had tried to kill him last November. He hadn’t expected to find Dillie there visiting her sister.
The sight of Dillie standing in the entry hall, holding her niece in her arms, had sent his heart shooting into his throat. She had looked so happy. He couldn’t remember when he’d ever felt such joy. He didn’t think he ever had.
She was laughing and cooing over Ivy, the love she held for that baby shining through her glorious blue eyes, even as Ivy wreaked havoc on her hair and practically tore the earring off her earlobe. Dillie hadn’t minded at all. She’d held the child so naturally, as though the squirming bundle in her arms were simply another appendage.
She would make a wonderful mother. Unlike his own.
Dillie had caught him staring at her. In truth, he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. It wasn’t simply that she was beautiful. There were many beautiful young women in London, though none came close to Dillie’s spectacular allure. She had a magical, inner glow, a moon-and-stars sparkle that made him ache to take her into his arms and hold her close forever.
Of course, forever for him meant about a month, for that was the longest any sweet young thing had ever held his interest. Dillie was the exception, but only because she was forbidden fruit. Gabriel and Graelem would cut out his entrails and feed them to the carrion birds if he ever hurt Dillie.
Ian fidgeted in his chair. Gabriel and Daisy had taken over the settee, leaving him no choice but to claim the seat beside Dillie’s. He spent the next half hour forced to pretend that her soft laughter and sweet blush did not affect him. Daisy, her own blue eyes sparkling with mirth, had taken over the conversation, relating the latest scandals making their way around London. Dillie had responded with the innocent awe of a child.
He couldn’t remember ever being that innocent.
He shifted uncomfortably once more, tortured by Dillie’s nearness and his inability to touch her. He couldn’t conceive of a worse punishment... and then Daisy’s other guests arrived. By the time Lady Eloise Dayne was announced, the servants had set out an elaborate display of sweets and other refreshments to accompany the afternoon tea.
He rose as Eloise entered and greeted her warmly. She was Gabriel’s grandmother and neighbor to the Farthingales on Chipping Way. He truly liked the old dowager. She was helpful, perfectly agreeable, and a genuine delight.
Not so delightful was Eloise’s tiny companion, Lady Phoebe Withnall, the ton’s most notorious gossip. Hell. This could be bad. In truth, he liked Phoebe as well, and despite her ruthless reputation, she’d often gone easy on him. Often, but not always. The woman had ears planted in everyone’s walls, or so it seemed, for she had a way of digging up secrets that were meant to be shrouded in darkness for eternity.
Had the old bloodhound picked up the scent of his injury? And his recovery in Dillie’s bed? Dillie had assured him that she and George hadn’t mentioned the incident to anyone. He hoped it was true.
Phoebe’s beady-eyed gaze homed in on him, and her pointed nose began to twitch as she inspected him from head to elegantly booted toe. She was like a hound on the hunt, sniffing him out. “You’ve been quiet these past few months, Your Grace.”
He’d spent years fighting Napoleon’s ablest soldiers and spies, been captured a couple of times, and survived torture. He wasn’t about to make a slip under the heat of Phoebe’s questioning gaze.
Dillie would, though.
Fortunately, Phoebe’s attention was still trained on him. Her nose twitched again, a sign she was contemplating her strategy. “Where did you spend your holidays?”
He shrugged. “Quietly at Edgeware.”
“I heard you stayed in town longer than expected last season. Any reason?”
Dillie had been about to lift her teacup to her lips, but let out a soft gasp instead. “Too hot,” she hastily muttered, easing her hand off the cup, no doubt afraid she’d draw further attention to herself by spillin
g her tea if the conversation suddenly turned alarming.
Ian was good at hiding his thoughts. Dillie hadn’t any such talent. She’d be eeping like a demented bird the moment the old woman trained her gaze on her.
In truth, he liked those throaty little sounds Dillie made. Proof that he unsettled her. Not that he would ever act upon that proof. Still, it mattered to him that Dillie was not quite as resistant to him as she would like to believe.
Phoebe asked him several more questions, to which he purposely gave empty responses. Finding little gossip fodder from him, she turned her attention to Dillie. “Drink up, girl. Why aren’t you touching your tea?”
