by Erica Ridley
Theo narrowed his eyes. “That’s where it belongs.”
Swinton affected a placid smile. “I am certain a grateful guest would never imply that his wishes outranked those of my master, the duke.”
At once, Virginia’s cat streaked into the room, hissed at them all, paused for effect, and ran off.
“Never say ‘duke,’” Theo said wearily.
Swinton tucked the letter safely inside his jacket and quit the room.
“Can you send someone to fetch the bird?” Theo called after him. “He belongs in an outbuilding.”
“Partridge,” Virginia corrected. “His name is Dancer.”
Dancer perched atop one of Azureford’s decorative folding screens. Theo hoped the delicate design wasn’t about to get even more decorative.
Virginia rose from her chair, stepping forward until the soft folds of her gown rustled between Theo’s legs.
“I told you,” she said softly. “No more hiding your wounds. They need to breathe.”
Theo wasn’t hiding his wounds. He was hiding himself. Protecting others from being frightened by a beast.
She unwrapped the thin strips of cloth from his face. “Don’t do it again. Have you more bandages somewhere?”
He would not lie to her, so he said nothing.
Virginia strode from the drawing room and returned bearing the spare rolls of cloth strips that had been on the dressing table in Theo’s guest chamber.
He wondered if she’d sent a footman or if she walked in herself. Perhaps when he entered, the room would now smell like Virginia.
She tossed the bandages into her basket and closed the lid.
He sighed. “Are you ever going to bring ice cream again?”
“When you earn it,” she replied. “Does your face feel better without all that cloth covering it?”
His face did not feel better. His misshapen countenance felt naked. Exposed. Ghastly.
If Virginia found him as such, she made no sign. She neither recoiled from his wounds nor twisted her face in disgust. Instead, she cupped her hand to his good cheek.
“Scars aren’t evidence of failure,” she said softly. “They are proof of survival.”
Any brusque response he might have given tangled in his chest at her gentleness. He lifted his hand to cover hers. She had not just seen through the bandages, but understood his fears, his doubts, his guilt. And washed them all away with a touch and an insightful word.
How did she know so much? His blood pulsed faster. Had someone hurt her?
“Do you have a scar?” He meant the question to be as warm and protective as her hand on his face, but the words clawed from his throat in a growl.
Without answering the question, she slipped her fingers from beneath his and sank to her knees. “I am pleased you are no longer wearing those useless Hessians.”
“Yes, well.” He gestured at their replacement. “Dancing slippers are just as unnecessary.”
She slipped them off and began to massage his muscles. “You feel even better this time.”
Theo tightened his jaw. She felt better every time she touched him. It was as if his flesh not only remembered her hands but yearned for them. He melted into each stroke. He would do anything she asked as long as she kept touching him.
“Tell me about the castle,” he said gruffly. “Do you like living here?”
“I love it,” she answered.
At first, he thought that was all Virginia would say on the matter. But then she took a deep breath and continued.
“It has everything I love in one place. My friends, my animals, my quiet chambers. There are seventy-two steps to my floor, with a sconce every twelve-step. The candles are lit, but subdued. Bright enough to light the way yet not garish enough to dazzle the eyes. The landing at the south tower has the best view of the stars. In the kitchen at sunrise, the day’s bread is just leaving the oven. It smells divine.”
He considered her words. “You dislike bright light?”
“Don’t you?” she asked. “Your rooms are kept at the perfect ambience. The fire in this parlor is cozy, not roaring. Instead of lighting the chandelier overhead, there are a few candelabra throughout the parlor. I can gaze at you without being distracted by flames.”
Theo swallowed. From the moment she entered the room, he had stopped being conscious of any other sources of beauty. He could only gaze at her.
“You notice details other people might not,” he said in admiration. “Seventy-two steps. Sconces every twelve. The right moment to catch fresh bread exiting the oven.”
She kept massaging his leg. “Doesn’t everyone pay attention to the things they like?”
“Maybe you like more things than everyone else.” He could not tear his eyes from her. “Maybe you appreciate life more.”
“I like liking things,” she said with a shrug. “I like the tiny pink pads of my cat’s paws. I like wind in my face on my afternoon constitutionals. I like the squeak of your front door when Swinton lets me in.”
“The squeaking of Azureford’s front door,” Theo said firmly. “Don’t fill my head with notions that I am master of anything.”
“You are master of yourself. I’ll prove it.” She leapt to her feet.
His body immediately mourned the loss of her hands.
She dragged the folding screen without a partridge and placed it halfway between the parlor door and Theo’s wheeled chair.
“Roll forward until you can touch the screen with your toes.”
He gave up on stoicism and rolled himself to the center of the folding screen until his toes bumped into the panel.
“Good,” she said. “Back up an inch.”
He did so.
“Now touch it with your toes.”
Easy enough.
“Good,” she said again. “Back up another inch.”
Theo began to suspect this game was not going to end well for him. He did as requested inch by inch until the pain of stretching higher won out over the rush of victory from pushing through.
