Page 32 of Her Sort of Scoundrel
The moment Dash descended from the carriage, his nephew, Henry, rushed up to assist his cousin down.
At only twelve, he could offer but one small hand, but Aurelia smiled and took it gladly. Then she embraced the boy and Caroline and his niece, Hetty, when they approached.
A collection of servants followed in their wake to collect Dash and Aurelia’s bags.
“You look terrible,” Caro said softly after Dash had embraced her.
He chuckled. “Thank you for that, dear sister,” he added dryly.
“I think I know what ails you, and even better, I think I know the cure.”
“Do you indeed?” Dash wished that it was all as simple as she made it sound.
Caro stepped back from him and clapped her hands. “Come, children, let’s take cousin Aurelia inside and show her around.”
“May I show her my piano, Mama?” Hetty asked plaintively. She’d apparently taken to playing the instrument with an unusual devotion for a nine-year-old.
“Yes, of course.” Caro opened her arms and guided the children and Aurelia inside the house.
When Dash made to follow, she reached out and planted a hand on his shoulder.
“Not you,” she said. “There’s someone you must see first.”
“Gregory?” Dash looked off toward the pond at the far side of their property. “If he’s fishing, you know I’m dreadful at it.”
“Not my husband.” She made a shooing motion with her hands. “Now go. Toward the pond, take a left and you’ll find a Diana statue and then a stone folly. She’ll be there.”
“She?” Dash eyed his sister skeptically. “I didn’t know you’d invited anyone else. Caro, I’m not in the mood for matchmaking.”
“Oh, will you just go? You’ll thank me later.”
“Mm-hmm.” Dash obeyed and told himself the walk would do him good after hours of travel.
And then, as soon as he spotted the Diana statue, a jolt of awareness ignited his senses. A scent tickled his nose. Not field grass and spring flowers. Something headier. Jasmine. Fiona’s favorite perfume.
His heart raced when he spotted the folly and a golden-haired beauty sitting on a stone bench. She had her back to him.
His strides lengthened until he was all but running.
As he approached, he slowed, his heart in his throat, his whole body rushing with a riot of emotions—relief, happiness, fear, and so much bloody hope.
“Should I give fair warning?” he managed to rasp. “So that you don’t disarm me with your walking stick?”
Her back lengthened but she didn’t turn, just reached for the pale wooden pole at her side and gripped it firmly. He could see then that it wasn’t a walking stick at all.
“A croquet mallet,” she said as she rose and swept around to face him. “If you want to be accurate.”
He did. With all his heart he wanted to be completely and utterly accurate. Not about the bloody mallet but about his feelings. In the past two days, he’d played and replayed everything he wished to say. In his mind, he’d already overcome every obstacle.
Now he only had to convince her—the stubbornest woman he’d ever known.
“Fiona,” he breathed, loving the feel of her name on his tongue, and fit to bursting with how much he wanted to pull every luscious inch of her into his arms.
“Wait,” she said, lifting a hand, palm up. “I know there are things you wish to say. And I do want to hear every word. But may I go first?”
Dash knew he was smiling like a fool, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.
He’d been terrified that she was cross with him or that, upon further consideration, shehadcome to regret their encounter at the Helix Club. But though he wasn’t sure he could predict what she was about to say, he could read her.