“Daisy and I finished a pot before you arrived, Lady Withnall,” she answered, smoothly managing her lie. “A lovely oriental blend with a hint of orange peel. Delicious.”
“I see.” She remained staring at Dillie. Hell. This was going to be bad. Dillie wasn’t used to this sort of scrutiny. Having been raised in a large family, she’d probably had to fight for every scrap of attention. He wasn’t certain how long she could maintain her unaffected manner. The eep was on the tip of her tongue. It would take nothing for her to blurt it out. “Heard you also remained in town after the season.”
“Yes, with Uncle George. I stayed behind with him to close up the house. He’s also been training me to assist him in his medical matters.” She clasped her hands together, no doubt to keep them from shaking. She smiled and stopped talking. Good. She was a smart girl and knew to keep her responses short and sweet. She wouldn’t offer conversation that could be turned against her.
Ian shot her a sympathetic glance, as though to say, “You can do this.”
She swallowed hard. She wasn’t a practiced liar.
Phoebe took a bite of her treacle scone and slowly chewed, her gaze still intently fixed on Dillie. “Have you done it yet?”
“It?” Her frantic gaze shot to him, saved by the fortunate fact that Eloise was now seated beside him and Phoebe might believe she’d turned to Eloise for guidance. He knew what was racing through Dillie’s mind. She was thinking of their kiss. She was thinking of his naked body. “Forgive me, I didn’t understand the question. What is it that I’m supposed to have done?”
“Tended to any of your uncle’s patients, of course. What did you think I was talking about?”
Ian could see that Dillie’s mind had frozen at the very moment she needed to think fast. Had Phoebe already spoken to George? What had he answered? “I’m sure whatever Miss Farthingale did was under her uncle’s supervision. Of course, I can’t imagine he’d ever leave her alone with any of his patients, or admit it to you if he had. She’s merely in training. Not trained yet.”
Dillie shot him a smile of gratitude. Obviously relieved, she raised her cup to her lips and drank.
However, Phoebe wasn’t finished with her yet. “I see. Can’t be trusted on your own.”
Dillie swallowed hard, the hot liquid obviously searing her throat as it went down too fast. “Not in the least.”
Hell. That came out very wrong.
“I mean, not medically.” She began to fidget. “Otherwise, I can be trusted. Of course I can be trusted. Why would I not?”
“You tell me. You’re the one who seems concerned about it.” Though she and Phoebe were seated across from each other, separated by a tea table, Dillie must have felt as if the harridan were breathing down her neck.
She was in trouble here, but knew better than to glance at him again. She turned to Daisy instead, silently begging for help. The Farthingale sisters were close, always supported each other. Ian wondered how it felt. He’d experienced support on the battlefield, could always rely on Gabriel and Graelem to guard his back. There were other men he trusted as well. But that was during wartime, saving England and the Continent from Napoleon’s army.
He’d never felt the soft, nurturing support of a woman.
Hell, he’d never felt any family support.
Daisy sprang into action. “Ah, I see you’ve finished your tea, Lady Withnall. How did you like it? Isn’t the oriental blend delightful? It’s a new one I discovered in a local tea shop. Oh, and I discovered the quaintest bake shop as well. Dillie, I have a special treat for you.”
“You do?” Dillie smiled her thanks at the change in conversation.
Ian stifled a grin as he watched her. She was feeling more relaxed now that Daisy had come to her rescue. Dillie popped a bite of sardine and watercress sandwich in her mouth, obviously didn’t like it, and then lifted the cup to her lips to wash down the hideous combination. “Mmm, good,” she muttered unconvincingly.
She took another gulp of her tea just as her sister added, “This little bake shop makes the most delicious hot cross buns. I ordered them special just for you. Here, try one. Don’t they look tempting? So firm and golden.”
Dillie choked on her tea.
Ian jumped to his feet to help her, positioning himself to block her from Phoebe’s view. Bloody hell! The girl wore her expression on her sleeve. She was thinking of his naked buns, and it took all his control to keep from bursting into laughter.
