Dare to Love (21 page)

More eager than ever to see him, she scrambled to her feet and set to making herself presentable. After she rinsed her face and tidied her hair, she tucked his flowers into her bodice.

There, that was better. Now she just needed him to return. Perching on her dressing chair, she rested her chin in her hand and closed her eyes.

Tick tick tick
went the clock on the mantel.

Tap tap tap
went her fingers on her cheek.

Tick tick
…sigh.

Tap tap
—argh!

Just when she thought she could take no more of the waiting, she heard voices in the front hall.

Oh, thank God.
Nivea raced down the stairs and searched the faces of the men as they appeared in the entranceway. She was pleased to see they were in good spirits. But Dare was not among them. Where was he? Was he all right? Just as an unreasonable panic started to build, the door opened and he strolled in.

Before she could approach him, Amelia waved everyone into the parlor. “I’m so glad you’ve returned,” she said, drawing her arm through her husband’s. “We were so worried. Did you find anything out?”

“Nothing to fear,” the earl answered, kissing her fondly on the forehead. “Let me get a drink and we’ll explain what we found.”

Amelia poured him a cup of tea and after taking a sip, he announced, “The shooting was an accident. The blacksmith’s boys had gone into the woods to practice their aim and must have shot wide. They have been made to understand the unfortunate consequences of their actions. It should not occur again.”

There was a palpable sigh of relief throughout the room, and then the women gathered closer to ask questions. Seeking an excuse to speak with Dare, Nivea poured him a cup of tea and crossed over to where he was leaning against the doorjamb. Judging by the tight lines around his mouth, she could tell he was suffering.

In a gentle tone, she asked, “Lord Landis, how are you feeling?”

“I’m perfectly all right,” he answered, straightening. The ruse cost him, and he flinched. She ached to hold him, comfort him, but this wasn’t the time or the place. Tonight. In her room. That was what he’d requested. But noting the weary slump of his shoulders, she wasn’t so certain.

“Do you still wish to speak with me this evening?”

His eyes closed as though the thought pained him. When he reopened them, his gaze was focused, intense. “No, it can wait. I think I will head upstairs for the evening.”

That was disappointing. She wasn’t sure she could get through the night without talking to him…making sure he was all right. That
they
were all right. When he moved to take his leave, she placed a hand on his arm. “If you don’t mind, I would like to check on your wound.”

When she saw he was about to refuse, she blurted out, “Please, I feel partly to blame. If we hadn’t gone riding, this wouldn’t have happened. I will bring up another poultice to your room. I won’t stay long, I assure you.”

He must have been too tired to argue, as he shrugged in agreement.

As she turned back toward the room, she saw her brother was watching her, his brows drawn and his mouth pinched. Had Dare told them that they had been riding together? If he suspected there was anything untoward between them, it would not go well. Determined to paint an innocent picture, she approached her stepmother and announced rather loudly “Amelia, Dare said he was tired and would like to have supper brought up to his room this evening. Would you like me to inform Cook?”

“Yes, dear, that’s a good idea. I’m sure today was a strain for him.”

Nivea rushed out the door and headed toward the kitchen.

Upon entering his room, Dare slowly pulled off his jacket, unable to stifle a gasp of pain. Jackson reached for the garment and laid it aside. “My lord, were you able to discover who shot you?”

Dare felt a bit foolish, admitting that he’d been shot by a mere child, but word would spread, so he might as well play it off as best he could. “Nothing too dramatic, I fear. Although it would have been more scintillating if it had been an act of bitter retribution over a lifelong grudge, it was in fact village boys practicing their shots. It will not happen again.”

“Very good, sir.” Thankfully, Jackson knew better than to ply him with sympathy, so he returned the conversation to matters at hand. “Will you be joining the Horshams for dinner? I can lay out your eveningwear.”

“That will not be necessary. The Horshams are having a tray sent up. I will just wash up and retire for the evening.”

