by Ava Stone
Daphne smiled. He thought she was upset about his friend, and for that she was grateful. She didn’t care to show her weaknesses to this man. Not yet. How could she tell him—a member of the Four-in-hand club—that she was terrified of being in a stable? She was handling herself fine today, but only because she felt safe with him. Safer than she’d ever felt with anyone in her entire life. Not that Graham didn’t take care of her and provide a comfortable haven for her, but this was different. She couldn’t explain it. She only knew that the fear she normally felt in stables was significantly less today. With him.
“You needn’t apologize for your friend,” she finally said, hoping to put him out of his misery. “He’s harmless.”
“He is a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” Alastair bit back.
Daphne laughed. “I rather think it’s the other way around, isn’t it?”
He shook his head. “Not with Garrick.”
Was it too soon to reassure him of her affections? They’d not spoken of their feelings yet. Would she scare him off by being too forward? Then again, he was being awfully protective of her against his womanizing friend, so perhaps…
She took a few steps forward until she stood just before him. With a tentative hand, she reached out, and gently placed her palm against his chest. He sucked in a sharp breath, as if he’d been stung, but she couldn’t take it back now. Instead, she kept it there, lying against his heaving chest, the heat nearly searing her palm. Her mouth went dry, but he would think her mutton-headed if she didn’t say anything.
“Alastair,” she said slowly, testing the name on her tongue, “I hope you do not think me so fickle that…that…”
He covered her hand with his much larger one, holding it firmly against him, while his dark eyes bore into her with such intensity it set Daphne’s heart to racing again. “That what?” he prodded, his voice a low rumble that shook Daphne to her core.
Daphne swallowed. “That he could sway my affections so easily,” she finished.
“And will you tell me where your affections lie?”
Good heavens, she was going to faint. Her body trembled and her head felt light all of a sudden. She opened her mouth to speak, and then all went black.
Things would be so much easier if Eilbeck did know something about Braden. There wasn’t a fellow in London, or Buckinghamshire for that matter, who would balk at Braden’s request to court their sister. In fact, any gentleman of his acquaintance would be quite happy to consider Braden’s suit, at least he thought they would. He’d never given anyone any reason to doubt his honor or his ability to provide and care for those under his charge. He really was far removed from London society in this Cumberland outpost.
Callie handed him a teacup and offered him a scone, which he quickly took. Then she prepared the same for her brother, who was still eyeing Braden as though he was Hades, intent on snatching Persephone and spiriting her off to the Underworld, without so much as a by your leave.
Was that it? Was the man simply afraid of losing his sister? The pair’s parents were gone. If Braden suddenly lost Quent, as irritating as his brother could be, he would feel quite alone. Perhaps Eilbeck was facing that imminent reality all of a sudden. The blustering magistrate didn’t seem to have a collection of friends, though perhaps Braden just hadn’t encountered the man’s set during the short time he’d been in Ravenglass.
After filling her own cup, Callie resumed her spot beside Braden, and his heart felt lighter. She was everything he’d ever wanted, if he’d ever sat down to make a list – kind, level-headed, enchanting, beautiful. They were even of a same mind about things. If only Sir Cyrus could be convinced.
Perhaps the man would be more amendable to the idea if things seemed to move a bit slower. Braden took a sip of his tea, then he nodded in the magistrate’s direction. “I want to court her to see if we’ll suit in the long run. After the next sennight, she might decide she doesn’t like me in the least.”
Callie’s brow lifted in surprise. “You’ve that many bad habits, do you?”
“I—uh—do spend a fair amount of my time stocking my stables,” he said for lack of any other bad habit that popped to mind. Of course, he snored, or at least he’d been told he did. Though he thought the better of mentioning that, at least while her brother was present.
“Your stables?” she asked, then lifted her teacup to her pretty lips for a sip.
Braden managed to keep from licking his own lips, more than jealous of that teacup. “Well, a man has to keep his stables stocked.” Damn it all, watching her was going to drive him half-mad. So he shifted on the settee and turned his attention to Sir Cyrus. “I noticed your cabriolet yesterday. Very nice conveyance.”