“Stop,” she scolded him. “I told you. Do as much as you can, and not the slightest bit more. We’re stretching your muscles, not reinjuring them. Now don’t move.”
She pulled a measuring rule from her wicker basket.
He raised his brows. “You carry a measuring device everywhere you go?”
Ignoring him, she knelt between his chair and the screen. “Remember this number. Today you achieved—”
A knock sounded on the front door on the other side of the corridor.
Seconds later, the cottage filled with the merry sound of a dozen or more carolers singing Here We Come a-Wassailing in harmony.
The measuring rule fell from Virginia’s hand. She shrank back, her derrière landing on the carpet in surprise.
No. Not surprise. Something closer to panic. Theo frowned. Her face had blanched, her muscles trembled, her eyes were shut tight.
“Send them away!” he roared.
For once, Swinton did not argue.
The caroling stopped.
Virginia did not move.
Theo wished he could pull her into his lap. He cupped her pale face in his hands instead.
“They’re gone,” he said softly.
She remained impossibly still for another long moment. At last, she let out a long breath and rested her cheek against the palm of his hand. “I’m sorry.”
Her voice was hesitant and shaky. As if his potential reaction terrified her more than the carolers.
“Do not apologize.” He stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “They startled you. It’s April, not December.”
She shook her head. “It’s Christmas. Year-round.”
He frowned. “I thought you loved it here.”
“I do. There are fewer loud noises here than anywhere else I’ve ever been.” She opened her eyes, but her gaze did not meet his. “Loud noises are hard. Sudden changes are hard. Crowds are very hard. It’s easier if I know it’s coming. And if I have a f
riend with me.” Her shoulders slumped. “They have been busy lately, so I’ve been trying to make do on my own. Some days are easier than others.”
“I’m your friend,” he said gruffly. “I am never too busy for you.”
She shook her head. “You said you weren’t my friend. You wanted me to go away.”
“I’m an imbecile,” he said. “I regretted it the moment I said it.”
“You can’t be with me always,” she said after a moment. “No one will. I have to learn not to startle on my own.”
She was right. He wished she wasn’t.
He wished he could promise to be the person she could count on when life startled or scared her.
As friends, of course.
He lowered his hand from her face.
She lifted her gaze. “Are you disappointed in me?”
“Do I look disappointed to you?” he asked in surprise. She was one of the most compassionate, resilient, resourceful women he had ever met. The sort who would bring a man his own aviary, so he could have a small piece of the joy it brought her.
“I don’t know.” Her voice was small. “It’s hard to know what others are thinking. That’s why I asked. I don’t want to disappoint you.”
“You have never disappointed me,” he said, his voice firm. “When I told you to go away that first day, it was because I wanted to protect you from me.”
She bit her lip as if considering that possibility.
Theo tried to imagine how difficult it would be to interact with the world if he were never certain what would happen next or whether he was making someone sad or angry or disappointed.
It would be exhausting, to say the least. Possibly even terrifying at times.
He did not want to be one of the things that scared her.
“Listen to me.” He touched her hand. “I take honor very seriously. I give you my word never to become upset with you over any perceived awkwardness or miscommunication.”
Her gaze flicked up to his too quickly for him to determine what she was thinking.
“You explained your position beautifully,” he continued. “From this moment on, I take full responsibility for my part of communicating effectively. If you need something, just tell me.” He touched his knuckle beneath her chin. “You’re safe.”
She lifted her face up toward his, her green eyes luminous and irresistible. She licked her lips.
He was not strong enough to haul her up from her knees and into his lap—admittedly, a terrible idea—but if they both leaned forward a few inches, their mouths would be close enough to touch.
An equally terrible idea, he reminded himself firmly.
And yet he was locked in place by the war raging inside him. The desire to embrace her, to comfort her, to forget everything else with a kiss. He had never wanted anything so badly.
He had to force himself not to reach for her. The sensation was both intoxicating and alarming. Theo had never experienced desire toward Lady Beatrice. He had always intended to beget the requisite heir and spare and then leave her alone. Passion was not why they would wed. He had convinced himself it was not something he would notice lacking from his marriage.
But with Virginia… Good God. He was drawn to everything. Wanted more. He could barely look at her without his heart racing at the temptation to cover her mouth with his.
Friends, he reminded himself. He could not allow an infatuation. Or anything more.
He could not let Virginia sense his attraction. Future marquesses did what they must, not what they wished.
She sprang to her feet. “I’m all right. I’ll return tomorrow. Don’t worry, we’ll have you back to your betrothed in no time.”
“She is not my betrothed,” his traitorous mouth blurted. “I’ve made no such promise.”
Virginia scooped up her basket. “You will as soon as you’re on your feet.”
She had him there.
“Yes,” he admitted. “She will be, once I’m on my feet. What about you? Have you an intended?”
Her eyes rounded as though he had asked whether she fancied a nice dive into a pool filled with spiders. “I’ll never marry.”
