He let out a huff of amusement. “Take out the ‘surprisingly’ and your compliment might also have been nice.”
To his delight, one corner of her mouth hitched up at that. “This is just not what I’d expect from…” She gestured toward him and it was impossible not to laugh.
“Oh no, do go on,” he said, resting his arm on the settee’s edge so he could slide down and make himself comfortable. “I would love to hear how that sentence will end.”
She pursed her lips and looked away. Unwilling, it seemed, to outright insult him in his own home. Though he suspected he knew what she meant. She thought he was a pauper. Maybe even something worse. She had no idea who he really was, and for the moment, that was how he preferred it.
He had a feeling if she knew his father was a marquess, she’d behave entirely differently and that he could not bear. He liked this Delilah, the one that said whatever was on her mind, no matter how rude or thoughtless.
It was… Well, it was refreshing. She was cold lemonade on a hot day. Slightly sweet, a little sour, and anything but bland.
She turned to him suddenly, her arms wrapped around her waist as though she was cold—hard to imagine in this heat, but he supposed it could be shock.
The thought had him frowning, and his expression must have matched hers.
“You saved my life,” she said suddenly.
His eyes widened in surprise at the shift in conversation. “You’re welcome.”
She stared at him for a long moment and he watched her swallow. “Thank you.”
He nodded toward the end of the settee. “Have a seat.”
She rubbed her arms. “No, thank you, I should—”
“Have a seat.” His tone was less polite this time and he shifted forward, making more room for her as he eyed her steadily. “Please.”
She blinked rapidly at the ‘please’ and he thought he saw confusion flicker in her eyes.
Poor thing had just been through the scare of her life and she was trying her best not to show it.
His heart did something strange. It made its presence known with a lurch. An inanimate monster coming to life, just like in that novel he’d recently read.
He shook off the thought with a rueful little laugh. It seemed they’d both been shaken by today’s events.
She perched on the edge of the seat, her spine stiff and straight, her hands clasped daintily in her lap. When a servant entered and set the tray before her she blinked in surprise.
“I—I should not be here,” she said slowly.
He knew what she meant. She should not be here alone with him. He knew it too. The problem was…he had no idea what else to do with her.
“I should go home,” she said. Staring at the pot of tea before them but making no move to touch it.
“You should rest first.” Even he was surprised by the softness of his voice. It felt like it had been an age since he’d talked to anyone like this—gently, as if to a child. He cleared his throat and moved forward, pouring the tea since she looked unfit to move. “You’ve been through an ordeal,” he said. “You’re shaken. Perhaps in shock—”
“I am no such thing,” she said. “I am fine.” As she said it she began to tremble and he muttered a curse under his breath.
In one move he was right next to her, his thigh pressed to hers as he wrapped an arm around her.
She stiffened even more. “What do you think you are—”
“Hush,” he commanded. He held her tight, and after a heartbeat of holding herself stiffly, she collapsed against his side as though all the fight drained out of her at once.
She was warm and soft, and she smelled like heaven.
They sat like that for a long moment and he found himself wishing it wouldn’t end.
It had to, of course. But he would have been content to sit like that for eternity.
“I should go home,” she said when she finally stirred against his side. Her cheek rested against his heart and he wondered if she could feel the way it pounded heavily against his ribcage.
Of course, his heart had been working just fine his whole life, but he’d never been quite so aware of it before. He’d never felt it thudding away inside of him like this.
Like it wasn’t his to control.
Like it no longer belonged to him.
Stuff and nonsense.
It wasn’t until she made to move again that her words fully registered and when they did, it was with a thud.
She still didn’t understand. Or maybe she just didn’t wish to…
“You cannot go home, Delilah.”
She pulled away from his arm and sat upright, adjusting her skirts as if that would lend this moment some decency. “Of course I can. I must. They will worry if—”
“Delilah.” He leaned forward to see her face.
Her voice had an odd edge to it. She didn’t wish to understand. But she was starting to. His heart did that lurch again, and he reached a hand out to cover hers, gentling his voice as he said her name again. “Delilah…”
“Don’t.” She pulled her hand from his. “Don’t say it.”
“You cannot go home, love—”
“Don’t call me that.”
He shifted to face her. “Delilah, listen to me.”
She frowned, her lips pursing. She looked far more like herself, and he was glad, even as her pout made him sigh with frustration.
“It’s Miss Clemmons,” she snapped.
Stubborn little thing.
But that was how he liked her.
“Miss Clemmons…” He drew her name out exaggeratedly, making her scowl. “You cannot go home. You may not be safe there.”
Her face drained of color. He hadn’t thought she could grow any paler and he cursed himself for being responsible for her fear.
But what else could he do? She was in danger, and she had to know it.
“What happened just now,” he said slowly, making sure she registered every word. “That was no accident.”
Her lips parted on an intake of air and he reached for her. He didn’t think about it; his body seemed to be acting on its own as he took her by the arms and drew her close.