The magistrate couldn’t seem to help the smile that spread across his face. “New this last spring. Wish it was a bit faster.”
Perfect. Braden had found the one topic, or at least he suspected he had, that would turn the tide in his favor. “You’ll have to come see the barouche I keep in London. She was built by Mr. Davies and is the fastest there is. Taking her along the Bath Road to Salt Hill is more like flying than riding.”
“You race?” Sir Cyrus asked, sliding to the edge of his seat, his light eyes wide in awe.
“Since I was in leading strings.” It was the one bit of their father that he and Quent had both inherited, that love of racing, the thrill of the wind rushing through one’s hair, the strength it required to keep any conveyance upright at the speeds they took. “Member of the Four-in-hand club. Actually, all the fellows with me at Marisdùn are members as well.”
Callie gasped and her face took on a lighter pallor. “Racing is so dangerous.”
“It can be,” he agreed. Taking into consideration her aghast expression, Braden opted not to mention that racing had resulted in his own father’s death. Besides, there was no reason for her to worry. He was, after all, much more careful than his father had ever been. “But you’ll be hard pressed to find a fellow who can handle his horseflesh better than me.”
She didn’t look convinced, however.
“Davies made your barouche, you say?” Sir Cyrus asked, clearly more thrilled with the idea of Braden’s hobby than his sister was.
He nodded, placing his tea and scone on the table to his side. “Very well sprung. Almost like riding on clouds.”
“I should like to see it, I think.” The magistrate sat back in his seat. “The next time I get to London.”
“You’ve never been to London,” Callie muttered.
“No,” her brother agreed. “But I might just go now.” Then he rose from his spot. “I saw an advertisement you might be interested in, Bradenham. Excuse me a minute.”
And then he was gone, leaving Braden alone with Callie who was frowning at him all of a sudden. “Don’t you dare get him involved with racing, Braden.” She set her tea on the table as though she didn’t have an appetite any longer. “He doesn’t have the aptitude for it. He’ll only end up killing himself.”
But at the moment, Braden didn’t want to spend even a second of his time pondering Sir Cyrus or his aptitude for driving, not when he suddenly had Callie all to himself. “Just be glad he likes me,” he said softly. Then he leaned closer to her on the settee and brushed his fingers across the apple of her cheek.
Callie’s green eyes widened. “Braden,” she whispered just before he pressed his lips to hers.
She had the softest lips, plump and inviting. He could kiss her all afternoon and never tire of the sport. She leaned into him, sliding her arms around his neck and kissed him back with youthful abandon. Her soft gardenia scent invaded his senses like nothing ever had before, and Braden was most certainly lost to her.
Damn it all. Such an innocent kiss could drive him half-mad for wanting more. When she sighed, Braden took the opportunity to sweep inside her mouth, touching his tongue to hers. Passion coursed through him and it was all he could do not to pull her to his lap and touch every part of her.
Callie moaned slightly,
which only stirred him even more. She was untrained at kissing like this, but she was a quick study and followed his lead, kissing him back as ardently as he was kissing her. She tasted of tea, rum butter and pure heaven, but Braden only wanted more. He wanted to taste all of her, to run his fingers across her bare flesh, to make her his in every way.
An unhappy sound from the threshold, however, hit Braden’s ears and he very reluctantly broke their kiss. Callie’s eyes fluttered open and Braden couldn’t tear his gaze away from her, not even knowing that her brother, most likely, was standing just inside the parlor.
Yes, he was going to enjoy spending his life with Callie Eilbeck. Every second of it. She’d like Highfield and London and anywhere else she wanted to go.
“Do believe it’s time for you to take your leave, Bradenham,” Sir Cyrus grumbled from the doorway.
“Come to Marisdùn tomorrow?” he asked, soft enough for only her ears.
Callie’s brow furrowed slightly but then she nodded. “Your gardens?” she suggested.