He couldn’t imagine that. “You haven’t found someone who interests you? Or—”
“I don’t want to,” she said quickly. “And don’t worry. I’ve no interest in marrying you.”
She disappeared around the folding screen. Moments later, the sound of the front door indicated her departure.
I’ve no interest in marrying you.
He glanced down at his useless leg, touched his hand to the uneven contours of his face. Of course she wouldn’t be interested.
A warm homecoming might not await him in London, either.
Chapter 6
In the week since the carolers had forced Virginia to bare a few of her secrets, she had taken great care to treat Theodore with utmost professionalism and not expose any more of her flaws.
A difficult task, at times.
She ran her fingers along the mahogany shelves of the castle library. This was where she always came when she didn’t know where else to go. Quiet, cozy, and out of the way, the library was filled with an abundance of books and no other distractions.
Shelves like these had taught her almost everything she knew. Her favorites were the tomes on nature. If a book pertained to flora or fauna, Virginia had read it countless times. Should the situation come up, she would know exactly what to do if she came across a wild hog, or wished to start an orchid garden, or wondered if a mushroom would be delicious or deadly.
Unfortunately, no such instructional manuals existed on the subject of pleasing one’s family. Not making a fool of oneself in public situations. Attracting suitors or rebuffing rakes. How to be the only unmarried woman in one’s circle of friends. What to do when one found oneself left behind. How to comport oneself with one’s patient, when all one secretly wished to do was press her lips to his in a decidedly unprofessional kiss.
She would not, of course. Not unless she was certain that he wanted to kiss her, too.
She slumped her shoulders against the closest shelf. That was the problem, was it not? All she ever had were doubts. What did he think? What did he feel? What did he want? She clenched her fingers. How was anybody supposed to tell?
Her eyes focused on a row of nature journals before her. Theodore had asked her about birds. Was he interested in ornithology? She slid the small volume from its spot on the shelf and slipped it into her reticule. Enough dillydallying. It was time to visit her patient.
But as she navigated the stands of books, another spine caught her attention. Debrett’s Peerage & Baronetage. A compendium containing the names of the nobility and everyone who mattered. She ignored it, as she did every other time its spine screamed at her from the shelves. She did not need to know anything it contained. She would not be returning to London or hobnobbing with titled folk. When she bid adieu to Theodore, her life would return to normal.
As normal as it ever was.
She stopped by her private chamber for her pelisse and basket before heading down the spiral staircase toward the castle exit.
Before she reached the door, the castle solicitor stepped into her path.
“Miss Underwood,” he said. “You more than anyone will be delighted to hear my news.”
Last time he had news, Virginia had been anything but delighted. The solicitor seemed as bad as she was at guessing others’ thoughts.
“What is it?” she forced herself to ask.
He beamed at her. “I am in possession of Mr. Marlowe’s complete plans for the aviary. All the moving pieces are finally underway. Not only will all that wasted space be fully stocked within a month, we are hiring an expert.”
“An expert?”
“A veterinarian,” he explained. “A man with years of experience, specializing in the care of birds. I shan’t be surprised if the aviary becomes the most popular attraction for miles.”
Virginia’s flesh turned cold. It wasn�
��t just that the castle was replacing her with someone better. They planned to turn her beloved sanctuary into a tourist spot filled with noise and people.
And it would happen within the month.
“Thank you for warning me,” she managed.
The solicitor frowned. “There will be hundreds of new birds. Aren’t you—”
But Virginia was already pushing away from him, away from the suddenly oppressive confines of the expansive receiving room with its high arched walls.
The castle was changing. Soon there would be no room for her.
As she stepped out into the wintry afternoon, she sucked in a breath of cold, bracing air. The bright sun overhead was blanketed by soft clouds, diffusing the light. It was not warm enough for snow to melt nor cold enough for new flakes to fall. No breeze rustled through the white-dusted trees. The day was perfectly still and quiet, as if nothing was happening at all.
She recognized a calm before a storm. If she was no longer needed in the aviary, if the castle was about to be overrun with even bigger crowds, what did she intend to do?
With her heavy basket in her arms, she set a brisk pace down the lane and tried to devise a viable plan.
At least she wasn’t indigent. When Mr. Marlowe had taken her in as his ward, he had provided her with monthly pin money. When he died, his will and testament had set aside a dowry in her name.
Which meant, quite possibly, Virginia was one of the few young ladies in all of England to possess not one, but two dowries.
She was not certain if the original dowry her parents had provided still existed, but it did not matter. She had no intention to marry. Doing so would give her husband the same power her parents had wielded—the ability to commit her to an asylum against her will for the rest of her life. Spinsterhood was by far the better path.
In the six years that she’d been receiving her monthly allowance, Virginia had made very few purchases. It wasn’t necessary. Lodgings were provided. Meals were provided. The castle library held a plethora of books and more arrived every year.
Her unused pin money had snowballed into a significant sum.
Now could be the time to spend it. She strode faster. This was the push she needed. Her chance to open the animal sanatorium she’d dreamed of owning.