“I would like to change your bandage—”

Dare cut him off with a silencing glare. “There is no need. Cook is sending up a poultice that I will apply after I wash. You are dismissed for the evening,”

Jackson may have been surprised by his self-reliant behavior, but that couldn’t be helped. Knowing Nivea was on her way, Dare wanted his manservant to be off as quickly as possible. Although Jackson had been the soul of discretion during his service, Dare did not want him privy to this situation.

Dare was beginning to feel very protective of the girl. It was not a sensation he was familiar with. If women wished to risk their reputation to be with him, he considered it their own affair. He was a well-established rake, and if they did not understand the consequences, the blame lay fully at their door.

But tonight there was no need to set tongues wagging. He would merely put Nivea’s mind at ease and then send her on her way without the slightest taint to her reputation.

First, he needed to get cleaned up. He strode over to the bath closet, removed his shirt, and ran a damp cloth over his face and down his chest. Twisting with care, he checked his bandage, pleased to see it hadn’t bled through.

Crossing to his expansive four-poster bed, he sat back against the pillows, intending to relax for a moment before donning a new shirt.

He considered discussing the outcome of today’s events with Nivea. She, of all people, would understand the magnitude of his actions. The restraint he’d shown when dealing with the Dugan boys was remarkable. He could imagine her eyes growing warm with pleasure when she learned of his newfound control. Perhaps she would wrap her arms around him, press herself against him, and he would draw her down—

No!
He could not think of her that way. He would honor his vow to cease all unseemly behavior toward her. She deserved respect. Resolutely, he closed his eyes and forced himself to imagine the most unpleasant and non-erotic situations possible.

The next thing he knew, Nivea was above him with a cool hand placed on his brow. “You don’t have a fever. That’s encouraging,” she said.

He jerked upright, startled to discover he had fallen asleep. He tried to swing his legs off the bed, but she pushed him back down.

“No, rest for a moment. I would like to check your wound and then you can eat.”

He swept away her hand. “I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.”

With her hands on her hips, she fixed him with a defiant stare. “It’s not a scratch. You were shot and that can be very serious. I know men are irritable when they are injured, but you will not deter me from this. I
will
be removing the bandage and applying Cook’s poultice. Now lie still and let me look.”

Dare did not like to be ordered about. In fact, more likely than not, if he was ordered to do something, he would do the complete opposite. Yet when he tried to fix a rebellious glare at the woman beside him, he found himself unable to resist. She stood there, like a defiant angel, feet planted, mouth firm, but her eyes filled with concern. For him.

Imagine that.

Noticing a spray of forget-me-nots tucked in the bodice of her dress, he allowed a faint smile. He had forgotten he’d left them in her room earlier. It seemed a long time ago.

Relenting, he growled, “Fine. Take a look. But I assure you, I need no nursing.”

She unwrapped the bandage and drew her fingers over his tender skin, ignoring his slight flinch.

“It looks quite well. No sign of swelling or infection. I should like to sponge off a little blood and reapply the bandage.”

He nodded his head once, so she rose to pour water on a clean towel. Very carefully, she patted his wound before dabbing some of cook’s yellowish brown concoction onto a strip of cloth and placing it on his side.

“There, that should help,” she said, tucking in the ends of his bandage with a tender smile.

He was surprised to find that it did. Her touch was much more soothing than Jackson’s brusque treatment. Letting out a breath, he found that it was nice to be taken care of, spoiled even.

“Are you hungry now? I’ll bring you your tray.” Without waiting for a response, she crossed to the table near the door.

He watched her hips as they swayed rhythmically away from him. He had always found a woman’s derriere to be an entrancing sight. Granted, hers was a little more rounded than most, but for some reason, that didn’t detract from her appeal.

She turned and he quickly dropped his gaze. It wouldn’t do for her to catch him ogling her like a common doxy. It also wouldn’t do for him to let his thoughts continue in that vein.

Unaware of the effect she was having, she handed him the tray and a tall glass of lemonade before turning once again to seize a decanter of brandy. Thankfully, she placed it within reach on the nightstand, and then sat on the chair next to the bed.

