Dahlia walked into her room, shaking her head. If something happened to Sam, how would she live? She’d tied her fate to her brother’s.
“Miss Dahlia,” Lord de Wolfe called out from the door. Her pulse jumped as she spun about.
“Yes?” She wrapped her hands about her middle. Something about this man made her feel incredibly vulnerable. From his large wolf statues to his own hulking figure, she felt small and raw while around him.
He stopped in the doorway, not entering the room. “I’ll fetch your trunk as soon as I can and I’ll send dinner to your room. There is a connecting door to your brother’s room. You may visit him once I’ve cleared the room of the other men.” He gave her a pointed stare, his eyebrows rising. “Until the room is cleared, I’ll ask you to stay here.”
She understood what he hadn’t said. She was to stay here until she was properly attired. “Of course. Thank you, my lord.” She dipped into a quick courtesy, something that felt quite odd in pants.
He made a low rumbling sound deep in his throat. “You’re welcome,” he answered, then grabbed the door knob, closing it tight behind him.
Dahlia let out a long breath. The man was most disconcerting. Not sure what else to do, she crossed the room and sat on the bed. She had no brush, no stockings or shoes, no hair tie. She’d left her pins on the mantle.
Another knock sounded at the door and a woman came in wearing a smartly pressed uniform, carrying a tray with what looked to be a dress draped over one arm. “Hello, miss.” She bobbed a courtesy. “I’ve come to help you.”
“Wonderful.” Dahlia stood. “Are those my hair pins?” She pointed at the tray.
“Yes,” the other woman smiled. “If I may ask, why are you wearing pants, miss?”
Dahlia blushed, looking down at her ridiculous outfit. “The butler gave them—”
The other woman tsked. “Today was the groom’s laundry day. They were likely drying in the kitchen. I wonder why he didn’t he just ask me?” She crossed the room, giving Dahlia a wide smile. “I’m Agnes.”
“Dahlia.” She smiled back. “I’m sure he was just trying to give me the first dry clothing he could find.”
Agnes shrugged. “Men, always so practical, in their own heads at any rate.” Then she laid the dress on the bed and crossed to set the tray on the vanity. “Now, let’s get you put back together, shall we? The doctor will be here any minute and I’m sure you’ll want to speak with him.”
Dahlia nodded with appreciation. “That would be lovely.”
She very much wanted to speak with the doctor. Her brother’s future, and her own, might very well depend on his words.
Gavin sat in a chair in his study, rubbing his eyes with one hand. The doctor had confirmed that Sam had likely chipped a bone or two. The cut wasn’t too deep, but infection was always a risk. Dr. Grayson had given Dahlia plenty of assurances, but the truth had been in the worried set of his mouth. There were no guarantees with injuries like these. Of course, Dr. Grayson had also acknowledged that Gavin’s quick action increased his chance of survival. Gavin was grateful for the compliment. Losing his wife might have some measure of comfort if he knew who was helping other people.
Which led him to the next person who might need aid. Gavin had to decide what he might do with Dahlia should her brother perish. The truth of the matter was that she could not stay here. Not only was he an inappropriate chaperone for such an innocent woman, she was far too tempting and he was much too desperate.
Honestly, he should likely take himself to the nearest house of ill repute just to set his mind right again. His stomach pitched at the idea.
He’d spent half the night worried sick and the other trying to push away inappropriate thoughts of dark hair spilling across his pillows.
He let out another low groan and pushed himself out of his chair. He should just go to bed. At the very least, he could take matters into his own hand, as it were. His mouth twisted down. No, that was not the answer. He wanted, yearned for, heat and softness. He craved the sweet breath of a woman in his ear, her arms wrapped about his neck. Everything in him clenched. It was a familiar fantasy he’d been having more and more often. He was lonely. He knew that.
But he also knew he wanted an interaction deeper than a single night, though he hated the idea as well. Somehow, touching any woman seemed like a betrayal, but to really connect with another female…that felt just wrong.