Again, he wanted to kiss her. Kiss away her fear and replace the dazed look of shock with a dazed look of passion.
Instead he held her in his arms and showed restraint…to some extent.
She was in shock. Now was not the time for a flirtation, for heaven’s sake.
“How can you be sure?” she asked, her voice breathless but strong.
She didn’t try to pull out of the circle of his arms, and for that he was grateful. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, Delilah needed strength right now. She needed support. His arms braced her, held her upright, and though she fought it, he felt the moment she gave in a relaxed, letting him take some of her weight.
She nibbled on her lower lips, her gaze fixed on his chin, which likely needed a shave. Was it any wonder she thought him some uncouth vagabond? For the most part, he was. “If this wasn’t an accident, it means…it would mean…” Her gaze lifted suddenly and met his.
He felt the directness of it like a punch in the gut.
“That would mean my fiancé meant to kill me.”
He wanted to make her feel better, to cushion the blow. “Perhaps not kill…” he hedged.
Her eyes widened and he stopped speaking. He supposed offering the possibility of kidnapping would do little to ease her mind at this particular moment.
Her gaze was unbearably serious as it held his. “Are you certain it was not an accident, or…” She shrugged. “A coincidence, perhaps?”
He didn’t answer, and it seemed he didn’t have to.
She sighed and slumped against him. “I knew it.”
He moved his head and accidentally nuzzled her hair. Well, perhaps it wasn’t all that accidental. He shifted so they were once more comfortably seated, cuddled together in a way that would ruin them both were they to be discovered.
But this
was his house, and his servants knew discretion.
And besides…she was a victim. He would help her, as he would any damsel in distress.
“Why do you say that?” he asked.
“Hmm?” She’d clearly gotten lost in her own thoughts as they sat.
“You said ‘I knew it’,” he reminded her.
“Oh, I… That is, I only meant, I…” She trailed off with a sigh. “I did something unforgivably stupid.”
He stiffened. “What did you do?”
She leaned away from him just far enough to meet his gaze. “I tried to find proof.”
His brows shot up. “You…you did what?”
She continued as if he hadn’t interrupted. “And I was caught.”
He let out a sharp exhale. “You what?”
She frowned. “Do you have a hearing problem, Mr. Calloway?”
To his surprise and hers a short laugh was shocked out of him. “I suppose the fact that your tongue hasn’t lost its razor’s edge means you are already on the road to recovery.”
Her lips twitched for a second before she adopted an expression of ennui, as if she were bored by the evening’s tedious adventure. “Now I suppose we need a plan.”
“We?” he echoed.
“Of course we.” She shot him a look. “Really, you must try to keep up, Mr. Calloway.”
He laughed under his breath at her audacity. “I merely meant, don’t you think you’ve done enough?”
She huffed in indignation as she crossed her arms, pulling back far enough that he was forced to drop his arms and release her. “If it weren’t for me, you would have no proof that Everley is a criminal.”
That had him straightening in surprise. “You have proof?”
She frowned and waved a hand in the direction of the door. “What do you call that back there in the carriage? That was proof, was it not? I shall tell the world that Everley tried to…to…” She blanched and stopped talking.
He sighed. “That is not proof, love. That’s just your word against his.”
“But you said—”
“I have no doubt it was not a coincidence,” he said. “I saw a footman set off with a message just prior to your departure, and on top of that, the carriage took the wrong route.”
She opened her mouth to speak but he spoke over her.
“But even so, that is not enough.”
She shut her mouth with another huff.
“What exactly did he find you doing today? Take me through it step by step.”
She talked rapidly, starting from the very beginning. She seemed to calm herself as she spoke. As if the very act of recounting it all helped her put it in perspective. For this reason, he found himself asking question after question, even when he’d gotten a good sense of all she had—and had not—discovered.
By the time they were done rehashing the day, the sun had fully set and the servants had brought them a cold supper of meats and bread before leaving them once more.
“So you found nothing in his desk,” he said for the tenth time. Frustration had him tearing the bread in his hands with too much force. Nothing. He’d been so sure that Everley in all his arrogance would make a mistake. Leave evidence or at least some sort of clue that pointed to his next moves.
“Nothing,” Delilah repeated with a sigh.
Delilah, for her part, was using a fork and knife and using dainty movements that seemed entirely out of place with the casual fare and atmosphere.
He suspected she was clinging to propriety for the normalcy it brought to this otherwise entirely abnormal day.
He dropped his food onto the plate and scrubbed a hand through his hair in frustration as he leaned back to study her. “What were he and your stepmother discussing?”
“Wedding plans, I presume.”
“All day?” he asked. “Are weddings truly that complicated?”
She gave him a small smile and he felt his chest swell with pride. It was ridiculous the effect she had on him. It made no sense whatsoever, but now was not the time to try and sort it out.