Because she didn’t want to enter his haunted castle. But Braden didn’t care where he saw her, just as long she came to him. “Beside my gazanias at noon?”
Her pretty green eyes twinkled as she nodded. “Noon.”
“Bloody hell!” Alastair wouldn’t normally curse in front of a woman, but seeing as this one was unconscious and careening for the ground, he let it slide. Just this once.
What the devil happened, anyway? One moment, they were standing there having a most intimate and magical moment and the next, her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she let out a sigh, as if someone had just tightened her corset strings so tightly that it forced all the breath from her lungs.
Alastair let go of Jupiter’s reins and caught Daphne just before she hit the ground. She wasn’t feather-light, but it was no hardship to lift her into his arms.
“I have you,” he whispered as he jostled her into a comfortable position, and then he started out of the stables, only to be halted by his horse’s confused whinny.
“Damn,” he muttered, and then checked to make sure Daphne was still out. Thankfully she was. Her innocent ears didn’t need to hear such expletives. “My apologies, old boy.”
He looked from Jupiter to the parcel in his arms and back to his horse. “Let’s get you back into your stall.” The gelding didn’t seem all too happy about the change of plans as his master held the stall door open for him and gestured inside. “I promise I’ll be back, just as soon as I take care of…this.” He nodded his head toward the woman in his arms. Jupiter shook his head up and down, as if he’d understood every word, and then walked slowly back into his stall. “Thank you, my friend,” Alastair said, closing the stall door behind him. “I’ll be back as soon as I am able.”
Alastair walked briskly from the stables all the way to the house, his burden becoming slightly heavier the longer he held her. He thanked the stars above when the door swung open as he approached, and Bendle sent him straight to the drawing room.
“It’s empty right now, my lord,” he said. “And Mrs. Small is on her way to retrieve smelling salts and some refreshments.” When Alastair gave him a questioning look, he said, “We saw you coming up the drive moments ago.”
Alastair nodded. “Many thanks, Bendle.” And then he pushed past the man, eager to set Daphne down on a soft surface. He hadn’t saved her from the initial fall only to drop her on the cold, hard ground.
Moments later, he was finally able to set her down onto a green velvet sofa in the drawing room, though none-too-gently. Thank God she was still unconscious. She’d never know he didn’t carry her in here like Hercules holding a kitten.
“Good heavens,” Mrs. Small said, bustling into the room with a tiny bottle in hand. “Whatever happened to her, my lord?”
Alastair shook his head. “I wish I knew,” he said. “One moment we were preparing to take a ride, and the next, she was careening toward the ground.”
“A ride?” The woman eyed him askance, but then continued, “Well, we know she isn’t dead, at least.” She’d obviously taken note of Daphne’s even breaths that filled and deflated her chest.
“Yes, thank you for that.” Alastair was not the least bit interested in hiding his disdain for the woman’s morbid observations. “The salts, please.”
She handed them over, and Alastair pulled the tiny cork from the bottle before waving it in front of Daphne’s precious little nose. She started a bit from the smell, but didn’t immediately open her eyes, so he did it again. This time, her long lashes fluttered until her sapphire eyes met with his. He sat beside her, his knees on the floor, his face hovering just above hers. She stared at him a long moment, and then licked her lips. If Mrs. Small hadn’t been standing sentinel, Alastair wouldn’t have hesitated to lower his lips to Daphne’s. As a matter of fact…
“Mrs. Small,” he said, never taking his eyes off of Daphne. “Bring some tea and biscuits.”
She hemmed and hawed a moment, as if she were worried about leaving them alone, but for once, Alastair wasn’t terribly concerned about propriety. “Now,” he practically barked at the woman, who finally did as she was bid.
As soon as she was out the door, Alastair pressed his lips against Daphne’s. She opened for him as he snaked his arms around her, caressing the curves along her side. But when he felt her small hands press against his chest, he didn’t hesitate to break the kiss, no matter how difficult that was.
“What happened?” she asked, her voice small in the large room.
