No. No, sir. He knew where to draw the line of propriety even if she did not. He looked around at the chaos that surrounded them. Polly was bouncing on the settee—the one piece of decent furniture, Nicholas was once again perusing the tools with a seriousness he’d never seen from the boy before, and the other handful of heathens were racing around and laughing as though his home were some sort of fair attraction.
But there was one person noticeably missing. “Where’s your chaperone?”
Abigail’s brows hitched up. “Hattie?”
He grunted. He didn’t care which sister accompanied her, just that she had someone. Someone who was not under the age of ten, preferably. Someone who would look out for her reputation and her safety.
His brows drew down again. “You came here—to my home—and you did not bring a chaperone?”
She blinked up at him, and he did not miss the way her lips twitched with amusement. But there it was again.
Something different about her that he hadn’t been able to identify before.
Concern and a sensation he cared not to name had his chest tightening. She looked paler than usual. The area around her eyes a little swollen. A little pink.
“I have six children with me, Mr. Calhoun. I hardly think I am in grave danger of being caught alone with you.”
Caleb. He went to correct her again, but stopped himself. It was for the best that she keep some sort of distance between them, even if she disregarded every other propriety.
“We’ll watch out for her, Mr. Calhoun,” Nicholas added. Apparently he’d been paying attention after all, even though his gaze was fixed firmly on the tools, turning them over in his grubby paws as thought they were his own.
Abigail smiled brightly. “So, you see? I have no need for my sisters or our maid as a companion with Nicholas here to look out for me.”
He stared at her hard, and this time her gaze wouldn’t quite meet his. He’d have liked to think it was because even she knew that her actions were folly. That no-good smuggler was still out there. And even if he wasn’t, Caleb was here.
And Caleb was dangerous. He was a retired pirate, for heaven’s sake. Did she not realize yet that she should not trust him?
“You ought to have a chaperone,” he said. Wonderful. Now he was sounding like a fretful mother hen.
Her smile was slow and sweet. “Do you really think Hattie would be much protection, Mr. Calhoun?”
He had a vague memory of the youngest sister. Blonde like Abigail, but even more slight, with her nose forever stuck in a book.
“I love my sister dearly, but she is roughly the size of your pinky.” They both looked to his smallest digit and he had the oddest urge to...laugh.
He never laughed.
Well, rarely.
As it was, a soft coughing growl came out and he supposed that was how he laughed. It’d been so long, he hardly recognized it himself.
But this was no laughing matter. She ought not come to his house alone. He glanced around at the urchins. Well, nearly alone. No one to save her from him, and that was what mattered. That’s what this was about.
She should be scared of him, and she wasn’t. The woman had no sense.
Or maybe she had a little because as he drew closer, she kept her gaze on the basket, talking quickly. Too quickly. “And besides, Hattie is under the weather. And Minerva is gone, as you know, and Sally...” She reached out to brush a crumb from the table’s edge. “Well, Sally has left with Rebecca to go to the earl’s manor. I told you that he’d requested her there, did I not?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “It seems he’s in need of her medical knowledge more than you are, and Rebecca was all too happy to accompany her to a grand country estate. And so you see, with Sally not here to minister to your injury, you must allow me to—”
“No.” He interrupted too harshly. Curse it. Of course he’d been harsh. He’d never done anything gently in his life. And right now, his heart was thudding as a primal rage stirred in his gut. Something was wrong.
She was not okay.
“No? But surely your bandage—”
“My leg has healed,” he said. “I do not need your sister to nurse me and I certainly don’t require your help either.”
She blinked and he had the unnerving sensation that he’d unwittingly hurt her.
Curse it all. He just barely held back a growl of annoyance at his own bad behavior. But for once his behavior wasn’t the real issue. Something was the matter with her if she was prattling on like this.
The girl could talk. In fact, he’d come to grow somewhat used to her filling the air with that sweet voice of hers. But this was different.
If only he could see her eyes again. But she was still looking away from him, fidgeting with her apron. “I suppose if you don’t need my help, I still ought to bring you food now and again. After all, a gentleman like yourself—”
She went silent and still when his fingers touched her jaw. Lightly. He was as gentle as he knew how to be as he turned her cheek so she was facing him.
There it was.
He could see it now, and the sight of it made him filled with so much anger it was all he could do not to tear down the walls of this cottage. “You’ve been crying.”
* * *
To keep reading, check out Miss Abigail’s Beastly Beau!
About the Author
MAGGIE DALLEN IS a big city girl living in Montana. She writes romantic comedies in a range of genres including young adult, historical, contemporary, and fantasy. An unapologetic addict of all things romance, she loves to connect with fellow avid readers. Subscribe to her historical newsletter at http://eepurl.com/dgUNif or her contemporary newsletter at http://eepurl.com/bFEVsL
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Also by Maggie Dallen
Bluestocking Battalion
Miss Minerva's Pirate Mishap
Miss Abigail's Beastly Beau
Miss Sally's Unsuitable Soldier
Crazy Crush
Tall, Dark, and Nerdy
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The Man, The Myth, The Nerd
Dashing Lords
A Rake's Redemption
A Duke's Distraction
A Gentleman's Gamble
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The (Not So) Perfect Day
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Saved by the Crush's Brother
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Love's Imposters
The Reluctant Spy
The Reluctant Bride
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Senior Week Fling
Senior Week Kiss
Summer Love Boxset
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Miss Minerva's Pirate Mishap Page 16