“Weddings themselves might not be, but then there are the other matters,” she said with a little wave of her fork.
“Other matters?”
“Yes. Dowries and such.” She made a funny little face as she wrinkled her nose. “You know…the business of marriage.”
He blinked at the note of bitterness in her voice and for the millionth time that day he felt a pang of sympathy for this odd girl with her snooty ways.
From a distance once might think she was just a spoiled wealthy young lady. But one would be wrong. She was that…but there was more to her than just that.
She just did a remarkable job of hiding it. But even so, her act didn’t work on him.
He’d made a career out of learning people’s real identities and ferreting out their true natures.
This girl wasn’t nearly as shallow as she pretended, nor as hardened. But he’d bet money he was one of few who knew that.
“You stepmother handles the…business of your marriage?” he asked.
She nodded. “It is not typical, I know, but my father is in ill health. He has been for years. My stepmother has all but taken over the day-to-day work with running an estate, and I am part of that estate.”
She didn’t sound sad and that casual mention of herself as just a part of her father’s estate made him inexplicably angry.
“Most people would put their solicitor in charge, or appoint a guardian—”
She shook her head. “My father doesn’t trust many people, and he trusts no one as much as he does his wife.”
He eyed her. “Are you and your father close?”
The flinch was so subtle one might have missed it. Rupert did not.
“No.”
No. That was it. No explanations or justifications. Just no.
“It is getting late,” she said, setting down her utensils as she looked toward the dark window. “I had better get home.”
He gaped at her. She couldn’t be serious. “You are not going home. You would not be safe there.”
She huffed. “Fine. Then I will go back to the school. I’m certain Miss Grayson will have my room—”
“You cannot go there, either.”
She blinked. “Why not?”
He glowered at her as he leaned forward. “Do you honestly think Miss Grayson or any of the other girls could keep you safe if trouble follows?”
She opened her mouth but he wasn’t done.
“Would you want to be responsible for putting them in harm’s way?”
She blinked and clamped her mouth shut. “Then…” Her cheeks stained pink. “W-where shall I go?”
His heart threatened to combust with emotions at the rare display of vulnerability. “You’re not going anywhere, love.” He reached for her hand. “I’m afraid you’ll have to stay here.”
Chapter Eight
She stared at this strange man in horror. “Here?” Her voice rose an octave higher than usual without her say so. “You want me to stay here?”
He shrugged, as if he hadn’t just suggested that they ruin her reputation in one rash move.
“That is ridiculous.”
He leaned back, looking far too amused for her liking. She hated when this man laughed at her, and it seemed to be most of the time.
The rest of the time he was being even more irritating by comforting her like she was a child or someone to be pitied.
She was neither. She was Miss Delilah Clemmons and while her situation might not have been ideal, it was not dire.
She hadn’t died today, after all.
That was a good start.
And that was very much thanks to this man.
She shoved the thought to the side. She was grateful for his assistance, yes, but she couldn’t afford to focus on that now or she might forget that he was not her friend.
He was a stranger.
A stranger who’d held her in his arms and made her feel safe, a stranger and
who’d appeared out of nowhere when she’d needed him, a stranger who’d saved her life…
But still a stranger.
She looked around her at the uncommonly nice surroundings and she was reminded once again of just how little she knew about him.
What kind of man looked like he did—the very picture of gruff and disheveled—but lived in a place like this?
“Do you live alone?” she asked.
He nodded slowly. “Just me and a few servants.”
“And you expect me to stay here. Overnight.”
“I do.”
She let out a shaky breath. “I cannot do that.”
He met her stare for a long moment, and she hated him for it. Those rough features that looked as though he’d been in too many fights. The broad, muscular shoulders that didn’t seem to fit in this elegant home. His frame was too big for the furniture, it seemed…
But the perfect fit for her to lean against.
She shut her eyes to stop herself from going there. It was bad enough that she’d let him hold her—twice.
It was even worse that she’d enjoyed it.
But now they were discussing her ruin, thank you very much. This was definitely not the time to swoon. “I cannot,” she said again.
“Why not?”
Her eyes grew so wide, it actually started to hurt. But honestly… “Are you serious?”
He shrugged, like they were discussing the weather. “Of course. You cannot go home, you shouldn’t go to the school…where do you think you ought to go?”
Her mind raced to think of other options. She had no family to speak of aside from her father, no friends other than the girls at the school…
She was alone.
The weight of this realization hit her so hard and so quick, she didn’t have time to brace for it. Once when she was a child, she fell from a low tree branch and the air from her lungs had left in a rush. She couldn’t draw in a breath right away and there had been this moment of panic as she fought for air.
That was exactly how she felt now. Like she could not breathe. Like she might never be able to breathe.
“Easy, love.” He moved to her, drew her out of her seat and held her like a child, cradling her to his chest and stroking her back, her hair. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. “I have you.”
The School of Charm: Books 1-5 Page 34
