Page 25 of The Rogue's Last Scandal
“Carvelle has visited my bedchamber, and I am sitting in a house with a notorious rogue with only the servants as chaperones. I am ruined, most thoroughly, according to your stupid English standards. No respectable man will marry me, not even for my money, if Lord Kingsley has not spent it all. I will take what is left and go home, and buy some land and perhaps, someday, find a strong man who I can respect.”
“Miss Kingsley—”
“In my country, a woman does not lose all her property to a husband.” She flung out a hand. “Girls are sold into marriage, of course, by uncaring fathers to rich old men. It is the way of things. But a woman alone with some wealth may choose.” She jumped to her feet and began to pace.
He gave up and lolled back to watch her.
“I will say I am a widow.” She paused and braced her hands on the mantel, staring into the hearth. “I shall say Reina is mine. It is what everyone believes anyway.”
Guilt niggled him. He had wondered it himself.
She turned, reading his thoughts.
He groped for the right words. “She is the child of your heart.”
“Yes.” That had pleased her, and tears sprang to her eyes. Her hands twisted at her waist. “Her mother was our dearest friend, recently widowed, who almost died giving birth on our way overland to Veracruz. We fed Reina with the milk of a nanny goat we tethered behind our cart.” The hands came apart and formed into white-knuckled fists. “The Kingsleys had naught but contempt for the child. Francisca and Juan did their best to keep her quiet and keep her safe, but her presence was a constant taunt to the Kingsleys’ vile tempers. I knew their servants would not stop mine from sneaking away with her. And I knew I could not—could never—marry that odious man who smells like death. I made a sacred promise to protect her.”
“Carvelle would not have let you keep her.”But I would.And where had that thought come from?
She pounded the mantel. “I should have killed him.”
“You are sure you did not?” He had debated sending an anonymous message to Kingsley at the rout to return home immediately.
“He...he ran into my dagger. Here.” She pointed to a spot at her waist. “He did bleed much. He had removed his coats before coming to...to attack me. If they clean the wound well, he should survive.” She bit her lip. “I do not think the vase did more than knock him out.”
Charley shot from his chair and took her hands. They were cold again, and in the candlelight, her wide eyes gleamed with unshed tears. Her beauty almost undid him.
Almost. He’d had many dealings with this sort of beguilement, enough to know to be wary.
Tears streaked her cheeks, and he pulled her to him. He reached for her back, remembered her injuries, and rested his hands on her shoulders, his fingers tangling in thick locks of hair there, his chin resting on the top of her head. She trembled under his touch, but there was no wailing. Perhaps a girl who’d spent as much time as she had on a ship full of men had learned to throw tantrums quietly. A rush of desire swept through him.
Mrs. Windle cleared her throat loudly.
The reminder helped him recover his breath. “You’re very brave, Miss Kingsley. We’ll not pretend we don’t have obstacles ahead, but you mustn’t worry. We’ll deal with them and keep Reina safe. If Carvelle comes after you again, I shall kill him myself.”
It would, in fact, be his pleasure. He suspected his father would have scores to settle there anyway.
Graciela could not pryher head from the broad chest where it rested, reminded of the solace she’d found there during the journey in the coach. It was as warm and comforting as Papa’s embrace, except that the stroking of Mr. Everly’s ungloved palms upon her shoulders made her skin ripple.
And didn’t frighten her.
Hope bloomed in her. Years ago, when she was no more than a child just starting her courses, a boy they’d met on a stop in one of their journeys had touched her like this. Darkly handsome, he’d stirred feelings in her she’d wanted to explore, until one night after the dancing, Papa had barged into the shed where they were stretched on the hay kissing and pulled him off her.
She closed her eyes and squeezed in the troubling images. How that would have ended, she now knew. No matter how pleasant those feelings stirred by that boy, Papa had been in the right, and she had been in the wrong.
She must be careful. That boy’s forthright kisses and fondling hadn’t heated her as much as Mr. Everly’s simple touches. The wonder of it was, until now, she had barely been able to tolerate a man’s hand on her,
Not since Rigo. She dropped her hands and stepped back, letting her gaze fall also. His finger tipped her chin up and she looked into his eyes. They were the same plain brown as her own: thoughtful, hard to read. His hair, many shades lighter than her own, was tousled in the way of the lazy, fashionable men here.
Only, no, that was not the way of Mr. Everly. He was something more than what he seemed. Perhaps trust was possible here.
He smiled at her, and her heart took a great leap in her chest, her breath coming in short gasps.Perhaps I can feel something with him besides fear.
She fought to steady her breath.Dios. She pushed his hand away. “I want to rest now.”
“That is a good idea, miss,” the housekeeper said. “Master Charley, you should have a lie-down also.”
His serious gaze never left her. “It is an excellent idea.”