He knew one thing for certain. With Dahlia here and her brother ill, he couldn’t host the party he’d intended. He’d have to cancel.
But tonight, form and substance had changed the shape of his fantasy. It wasn’t a faceless woman now but a very specific one. Dahlia. Her plump lips pressed to his lobe, murmuring his name with a groan of pleasure.
He slid his hand down and palmed her full breast, her nipple cresting against his rough skin. His shaft stiffened, pulling against his pants. He wanted her.
Wrenching open the door, he headed down the hall and up the stairs. He needed sleep. Tomorrow, he’d decide how best to handle his tempting house guest.
Perhaps he could send her to live with his married cousin, Lord Wesley Preston and his new wife. Gavin had managed Wes’s lands while Wes had pulled himself back together. Wes had suffered from a drinking problem that had developed as his financial situation grew worse and worse. Gavin had been happy to help his family and the challenge had been a welcome distraction as he’d mourned the loss of his wife.
Making his way up the stairs, he heard a soft noise come from Sam’s room. Drawing closer, the door was opened a crack. He peaked inside. Dahlia sat next to her sleeping brother, gently brushing back his hair as she sang a lullaby.
Sam had been given laudanum by the doctor and wasn’t likely to wake, but still she sang softly, sweetly, her fingers tracing his hairline.
Gavin wanted someone to touch him that way. He’d sworn he wouldn’t open himself up to others again, but holed in this house, he’d forgotten what a woman’s touch could do for a man’s soul. He gripped the doorknob. He couldn’t allow this sweet picture to make him forget how painful the loss of that touch could be.
He’d decided after Amelia’s death that he’d never marry again. He didn’t need the heartache. But he hadn’t factored in the loneliness that accompanied this choice. Still, he wasn’t sure love was worth the risk. Amelia’s death had nearly broken him with guilt and remorse.
He winced. Dahlia had said she’d lost her parents and now she was facing the death of her brother. Whatever he did with her, he had to make sure he did so with kindness. His lust would have to be kept under control.
As if she heard his thoughts, she turned to the door, starting when she saw him behind the partially open door.
“Apologies,” he said, opening the door a touch wider. “I heard something and was just checking to see if all was well.”
She gave a quick nod. “Of course.” She stood and he noted her hair was carefully pinned now, arranged in a simple coif that hid just how unruly and stunning it was. “Thank you for all your help this evening, my lord. I don’t know what we might have done if you hadn’t given us aid.” She dipped into another courtesy. “We are in your debt.”
His fingers tightened on the knob until he thought he might very well break it off. “You’re welcome,” he answered, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her. “I see my staff found more appropriate attire for you.”
She cast her gaze down at the dress. “Agnes was most helpful.”
“I’ll fetch your trunk tomorrow.” He’d already told her that. Why was he repeating himself? When had he become a bumbling idiot?
But she gave a nod. “The doctor said he’ll return as well.” She nibbled at her lip. “If Sam makes it the week without infection, he thinks we’ll be in the clear.”
Gavin gave a tight nod. “Dr. Grayson is excellent. I recruited him from London two years ago.” This was after he’d dismissed the backwater doctor who’d allowed his wife to die, treating her with leach
es instead of actual medicine.
Dahlia stepped forward then, her light blue eyes staring into his. “Then we are truly fortunate to have happened upon you.”
He wasn’t so certain. Even now, he had the urge to pull her against him. Ravage those sweet lips. “Anyone else would have done the same.” He gave a stiff bow. “I’ll let you tend to your brother.” He strode from the room without another word, attempting to put some distance between himself and Dahlia.
Chapter Four
Dahlia woke late the next morning, sun streaming in through her window. Where was she?
A rush of memories made her sit straight up in bed. Tossing a dressing gown over her borrowed night shift, she made her way to the connecting door and opened it a crack to see who was on the other side. Was her brother alone? Could she visit him?
