Page 48 of Indecently Daring

Alana regarded her friend for a moment, then followed her inside.

Ciarán St Just, The Marquess of Kilbane, was in an excessively bad mood. If it wasn’t bad enough, he’d had to waste his time again, trekking back and forth to this horrifyingly respectable place, now he’d been forced into doing a good deed. Another one! And the bloody vicar had blessed him for it! It was enough to give him a migraine. He scowled down into the glass of brandy he was nursing and wondered if getting howling drunk and scandalising the neighbourhood would make him feel better. Probably not, which was an even more lowering thought. God, but he was bored. He could not remember the last time anything even slightly interesting happened.

There had been that business with the witch, of course. That had been mildly diverting, but short-lived. He sighed. Worst of all, now he couldn’t even get out of this hellish pit of morality because the bloody vicar had his goddamned horse. It was beyond belief that the scandal sheets’ favourite hell-born babe couldn’t go home because he’d lent a man of the cloth his horse to rescue some grubby little oik. If the papers got hold of this, his reputation would be shredded.

“My lord?”

Ciarán groaned and closed his eyes. Just when he’d thought things could not get any worse. “No. No, just ignore it and it will go away.”

“I certainly will not.”

Irritation simmering, he slanted a glittering look at the ridiculous blonde termagant who seemed determined to plague his existence. “It should,’ he gritted out. “If it knows what’s good for it.”

“Oh, honestly. I refuse to continue this ridiculous conversation. I am Lady Catherine Barrington, not an it, and I refuse to be referred to as such. Besides which, you know very well I won’t go away, so you may as well get it over with.”

“I suppose you have a point,” he said, giving into the inevitable. “Speak your piece and then go away.”

“I do wish you would stop telling me to go away,” she said, folding her arms. God, she was young. Had he ever been that young? He tried to remember being her age, but he seemed to have missed a bit. He remembered being a child, a helpless child who had not yet learned to fight back, and then he remembered being as he was now. The years in between seemed to have passed him by. Not so for Lady Catherine. Her skin was flawless, her eyes bright, she looked as shiny as a new penny and in comparison he felt… grubby.

“And I wish you would stop giving me cause to tell you to go away,” he said crisply. “Alas, we both appear to be doomed to disappointment.”

“We need your help.”

Ciarán gave a bark of laughter. “Not on your life. You have all your limbs this time. Walk home, Lady Catherine. I don’t have a horse to transport you even if I wished to, which I very much do not.”

“Oh, yes, and that was very good of you, to give Pirate back to Reverend Martin.”

“I did not give him back. I lent him. Entirely different,” he snapped.

“It was still very good of you,” she said, her eyes shining.

Ciarán recoiled. Good God, the child was nauseating. Why would she not go away?

“Cat, come along. He won’t help us.”

He glanced to the side of Lady Catherine to see Miss Cadogan. Ah, the sensible one. At last. She tugged at her friend’s arm, trying to get her to budge, but Lady Catherine had a mutinous look in her eyes that boded ill.

“No, Alana. His lordship is going to help us.”

Ciarán scowled. “He most certainly is not.”

“He is if he wants to have a moment's peace this evening,” she said sweetly, but with an edge to the words he did not miss. The diabolical girl would certainly think of some way to torment him further.

“What is it you want exactly?” he exploded, with the dreadful certainty it was the only way to get rid of her.

“To help Reverend Martin, obviously,” Lady Catherine said, sounding a little exasperated.

Ciarán barely refrained from gnashing his teeth. Any respectable girl with a brain in her head would be terrified by the prospect of speaking to him alone, but not Lady Catherine, and then she had the temerity to get exasperated. With him! It was the outside of enough.

“Did you not see the size of that big brute who took Jeb?” she carried on. “If he won’t let the vicar pay him off—and thank you for giving him the money, that was exceedingly kind of you—but, if the man won’t take it, he might get violent.”

Ciarán downed his drink and poured another. “It was not kind. I just wanted him to go away. If I thought it would work on you, I would give you a bag of coin as well.”

The girl sighed, giving him a pitying look. “I know, I’m excessively annoying, coming and bothering you when you were having a quiet drink, and you’re all upset already, worrying in case anyone saw you doing something nice. But, really, it can’t be helped. We must go after the poor vicar. It wouldn’t be right to abandon him. You do see?”

He glared at her, wondering at the last time he’d been so bloody angry. Surging to his feet, he stared down at her in fury. She didn’t budge, didn’t even flinch, didn’t take so much as a tiny step back. She had her father’s ice in her veins, that was for damned sure.

“Get her away from me.”