Page 33 of The Captive Duke
“Until tomorrow, then.” Christian turned to leave this maudlin little gathering only to find a pair of small, skinny arms lashed around his waist. The child’s embrace held desperation, and ferocious if silent determination.
“I forgot,” he said, lifting her up to his hip. “You will come down to see us after tea, won’t you?”
Lucy shook her head, pointed at her father, and drew her finger to her own chest.
“I’m to come to you? No, I think not. I came this time. You must come next time, but it will be only two floors down. If you don’t come, I’ll realize you were too fatigued, and content myself with Cousin Gillian’s company.”
He set her down, not too hastily, and turned on his heel to go, then stopped. “Countess, may I offer my escort?”
She looked torn, but made no objection. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
The door was safely closed behind them before he spoke.
“I suppose you think I bungled that, but making a great fuss over what might be nothing more than a child’s stubbornness could be ill-advised. Of course,I’m assuming the childwill nottalk, though it might be more accurate to say shecannot.”
Silence met this observation, unnerving coming from the countess—Cousin Gillian—and how odd that silence—Christian’s last, best, most trustworthy friend—was in some wise no longer welcome in his life.
Over a substantial tray served on the terrace, Gilly admitted that the distinction between unwillingness to speak and inability to speakmattered. His Grace was brusque, troubled, and sometimes difficult, but he was neither stupid nor free of paternal impulses.
And for that reason, Gilly confessed a transgression to him.
“I saw you greet her, Your Grace. I apologize for peeking, but I didn’t want you to start interrogating her when she’s been so anxious about seeing you.”
He sat back, a shaft of sunlight falling across his face. The sunshine was of the benevolent, early summer variety, but it illuminated both his fatigue and the white scar on his earlobe.
“And now you disclose your spying?”
He seemed amused, but Gilly did not trust her ability to read this man. She’d had no warning at all that he was about to kiss her, and she still had no idea why he’d done so or what she felt about his presumption.
“I wanted you to know what I’d done, and toexpress my apologies. I should have allowed you both privacy.”
He’d been exactly right with the child, perfect in fact. So kind and understanding Gilly had wanted to weep with relief—and he’d been affectionate. Little girls needed affection, particularly from their papas.
“My privacy has suffered far worse violations, my lady. You should have given us a moment, true, but you’re protective of the child, and one can’t castigate you for that, under the circumstances. You aren’t eating much. Does the company put your digestion off?”
Was he teasing her? She sat up straighter. “The company is agreeable.”
He held up a section of orange, and rather than take it from his hand, Gilly took it with her teeth, a shockingly informal way to go on. Nonetheless, he’d started it, and something about the daring of such behavior—she might one day abuse his trust and bite him—appealed to her.
“The company,” he mused, “isagreeable. Such profuse emotion, Countess. I assure you the sentiment is mutual.” He took a sprig of lavender from his lemonade glass and pitched the garnish with particular force into a bed of daisies. “I will review the physicians’ correspondence, we will have an outing with Lucy tomorrow, and I will consider where we go from here.”
Mercia twitched his fingers together—the lavender had been wet with lemonade—and Gilly wondered what exactly had been done to his hand.
To the rest of his body, to his mind. His privacy, his heart, his soul.
None of her business, as she was none of his.
“We have other business to conduct, Countess. More orange?”
“No, thank you,” she said, feeling off balance at his word choice—business, as in finances and ledgers. That sort of business. He’d eaten all but two orange sections, and put one on her plate.
“What are your long-term plans, my lady? I ask both as Lucy’s papa and as the husband of your late cousin.”
“My plans?”
Her bread and butter turned to sawdust in her mouth when she saw the considering light in his eyes. He’d ambushed her, the wretch, out here in the sunshine and beauty of a perfect summer’s day. Greendale had been a master at the ambush.
Next Mercia would explain, politely, that he needed privacy with his daughter, and an extraneous cousin-in-law on the premises must needs be a temporary imposition.
