“You did give instructions, sir, to get her upstairs and get her clothes off. I assumed—" Wellington gave a discreet cough.
Zeke stared at him, thunderstruck. His butler had leaped to the same wild conclusions as Mrs. Van H. Anyone would think that he was some kind of a Bluebeard, ravishing every female that crossed his path.
“Sometimes, Wellington,” Zeke said, “you have some very unbutlerlike thoughts.”
“I am sorry, sir. If I made a mistake, I will see that the girl is moved at once.”
“No, go on downstairs before your supper gets cold. I can take care of Miss Kavanaugh.” Zeke sent the butler on his way with a weary wave of one hand.
As Wellington gratefully took his leave, it occurred to Zeke that he hadn’t had his own supper yet. He longed for nothing more than to sit down to a nice thick steak and a nickel beer.
But first he was going to have to go have another look at that moppet of a girl everyone seemed to think he was so hot to seduce.
Four
Zeke gave a brisk knock on his bedchamber door. “Miss Kavanaugh?”
No answer.
He knocked again. Still no response. Maybe Wellington was mistaken. Maybe in all the confusion, the girl had slipped away. She had sure looked alarmed enough to run earlier, when she heard that the police had been summoned.
The thought that Miss Kavanaugh might already have gone filled him with an unexpected sense of disappointment. Turning the knob, he shoved the bedchamber door open.
The room seemed deserted, only the light of the lamp on the bureau breaking the gloom. Then something stirred on the bed.
“Miss Kavanaugh?” Zeke tiptoed forward.
She was curled up on her side, nestled against the pillows, apparently fast asleep. He grinned and moved the lamp closer for a better look at her. The light gleamed upon the silken cascade of her dark brown hair, which tumbled across the covers. Mixed among the strands was a sheen of red he hadn’t noticed before. Thick lashes rested against her cheeks, which were pale with fatigue. For the first time, Zeke took note of the pert tilt of her nose, the almost perfect bow shape of her lips.
She was a dainty-looking little thing to be risking her neck, performing stunts in a balloon or threatening to mill down a man of his weight and size. Her courage roused Zeke’s admiration even if he did think she must be a little insane.
His gaze traveled lower, over the silken robe, which had become disarranged in her sleep. The blue folds parted in a deep vee, affording him a glimpse of her small, firm breasts, the dark crests of her nipples. She had cast out one leg, baring the smooth contours up to a shapely thigh, the rest tantalizingly concealed beneath the drapings of the robe. How warm and soft her skin would be to caress, more soft than the silk she wore. She was indeed a little temptress, albeit a most innocent-looking one.
Zeke experienced a familiar tightening of his loins. Damn! It appeared both Wellington and Mrs. Van H. were far more perceptive than he regarding the charms of Miss Kavanaugh, It was time to see about being fitted with spectacles.
He shifted the lamp back to the bureau, half-ashamed of ogling her while she slept on, peacefully unaware. Returning to her side, he reached down and tugged the robe into a more decorous position, covering as best he could that alluring expanse of limb.
Even at that slight touch, Miss Kavanaugh stirred, but she did not awaken. From the tension that knotted her brow, Zeke thought that she was not enjoying the most restful sleep. Perhaps she sensed him hovering and it frightened her. He ought to retreat, just let her sleep. But when she muttered something, then moaned, it occurred to Zeke she was caught in the throes of a bad dream, a dream that was getting worse, judging from the way she squirmed and thrashed about.
When a whimper escaped her, he perched on the edge of the bed and gently shook her arm. “Miss Kavanaugh, wake up.”
“No. Please!” She mumbled and resisted, flinging out her hand to ward something away, whether it was himself or some monster from her dreams, Zeke couldn’t tell.
He shook her more firmly. “Aurora. Wake up! You’re having a nightmare.”
She sat bolt upright all at once, gasping for breath, her eyes wide open, confusion and terror in their depths. Her gaze roved fearfully around the chamber, then locked upon him. She shrank back.
“What—where?”
“It’s all right,” Zeke said. “It’s only me. Remember? The idiot whose lawn wrecked your balloon.”
Recognition slowly returned to her eyes, but she continued to tremble.
“There’s nothing to be scared of. You were only having a bad dream.”
He couldn’t resist pulling her into his arms. She stiffened at first, then clung to him in a way that roused a rare sense of protectiveness in him, a protectiveness he would never have felt toward any of those society misses who shrieked at the sight of a butterfly. But a girl like this one, brave enough to dare the skies beneath a scrap of silk and a puff of hot air—nothing should be allowed to frighten her. Ever.
Zeke cradled her against him. “No one’s going to hurt you. It was just a nightmare. There are no bogeymen here.”
