The Hero Least Likely

by Darcy Burke

  “I’m a good help. I helped Mama carry him here and care for his wounds.”

  A small measure of pride for the boy flowed through Giles. “You are a good help.”

  The boy pushed his chest out and Giles bit back a grin.

  “Is there anything you need, Simon?”

  The only thing on Simon that moved was his nostrils. They flared. Why was he so angry? It wasn’t Giles who’d beaten him senseless—no matter how much he might like to.

  “I’ll go get his clothes off the line. They should be dry by now,” Lucy murmured.

  “What are we going to do?” Seth exclaimed as soon as his mother’s footsteps couldn’t be heard any longer.

  Simon closed his eyes for an extended blink and groaned. “The plan,” he said between gritted teeth.

  “Right,” the boy chirped excitedly.

  “What plan?” Giles asked.

  Seth said something that Giles couldn’t hear over Simon’s voice. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

  Giles pressed his lips together. He’d heard a tone similar to Simon’s often enough to know he’d upset him. But damned if he knew what he’d done. Must be his mere presence. He balled his hands into fists and waited for Miss Whitaker to return. She had a way of diffusing the tension in a room and he preferred it that way.

  His gaze traveled around the sparsely decorated room and landed on the boy who was biting his lip and shifting from one foot to the other. Mischief was on his brain, no doubt. Giles schooled his features to appear disinterested, though he was anything but, and continued to wait wordlessly for Miss Whitaker.

  “This is all he was wearing,” Miss Whitaker said, blushing. She handed Simon’s clothes to Giles. “I’ll just be—”

  Simon cut off her words with a brutal sounding coughing attack that had him bent over. Followed by a series of deep groans.

  Giles might have laughed at the absurdity of Simon’s theatrics if he wasn’t so distracted by trying to understand what his goal was.

  Miss Whitaker’s eyes widened and she rushed to Simon’s side. “Are you all right?”

  He coughed again then promptly moaned.

  Seth picked up a metal cup from the bureau and extended it toward Simon who was patting his chest vigorously and groaning.

  “Thank you,” Simon gasped. He took the cup from Seth with his free hand and brought it to his lips. He spilled more down his chin than he managed to get into his mouth. When he was finished making a mess of himself, he handed the cup back to Seth, still clutching his chest as if he were having heart palpitations.

  “Better?” Miss Whitaker asked tonelessly.

  Simon shook his head. “No, ma’am. My chest—it hurts.”

  “I’m sure it does. You were slamming it with your palm for no apparent reason.”

  Simon’s green eyes widened in response.

  “Mr. Appleton, I think you forget that Seth is my son. I’ve borne witness to many of his schemes—” her gaze shifted to her son— “but, this was one of the worst yet.”

  Giles bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. Not that he found it funny that Seth was being scolded. He’d been in his position more times than he could count. But there was something rather humorous about seeing Simon receiving a much-needed set down. Although he still didn’t understand what the two had been trying to accomplish. He mentally shrugged. It didn’t matter.

  “Sorry, Mama,” the boy said quietly. “I was just—”

  “Yes, I know,” she burst out quickly, then sighed. “Perhaps you can join me in the kitchen while Lord Norcourt helps Mr. Appleton get dressed.”

  “But I wanted to help.”

  “And you can help. Me.” Her voice offered no room for the lad to refuse and with a loud sigh he followed his mother from the room, leaving Giles and Simon alone for only the second time in their entire lives.

  “Do you need help?” Giles slightly shook the folded clothes in his hands for emphasis.

  Simon groaned. “No. You can wait out in the hall. I’ll dress and be out in a moment.”

  With a shrug of acceptance, Giles tossed Simon’s clothes onto the bed and quit the room to wait in the parlor, but not without first peeking into the kitchen where a flush-faced Miss Whitaker was whispering something to her son.

  His pulse raced at the sight of her and he forced himself to keep walking.

  “My lord,” McDougal, his coachman, said when he entered the room.

  “Yes?”

  “Can I see ye ou’side?”

  Wordlessly, Giles followed.

