Page 56 of Passions of a Wicked Earl
Her chest tightened. “And do what with him?”
“I should think he would like to lie in his favorite spot, beneath the roses for a bit. I’ll send for the veterinarian in the morning.”
“The ground will be cold this time of night. Wait here while I gather some blankets.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You should go to bed.”
“I’m not going to leave you to go through this alone.” Before he could object, she hopped up and hurried off to gather blankets from a closet in the hallway. When she returned to the kitchen, Westcliffe was holding the dog in his arms, murmuring to him.
He had told her that he was incapable of love, and yet here was evidence to the contrary. He had a great capacity for love.
Grabbing a lamp and opening the door for him, she followed him out into the garden. The large rosebush to which he led her was in a distant corner, near a wall, near the bench where they had sat and talked one night. She arranged the blankets. Sitting down, she rested her back against the stone while Westcliffe made Cooper comfortable. The scent of roses wafted on the air.
“You should go in,” Westcliffe said quietly when he settled in beside her.
“I’ll be fine.”
The lamp provided enough light that she could see Cooper’s head resting on Westcliffe’s thigh as he ran his long fingers through the dog’s coat. Unexpectedly, she felt Westcliffe’s arm come around her, drawing her near.
“Come closer, you must be cold,” he said, and she wondered if his true reason had been to provide her with warmth or because he’d welcome a bit of comfort for himself. She burrowed herself against him, inside his jacket where the heat from his body had been captured.
“Your sister seems to get along quite well with Lord Greenwood,” he said quietly, and she understood his need to distract himself from sorrowful thoughts.
“And he with her. In truth, I feared she’d find the Season a disappointment. She says I’m a pessimist, always fearing the worst.”
“Yet you always persevere.”
“I must confess that I did not come to London simply for her. I came for myself as well.”
“To have the Season you never had?”
“No,” she said softly, her heart hammering with the truth, wondering how he might take it. “To truly be the wife I never was.”
She thought he would stiffen, perhaps turn away. But he held her nearer.
“I never thanked you for what you did with Lyons Place,” he murmured. “Since you’ve been seeing after it, it is a … pleasure to visit there. It is almost what I had always hoped it could be.”
“What is lacking?”
“Noise. Small footsteps echoing along the hallways. Laughter. Whispered secrets. It is too quiet there.”
“Do you not relish the quiet? I was under the assumption most men did.”
“Silence reminds me too much of sitting before my father’s casket. I was only five, but I sat there all night. I thought perhaps he would come back if I did. I know my mother did not care for him, but I never doubted his affection for me.”
“It’s difficult to lose a parent,” she said. “I was not allowed to go to my mother’s funeral. I was always afraid that she somehow knew, that it made her sad, made her doubt my love for her.”
“Children should not lose parents,” he said quietly.
“Parents should not lose children.” She squeezed his hand. “And people should not lose their dogs.”
“No, but I have.”
Sitting up, she thought she could see a well of tears in his eyes. “Is he gone then?”
He nodded.
“At least he was not alone.”