“I don’t know,” Alastair said, shaking his head. “One moment you were about to tell me who the object of your affections was, and the next, you were out cold in my arms.”
Her eyes darted upward to look about the room as best she could. “You carried me all the way here?” she asked, seeming rather alarmed about the prospect.
“Of course I did,” he answered, his pride pricking just a bit. “Did you think I would leave you for dead to go for a ride?”
This made her laugh, and the breath he’d been holding since before she fainted finally eased out of him. She was all right, thank God.
“I’m sorry if I frightened you,” she said.
Alastair lifted his brows. “Does this sort of thing happen often?”
She shrugged as best she could from her nestled position amongst the pillows. “Once in a while,” she admitted, a pretty pink blush staining her cheeks. “When I become…overwrought.”
Alastair couldn’t stop the smile that came to his lips. “Was this my doing?”
Daphne gave a little chuckle. “Partly.” Then she looked away, and blinked back what Alastair was certain were tears.
He didn’t mean to make her cry. He never, ever wanted to make her cry. He reached up and brushed the hair off her brow, searching her face for answers to the questions that sat on his tongue, unasked. But she wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“Here we are!” Mrs. Small made a show of coming through the door, clearly worried she might catch them in a compromising position. Or perhaps hopeful she might. She did seem as if she enjoyed gossip as well as any of the below stairs staff. “Tea and biscuits. I hope this will set you to rights, Miss Alcott. Oh, and I sent for your brother just as soon as I saw you coming up the drive.”
Daphne sat up abruptly at this, alarm in her azure eyes. “My brother? Whatever for?”
“Now, Miss Alcott, you suffered another episode,” she said, her tone patronizing, like a teacher talking to a pupil. “Your brother would have my head if I didn’t alert him to it.”
Daphne closed her eyes and groaned. “Yes, I know,” she said, resigned. Then she lifted her eyes to Alastair. He still kneeled on the floor beside her, somewhat dumbstruck by what was happening.
“Leave us, Mrs. Small,” he ordered. The woman gave a sigh, but didn’t say another word as she left the room. Alastair pushed himself up until he was sitting side-by-side with Daphne on the velvet sofa. “Tell me what this is all about.” His tone was as
gentle as he could manage in his state. If he were being honest, he’d say he was completely out of his mind with fear. What was wrong with her?
Daphne shook her head and gave a little laugh, tucking a lock of her chocolate brown hair behind her ear. “It’s nothing really. Mrs. Small makes too much of it.”
“Will your brother come?” It was a simple question that required a simple answer, but the answer would tell him all he needed to know.
When Daphne nodded, Alastair’s heart twisted painfully in his chest. If it wasn’t terribly serious, her brother wouldn’t bother coming all the way to Marisdùn. “What is it?” he prodded. He had to know.
Daphne shrugged, drawing the fabric of her skirts in and out of her fingers. “No one knows,” she said quietly. “A heart condition, they think, but no one knows the severity of it.” She turned to him, clearly eager to reassure him of her health. “It’s nothing, really. I hardly ever think about it. Everyone makes more out of it than it truly is. Please,” she begged. “I can’t take your pitying looks. I can’t take one more person in my life looking at me as if I’m…dying.”
“Are you?” Alastair blurted out, unable to stop himself.
“No!” She clutched her hand to her heart. “At least, I hope not.”
Silence hung between them for a long moment, during which Alastair struggled to meet her wishes. If she said it was nothing, perhaps it really was nothing. But then…if the doctor rushed to his sister’s side every time she had “an episode,” could he really believe there was nothing to be concerned about?
“Can we please change the subject?” she asked, a hopeful smile on her lips. But Alastair wasn’t sure he would be able to think or talk about anything other than the state of her health just then. “Tell me about your masquerade.”
He laughed. As if he cared two figs about the blasted masquerade. “It’s going to be dreadfully boring if you insist on not coming.” Color rushed to her cheeks, which had been a stark shade of white ever since she’d lost consciousness. “Perhaps you will reconsider?”