  FIVE

  This was not when Lucy wanted to do this, but Seth and his schemes were leaving her little choice. She wasn’t so naïve she didn’t see through the charade he and Mr. Appleton had tried to fool her with. If she didn’t just address it now, those two might never leave and that wouldn’t do.

  She gestured for him to sit down in one of the two dining chairs they had. “Seth,” she started, curling her hands into her skirts. How did she say this in a way he’d understand? “I know you mean well, but I can’t marry.” There, that was simple enough.

  Seth pressed his lips together. “Yes, you can, and Mr. Appleton seems the perfect sort.”

  Lucy tried not to snort. “We barely know him,” she said evasively. That was true enough.

  “No, you barely know him.”

  Lucy arched a brow.

  “I spent the afternoon with him. I know lots of things about him.”

  Lucy didn’t even want to know what her son had deemed important enough to ask Mr. Appleton. She released a deep breath. “Seth, I’m sure he’s a nice gentleman, but he has no interest in becoming my husband.”

  “How do you know?” Seth retorted. “You have hardly spoken to him.”

  “No, I haven’t,” she agreed. “But I don’t need to speak to him to know that he has no interest in marrying me.”

  “Perhaps he would if you spent a little time with him.”

  Lucy suppressed a groan. “That won’t be happening.”

  “I don’t understand why you don’t want to give him a chance,” Seth argued, the color heightening in his cheeks.

  “I can’t,” she said more sharply than she’d meant to. “Gentlemen of rank don’t usually have honorable intentions toward unmarried mothers.”

  “He doesn’t have a title. His brother does.”

  She frowned at Seth’s flippant tone. “I know.” Which was all the more reason not to get tangled up with either of them. She froze. Either of them. Where had that come from? Seth might have found Lord Norcourt’s false compliment about Seth giving Mr. Appleton a nasty facer just as inappropriately humorous as she did, but Seth hadn’t suggested anything about Lord Norcourt. He was still quite taken with Mr. Appleton. Catching sight of the curious expression on Seth’s face, Lucy said, “It doesn’t matter which one has a title. Neither is interested in making a fallen woman his wife,” she said quietly.

  Confusion marred her son’s innocent face and Lucy steeled her spine for the questions he might ask. But she deserved them and she’d answer them. He deserved that. She’d shielded him too long.

  “Have you met Mr. Appleton and Lord Norcourt before?”

  Lucy was taken aback and a little confused by his question. “No.”

  “Then how do you know?”

  She licked her lips and idly ran the tips of her fingernails into one of the deepest scratches that covered the top of their dining table. “When I was a girl your age, I had two playmates. One was the heir to a viscountcy and the other was his brother.”

  “But Lord Norcourt isn’t a viscount,” he interrupted. “He’s just a baron.”

  “Indeed, but while he’s just a baron as you put it, he’s still titled and Mr. Appleton is still his brother.”

  “Were those boys cruel to you?” Seth asked.

  “No, only one,” Lucy said carefully.

  “Was it the heir or the spare?”

  Lucy sent him a sharp look. “That’s unim
portant.” A wave half-filled of sadness and half-filled with bitterness swept over her. Paul Grimes, the younger brother treated her very well and had been genuine. Sam, the heir, however, had not. And foolish girl she was, had made the wrong choice. She pushed away the memories, then met her son’s sad eyes and forced a wobbly smile. “Seth, you need to understand that I made a poor choice many years ago which I can’t explain while they’re still here; but what I can tell you now is that because of that I cannot marry either of those two gentlemen and we need them to leave immediately.” Not that she’d have had a chance to marry either of them had she not had a bastard. She was born the daughter of a servant—not the kind of lady any man of their station would ever consider for a wife.

  Seth looked like he wanted to argue but was halted when the tall, imposing form of Lord Norcourt entered the room. “May I borrow a horse?”

  Lucy stared at him as if he were addled and bit her tongue to keep from saying something that might be considered disrespectful. “We don’t have one, my lord.”

  He stood still, a blank expression on his face. “Can Simon stay?”

  Lucy felt her eyes widen. “Wh-what?” She cast a quick glance to her son who was shaking his head. “Why?”