The scent of food reminded him how hungry he was, and he downed a few bites of poached salmon. When he finished chewing, Nivea handed him the glass of lemonade and asked, “Would you like to tell me what happened today?”

Did he? Now she was there, he wasn’t certain he wanted to tell her. Maybe it wasn’t so impressive. He’d already proven himself embarrassingly weak in front of her, hadn’t he? Best to stick to the Earl’s summary. “You heard. It was just some boys from the village.”

She appeared to consider his response before announcing, “No. There was more to it. I can tell.” Sitting there, serenely, one would think she’d spent hours chatting with partially clothed men in their bedrooms.

He longed to invite her beside him on the bed. To bury his face into her bosom and breathe in the faint flowery scent of forget-me-nots as it mingled with her essence. He would nibble his way down to her sweet rosy peaks hidden by her gown.

Damn it all.
He was supposed to maintain control, but doing a damn poor job of it. Instead he was in danger of upending his tray of food. He would relay the events of the day and get her the hell away from him before he caused any more damage.

Leaning back against the headboard, he began, “As your father explained, we went out to the ruins and found a small campsite of sorts. It appeared young boys were attempting to practice their shooting skills. Having discerned it was the Dugan boys, we headed to town to inform their father of their actions. When William told him what had occurred, Dugan flew into a rage, dragging his two sons into the yard and threatening to beat an apology out of them.”

Dare paused as unbidden memories surged forward, along with the latent pain and humiliation. He remembered his own efforts to maintain a stoic visage in the face of such anger, just as the two Dugan lads had, and only now realized how badly he must have failed. It was humbling.

“I saw myself at that age. It was so disconcerting to witness the rage and hear the words that had permeated my childhood coming from this complete stranger. I watched the boys as they struggled to understand their transgression. All the while, having the unerring knowledge that the pain of the beating would linger for days.”

He took a deep breath, but found he couldn’t banish the painful sensation haunting him. Hands shaking, he reached for the bottle of brandy on the bedside table. He splashed it into a glass on his tray and downed it in a gulp.

Lord, this was difficult. He couldn’t look at her, afraid what he might see. But he pressed on. “I couldn’t allow that to happen, Nivea. I remembered how desperately I had prayed that someone would intervene on my behalf. That something would happen to protect me.”

Pouring another glass of brandy, he took a sip, savoring the slow burn. It cleared his head and brought him some semblance of control.

“I realized I could provide that protection for these boys. They had no intention of hurting me. It was an accident. So, I led them into the house as they babbled their apologies. A few younger boys with dirty faces and tattered clothes peered out from the doorway. From what I could tell, they had no guidance, no order to their lives. Their home was unkempt and neglected.”

Picturing the scene in his head, he absently took another sip.

Nivea leaned forward in her chair. “So, what did you do?”

“Oh, yes—well, I advised the boys that I would not have them arrested if they promised to honor their mother’s memory. I instructed them to sweep and polish the house ’til it shone, then dress in their finest clothes and offer to apprentice with the baker, thus earning their keep and becoming men of honor. They stared at me wordlessly until I waved my hand and they scattered, each grabbing a rag to begin cleaning.”

“That was very kind of you.” She smiled, reaching up to twirl a loose lock of hair around her finger.

“Yes, well, they were happy to have escaped punishment from me, but were still expecting one from their father. Determined to prevent that, I decided to fix it as any lord of my standing would.”

“What does
that
mean?”

He raised his glass in mock salute and answered, “I threw money at him.”

Her hand dropped to her lap. “You what?”

He savored the look of surprise that flashed across her face. “I called him into the house and explained that he was not to whip his children. I told him if I ever heard that he laid a hand on them again, I would come to his house and run him through.”

Beginning to enjoy the account, he continued, “Quite insulted, he began to argue, insisting that I had no right to interfere. That there was no other way to survive. I poured out a handful of shillings and advised him to use it to convince the baker to apprentice his two oldest sons. It would teach them the value of work, keep them out of mischief, and help put food on his table.”