He grabbed the cup from her trembling hand before she spilled its remaining contents onto her lap.
Eloise came to his side to help. “Oh, Dillie! You know that sardines don’t agree with you. Poor dear. You ought to have stayed with the sweets. I know just the shop Daisy mentioned. I’ll invite you over next week.” She stared sympathetically at Dillie. “Then you can taste my golden buns.”
Dillie coughed again. Gagged actually, as the mix of tea and sardines that had lodged in her throat now threatened to heave upward. Thankfully, she managed to hold it all down. Almost. A droplet of tea had dribbled down her chin. Ian wiped it off with his thumb.
She was an adorable mess.
He still wanted to draw her into his arms and kiss her into forever.
Daisy and Gabriel were now standing over him, eager to help. Daisy squeezed between him and Dillie, and leaned in close to her sister. “Dillie, are you all right?”
Dillie responded with a sneeze into the handkerchief Ian had just withdrawn from his breast pocket and stuck in front of her face.
Daisy and Gabriel took a quick step back. “I’ll fetch you a glass of apple cider,” Daisy said.
“I’ll go with you,” Gabriel added, hastily following her out of the room as though the thought of being left alone with Dillie was as appealing as cleaning Ivy’s soiled bottom.
Ian knelt beside Dillie as she sneezed into his handkerchief again. “I’m so sorry!” Her eyes were now tearing and her face was red hot.
“It’s those dratted sardines,” Eloise said sympathetically.
Dillie nodded furiously. “You know what they do to me. And I think there’s too much pepper on them!”
Curious. He’d eaten one of those sandwiches and had encountered no such problem. He’d also seen Dillie pepper her food before and suffer no ill consequences. Was she truly suffering, or was the little actress faking? If so, she was doing a damn good job of it.
She sneezed again.
Maybe not faking. Her face was as red as a cranberry and her breaths were still shaky. Perhaps she was genuinely in distress. He frowned and moved closer.
She looked vulnerable and scared, seeming to plead for his help not only in distracting Phoebe but also in helping calm her down. Of course, he would do all in his power. Her breaths were erratic. From the pepper and sardines? His heart tightened. “Dillie, close your eyes and breathe slowly.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.” She’d found her voice, which meant she was getting air into her lungs. He kept his tone calm and even. “That’s it. Here, take my hand. You see, I have you. I won’t let you go until you’re feeling better.”
“Promise?”
He nodded. “I promise.”
Phoebe was still intently eyeing the pair of them. Fortunately, Dillie was too distraught to notice. “The mention of hot cross buns seemed to set her off,” Ph
oebe mused.
“No, it was the sardines,” Dillie rasped back, but cast him a pained glance, for she knew that he knew perfectly well what those buns represented.
He cast Dillie a soft smile.
She groaned. “Must we spend the entire afternoon discussing what I do or do not like to eat? It seems some people have nothing better to do than spy on others and report their findings to everyone who will listen.”
She’d spoken to him in a whisper, but since Phoebe had the ears of a vampire bat, she heard the remark as well. “You’re a debutante now,” she chided. “Everyone will scrutinize you.”
Dillie looked as though she were about to burst into tears again.
When Daisy returned with the glass of apple cider and a damp cloth, Ian couldn’t seem to let Dillie go. Instead of stepping aside and allowing Daisy to help her sister, he took the cloth from her hands and began to dab it across Dillie’s lips.
Dillie groaned again as she felt his hand against her cheek. The others would mistake it for embarrassment, but he knew Dillie was responding to his touch. He wasn’t surprised. He was also responding to her nearness, her softness.
This was bad.
He eased away and handed the cloth back to Daisy, silently watching as she turned fuss and feathers over her sister.
Phoebe shook her head and sighed.
Ian straightened to his full height, worried that the meddlesome harridan was about to insult Dillie now that she appeared to be calming down. Even though he considered Phoebe a friend, he’d haul her out of the house and toss her to the sidewalk if she dared utter a cross word.
But Phoebe merely let out another sigh. “You poor, poor dear. I now understand why you’re the last of the Farthingales to marry. I’m worried about you, gel. All those years of training haven’t done you much good.”