  “One of my horses has thrown a shoe,” he said as if that explained everything.

  Which it did. It was too late now for Lord Norcourt’s coachman to take the horse to the village to get it shod. “I suppose you’ll want a place to sleep, too.” She tried to hide the unease in her voice, but Seth’s wince told her she’d failed. Lord Norcourt seemed unaffected, however.

  “No, ma’am. I’ll walk to the village.”

  Lucy blinked. Surely she hadn’t heard him right. “You will?”

  “Yes. But Simon won’t make it.”

  “I know,” Lucy whispered, still in shock. It had been a long time since she’d been in the company of Sam and Paul, but she remembered well enough that Sam had always believed he deserved special treatment over his brother solely because of his title, even if he hadn’t yet inherited it. Oh, for heaven’s sake, this was completely different. Irritated with where her wayward thoughts kept leading her, she stood and said, “All right. He can stay and so can you.”

  SIX

  Giles couldn’t think of a more awkward arrangement. It was bad enough that Simon was spending the night here, but he was hurt and it couldn’t be helped. That could be overlooked. But a healthy and virile gentleman staying overnight? It’d have her reputation in tatters within the week. He couldn’t be responsible for that. “Thank you, but no.”

  A shadow crossed Miss Whitaker’s face. “Just as well. The village is just a mile or so in the direction your coach was traveling before turning down my drive.”

  “I trust you can explain this change to my brother, lad?” Giles asked the boy.

  Seth bobbed his head with vigor and instinctively, Giles reached out and tousled the boy’s hair. “When will you return, my lord?”

  “Sunup.” And he meant it. He couldn’t explain why, but just the thought of seeing one Miss Lucy Whitaker again tomorrow made his body surge with excitement and he didn’t want to waste a single moment he might be afforded in her company. Preposterous, he thought with a simple shake of his head.

  “Are you feeling unwell, my lord?” Lucy asked.

  Giles started and instinctively brought his hand to his unsettled stomach. “I’m fine.”

  She furrowed her brows and took a step toward him “Are you sure? You look flushed.” She reached up to touch his forehead and he jerked back. But not fast enough, for she skimmed her fingertips just above his eyebrow. “You’re quite warm. Feverish, almost,” she commented, retracting her hand.

  Giles choked on his own tongue. Of course he was feverish, his pulse raced like a criminal on the run just by being in her presence. “I’m fine.”

  “I don’t think you are.” Lucy reached for him again.

  He took an uneasy step back and nearly sighed with relief when she pulled her hand back. “I’m fine,” he repeated, grunting.

  “No, you’re stubborn,” she said, crossing her arms.

  Giles blinked at her. Nobody had ever called him stubborn before. He’d been called aggravating, dimwitted, and a nuisance before, but never stubborn. “Was that a compliment?” he asked sincerely.

  A slow smile spread across her lips and she shook her head. “I suppose it was.”

  Giles returned her grin. “Thank you.”

  She lowered her head a fraction and touched the fingertips of her right hand to her forehead. “You’re welcome.” A moment later, she looked up and cocked her head to the side, her vivid blue eyes staring right at Giles in a way that made those dratted tingles crawl up his skin anew. “Seth, why don’t you go check on Mr. Appleton,” she murmured.

  Giles sidestepped to the left to allow the boy to pass, then turned his attention back to Lucy.

  She was smoothing her skirts, a gesture he’d often noticed ladies do when they were uncomfortable. She was uncomfortable. With him. He swallowed and took a step back.

  “Lord Norcourt,” she said, licking her lips.

  Giles stared unblinkingly at her.

  “I have a favor to ask of you,” she said with a swallow.

  “A favor?” What the devil kind of favor could he possibly do for her?

  “Yes, a favor.” She smiled at him and gripped her hands in front of her. “As you already know, it’s just Seth and me who live here and well, it wasn’t too far away that we found your brother, and…” She made a harsh sound in her throat. “Well, as you saw, he was beaten badly, what if the men who did that come back to find him?”

