Hastily, Carina backed into the kitchen once more and pushed the pan back over the fire. Frying the bacon and a few eggs would provide the excuse for her flushed cheeks. But she would not deny to herself the warm glow spreading through her. Because he had stood up for her.
When was the last time anyone had done that? Or even performed the smallest kindness for her without expectation of payment in some sort, whether in gossip or labour. And yet this stranger with the reckless eyes, who had killed—almost killed—a man over some trifle or other, had saved her father’s life, fetched the doctor, missed his ship, and told off her judging neighbours.
The cynic she had become should askWhy?
The stupid, dazzled girl she barely recognized, dropping rashers of bacon into the frying pan, smiled secretively and listened to the wild beating of her heart.
DURWARD RETURNED SLOWLYto the kitchen and sat down at the table, frowning at Carina’s back while he wrestled with his inner demons of temptation and selfish desires.
“I’m sorry,” he said abruptly. “My presence here can be doing your reputation no good. Your neighbours were out on their doorsteps, with their ears flapping and their noses stretching over the fence.”
Her shoulders lifted in a careless shrug. “My father’s presence still protects me.”
“I’m not sure it will once they know I’m Durward.”
She cast him a quick, half-teasing look over her shoulder that threatened to deprive him of breath. “Are you so notorious?”
“Yes,” he said frankly. “I have an appalling reputation, topped by having to flee the country over an idiotic duel.”
“Nonsense,” she said lightly. “You are a friend of Sir Hugh and Lady Mansel and therefore above reproach. On the other hand, you are quite right and must leave us after breakfast, taking with you our sincere gratitude. I believe our crisis is past.”
Until the next time. Shrugging off the bleak thought, he exerted himself to make her laugh instead and succeeded so well that he was almost sorry to hear the approach of her father, who entered the kitchen like a ghost and dropped exhausted into the vacant chair.
“Papa,” Carina said fondly, immediately pouring him a cup of tea before she served breakfast.
Durward, seeing no reason to change his manner, merely included the older man in his badinage. Jasper, however,remained morose, whether through shame or illness or some combination of the two. Durward hated the anxiety in Carina’s face whenever she looked at her father, an anxiety it would take more than a few jokes to banish.
After breakfast, Carina took Jasper’s arm and led him to the parlour. She even swiped up the newspaper Durward had bought that morning and took it with her too.
Electing to be useful, Durward collected the dirty dishes and put them in the sink. He worked some water over them from the tap and wrinkled his nose at the feel of the greasy water. Carina came back and laughed at him.
“You’ll need warm water and soap,” she said, going to the large cauldron-like pot on the fire.
Durward was before her and carried the hot water to the sink. As he washed and she dried the dishes and pans, he thought of what his friends would say to see him performing such tasks and almost laughed aloud. Mostly, though, he just enjoyed her company. Away from her father and immediate worry, she was different, allowing him a glimpse of the girl she had been, and the woman she could be.
He wanted to take her away from all this mess.
Not that she would go.
And not that he had anywhere to take her. Disgrace and exile awaited him.
Still, he found himself smiling at her as she put the last of the dishes away, just because she was there. She closed the cupboard and caught his gaze.
“What?” she demanded, blushing, her hand going instinctively to her hair to see if it had tumbled loose.
He wished it had for she was even more beautiful when it was loose. When he had carried her to bed... Not a good time to be thinking of that, even though at the time he had acted fromtenderness rather than desire. The wretched girl inspired all sorts of unusual emotions in him.
“What you need in your life is some fun,” he pronounced.
“Don’t we all?” she asked lightly.
He took the frying pan and hung it on its hook. “No. Some of us should have a little less. But I am prepared to make the sacrifice. I shall call for you at two this afternoon.”
“Why?”
“For fun.”
She stared at him. “What sort of fun?”