Sam sat up in bed, drinking a cup of steaming tea. Relief caused her to throw open the door.
“Sam,” she exclaimed. “You’re up.”
He gave her a small smile. “I feel like I was crushed by a carriage, but I’m up.”
She came to sit next to him on the bed. “The doctor will return today.”
He took another sip of his tea. “That’s good. He can tell me how long I’ll need to recover. I was supposed to begin my new post in a fortnight.”
Dahlia shook her head. “Don’t worry about that now. We’ll work out those details later. For now, you are just to get better.” She reached for her brother’s hand, giving it a squeeze. She had to take on these responsibilities for him. “Do you think you can eat a bit before we give you another dose of laudanum?” The sleep it induced would help his body heal.
He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t want to take it. I need to watch out for you.”
She held his hand in both of hers. “Stop worrying about me. Right now, it’s your care that is important.” But her insides twisted with worry. By all accounts, she shouldn’t be here. With her brother being regularly dosed with laudanum, she needed a proper chaperone, something this house lacked. Not that she cared about her reputation now. Sam’s life was far more important.
She stood and rang for a servant. First, she’d feed her brother some broth and then give him the next dose of medicine. There was no use in worrying about what she couldn’t control. The answers would present themselves in time.
But as she slipped out of her brother’s room an hour later, their host was waiting for her in the hall. He stood just a foot from her, and she found herself having to tilt up her chin to look at him. Her insides tightened at his large and imposing frame. He made her feel strange inside. Not frightened, necessarily, but on edge.
“I’d like to speak with you,” he said. She could practically feel the vibration of his voice and she had the distinct urge to lay her hand on his chest to do exactly that.
Instead, Dahlia clasped her hands in front of her stomach. “Of course.” He turned on his heel and began to walk down the hall, his long strides making it difficult for her to keep up. Lifting the front of her skirt, she scrambled behind him, trying not to lose him.
“My lord,” she called and he stopped, looking back at her. She closed the distance between them. “Where are we going in such a hurry?”
He frowned at her. “My study. And we are not hurrying. This is the pace I always walk.”
One of her eyebrows rose. “Clearly, you do not wear a corset. I cannot keep up.”
At the mention of her undergarment, his furrow deepened, and he glared at her with an expression that caused her to step back. She’d thought him kind last night, but perhaps she’d been mistaken. She was reminded of her initial fear when she’d seen the wolf statues outside his gate. He said nothing, his face still a severe mask, but he put out his elbow for her and she tentatively placed her hand into the crook. Something hectic zinged through her at the light touch.
“Perhaps you could leave the particulars of your wardrobe out of the conversation,” he muttered through barely open lips.
Granted, strictly speaking, mentioning her corset had not been the most ladylike conversation, but they were in the privacy of his home. And it was common knowledge that the garment restricted a woman’s movements. “Of course.”
He opened a door to a richly paneled room, with polished mahogany and deep red accents. A large desk sat in the middle. “That, I am afraid, is precisely the problem.”
“My corset is the problem?” she asked, tipping her head to one side. “I don’t think I follow.”
He let out a low rumble, the force of which reverberated through his chest, down his arm and into her hand. Her body hummed in response to the low note. Her breath sucked in as she pulled her hand away from him.
He leaned down, his face close to hers which only made it harder for her to breathe. “You understand. That’s why you pulled your hand away just now, because you know.”
She gave her head a small shake, trying to piece together what he was trying to say. There was an energy between them, he got upset when she mentioned her corset. He as a man without a wife and…she stared up at him, her own brow knitting. “Enlighten me.”
He let out a long breath, taking a step back even as his fists clenched. “I consider myself an honorable man. Three years ago when my cousin could no longer manage his property, I took it over for him and then gave it back when he was ready. Hell, I welcomed the distraction after my wife’s death. But I cannot have an innocent unmarried woman in my house. It’s been too long and—”
He stopped, turning toward the window and gazing out. Dahlia could see the stone wolf statues from her position on the other side of the desk. She swallowed, her hand pressing into her stomach. “Can’t have me here? But my brother…he isn’t well enough to travel.”