  Giles continued to stare at her. What the blazes did she mean? “If they come back?” he asked though he felt like a fool.

  “Yes. What if they come back, looking for him?”

  “They’ll find him,” he said automatically. Why is her mouth hanging open? he wondered.

  “Lord Norcourt,” she said in a tone he couldn’t place.

  “Yes?”

  She sighed. “And what shall I do then?”

  Let them take him. He pressed his lips together to keep from laughing at the inappropriate response that had come to his mind. Then froze. Since when had his responses—whether appropriate or not—come to his mind so quickly? Never. What had happened? Had he finally been cured of whatever curse had been put on his mind? If he’d known it would take merely the swipe of a beautiful lady’s fingers to free his mind, he’d have been more encouraging of the ladies in Paris. From the recesses of his mind, he heard his name. “Yes?” he said, blinking.

  “My lord, I don’t think you understand.”

  “I usually don’t,” Giles admitted.

  Lucy ran her hands over the front of her skirts again.

  Taking pity on her, Giles said, “Ma’am, I am a simple man. If there is something you must say, just say it.”

  If ever there were a time to have the floor beneath her open up and swallow her whole, now would be perfect. Why did the dratted man have to play games? It was obvious he’d been quite pleased with her earlier unintentional compliment, but why did he have to make a dramatic production out of accepting her invitation to stay the night? It was obvious that he wasn’t feverish, and even more obvious that he didn’t like the idea of being thought weak, which is why she’d thought of the idea of playing on his male pride to convince him to stay.

  Unfortunately, that wasn’t working so well.

  She offered Lord Norcourt her best attempt at a shy smile, but the truth was, she’d been smiling at him so much since he’d arrived that he had to either think she was a simpleton or besotted. Which she wasn’t! Clutching her skirts, she steeled her spine and met his green eyes.

  “Lord Norcourt,” she tried again. “If those men return, I would be powerless to stop them from taking your brother.”

  Lord Norcourt seemed unaffected.

  “I suppose he’s not a favorite relation of yours,” she ventured. Memor
ies of the hatred and disdain Sam, the heir, held for his younger brother Paul, the spare, filled her mind and a bitter taste flooded her mouth. Apparently Lord Norcourt was exactly the same and now the idea of him staying in her home—sick or not—was less appealing than it had been before he’d first arrived. “Now that I think about it, I think we’ll be fine. They—”

  “Could hurt you,” Lord Norcourt cut in, his eyes as big as saucers. Then, if it were possible, they got larger. “And Seth.”

  Now it was Lucy’s turn for her eyes to widen. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  Lord Norcourt shook his head vigorously. “No. I’ll stay.”

  “Truly, that’s not necessary. I’m sure they won’t be back,” Lucy said, inwardly cursing herself for ever trying to convince him to stay. She should have just let him go. Damn her caring instinct.

  “No,” he said fiercely. “I’m staying.”

  SEVEN

  “Do you think the house might collapse?” Seth grumbled as he pulled his pillow over his head and repositioned himself on the settee where he’d tried to sleep.

  Lucy grinned. “If it hasn’t happened yet, I think we might be safe.” She rolled out of Seth’s bed. “Why don’t you lie in the bed for a while and see if you can sleep?”

  Seth grunted and made his way to the bed where he flopped down in an undignified heap.

  Lucy tucked the blankets around her son then slipped out of the room and into the hall where she leaned against the wall and said a silent prayer that Lord Norcourt’s coachman would return soon. She was more than ready for her uninvited guests to leave so she could go to town in search of another post. That would be impossible as long as they were still in residence. Not to mention that she’d been unable to sleep last night and it had nothing to do with Simon’s snoring.

  “Everyone’s safe,” Lord Norcourt, the reason she’d been unable to sleep, declared.

  Lucy opened her eyes to look at him. Standing in the hall and cloaked in shadows he cut a fine figure. She shivered. “Thank you.”

  He made a strangled noise, but didn’t say anything. Either he was embarrassed for some unknown reason or perhaps he didn’t know how to graciously accept a thank you. She nearly snorted. He was a lord, so naturally it was the latter reason.