“Your brother is not an innocent woman without a chaperone,” he answered without turning. “He can stay until he recovers. You, however, may not.”
Her insides sloshed about, her breakfast threatening to land on the rich carpet of his study. Which couldn’t happen. She’d ruined enough of his rugs already. “You can’t just send me away. He needs me.”
“My cousin is now married. He lives in the next county, not far. He could—”
She barely heard his words. Sam needed her to tend him so she must stay close by. He was her friend, her brother, the person who kept her safe in a world that was sometimes mad. The person she loved more than any other. And above all, their fates were tied together. She needed to be here for him and for herself. “I don’t need to go to your cousin’s. It’s perfectly appropriate for me to stay here.” She took a deep breath, forcing herself to be calm through the lie she was about to tell. “I am a widow. As such, I don’t need a chaperone.”
He turned abruptly and Dahlia took a half step back. His eyes were like dark embers of a fire still hot with flame. “A widow?”
Dahlia swallowed the lump of fear that had risen in her throat. She was making a mistake. His gaze was so intense it was almost…predatory. She should run, she should agree to go to his cousin’s home. She should…her hand fluttered to her throat. Something about the way he looked at her made her long to touch his arm again and feel his rumbling growl vibrate through her.”
“Yes. That’s correct. Mrs. Greenwich.” Her tutor’s name. She was going to hell for such a lie. The heat from his gaze assured her she was halfway there already.
“Well, Mrs. Greenwich. That certainly does change things.”
Gavin’s body was so tight, he felt like the string of a bow. The slightest tweak would send arrows flying about the room.
A widow? He closed his eyes for a moment. An affair with a widow was perfectly acceptable. Completely overlooked by society. No commitment required.
Hell and damnation, he wanted to toss her on the desk, lift her skirts, and plow into her this very second. From the moment he’d become aware that she was in fact a woman, his reaction had been instantaneous and overwhelming. He tried to remember when he’d ever been so completely, animally attracted to a woman. It must
certainly be his isolation, and that he’d been celibate for so long, years now, that explained his reaction. Didn’t it?
Lord Nearbottom, the friend who had suggested his upcoming party, had been correct. Gavin had gone too long without a good tup.
Nearbottom’s solution had been to bring several professional women to a weekend of debauchery, but Gavin was fairly certain those ladies weren’t the answer. He’d never thought it a good idea and now a much better solution stood in front of him. He’d much rather have Mrs. Greenwich in his bed. In fact, he should likely send a missive to Nearbottom to cancel the party altogether.
Not that Dahlia, as her brother called her, would be in his bed anytime soon. She had a sick brother to tend and, besides, who knew if she’d even be amenable? But he was damn well going to try. Why hadn’t it occurred to him to seek out the company of a widow sooner? She’d understand him and the loss he’d faced.
He had no intention of marrying, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy a respectable woman’s company. Satiate his body and hers, and stave off his loneliness for a time without the risk of a commitment. His guilt churned in his stomach. Even thinking about an affair with Dahlia made his feel as though he were betraying Amelia. “How does your brother fair this morning?”
She blinked, cocking her head again. Her hair was neatly arranged in a mass at the nape of her neck, a few tendrils floating down the side of her face and curling around her perfect breast. Jesus. His cocked swelled and he stepped closer to the desk to hide the fact. Damn insensitive, his manhood. She licked her lips and he nearly groaned aloud.
“He seemed to fair reasonably well. It’s infection I’m concerned about.”
Gavin gave a stiff nod. “As am I. While he’s sleeping, we can clean the wound again and dress it with fresh cloth. It will help reduce the risk.”
To Want a Rogue: De Wolfe Pack Connected World Page 3
