Page 22 of A Daring Desire

“Yes, but I did not ask to be mollycoddled like a blasted infant.”

“Then I might suggest you stop acting the part,” Jones returned, with such a look of lofty superiority Kilbane lost all hold on his temper.

“Out!” he commanded, pointing at the door, but glaring at Mr Jones.

For once, his valet held his tongue, but took his sweet time, gathering up his lordship’s dirty clothes for washing, and proceeding to the door with all the stateliness of a visiting emperor.

Kilbane waited for the door to close before sinking back against the pillows, utterly spent. It seemed the least effort left him fit for nothing but sleep and was, of course, the true reason he’d become so furious and impatient with his put upon valet. Well, that and the fact his lady wife had not deigned to visit him yet. Why that should aggravate him so, he was uncertain, but it did.

He glared at the door, thoroughly vexed and bored to tears. The idea of staying in this room all by himself for days on end was enough to send him distracted. But he had already driven off Berrycloth and Mr Jones, and as for his wife….

A knock at the door brought him out of his sulks for long enough to bark, “Go to the devil!”

He did not doubt it was Jones come to plague him some more, and he wasn’t about to give the fellow the satisfaction, no matter how bored he was. Why on earth had he employed the insolent git again? He ought to have remembered how outrageously sharp-tongued the jumped-up little sod was, and how many appalling liberties he took too.

The door opened despite his less than encouraging suggestion, and Kilbane stiffened as his wife came in.

“Good morning, my lord,” she said cheerfully. “Mr Jones told me you’d taken a pet and had spent the morning abusing him. I can only hope this is a sign of your continuing improvement.”

He glared at her, a sharp comment brewing on his tongue until he realised, if he drove her off too, he’d be bored to tears again. Swallowing the retort with difficulty, he moderated his words a little. “If the fellow wouldn’t plague me to death, he would not need chastising. I never encountered a more ill-behaved valet in all my days.”

“And yet you took him back into your service at once,” she remarked, a smile dancing in her eyes.

“I had forgot what a trial he was,” he returned with dignity.

“Gammon,” she said frankly, taking the chair beside his bed despite him not having invited her to do so. “You are fond of him, and he of you. That’s why you bicker so.”

“Don’t be nauseating. We can’t stand each other and that’s the plain truth.”

“Yes, my dear,” she said soothingly, which only maddened him all the more.

“Don’t do that,” he warned, irritation climbing up his back.

“Do what?” There was laughter in her eyes, and he wanted very much to shake her for it.

“Manage me,” he said through his teeth.

Her lips quivered, but she swallowed her amusement and simply nodded.

“I beg your pardon,” she said, her voice only a trifle unsteady. “I took the liberty of sending you some books.”

She gestured to the neat stack of volumes beside his bed. Kilbane watched her covertly as she took one and opened the cover.

Despite himself, something like pride glowed in his chest as he studied her. His Lady Kilbane was undoubtedly the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. She had always been remarkably lovely, but there was a maturity and confidence about her now that only highlighted her attributes. Her hair was so fair it was almost silver and glinted in the weak winter sunshine that shone through the windows. She was a little too pale, but her skin was like cream, and those eyes of hers, clear and crystalline, were somewhere between silver and the most delicate blue. Yet they seemed to have the power to look inside him, to expose all the dark corners of his soul. She had always unsettled him, always made him want to run from her perspicacity and her desire to care for him. He had never understood it. She was a strange and unfathomable female and, just when he thought he had figured her out, she showed another side of herself that made him rethink. Like quicksilver, she was forever slipping through his mind, too clever and swift to allow him to grasp hold and banish her for good. No matter what he had done or said, she had always been there, always waited for him, with a constancy unlike anything he had ever known and had not appreciated until he had believed he’d lost it for good.

She looked up then, and a becoming flush of colour rose to her cheeks as she found him watching her. Kilbane looked quickly away, scowling.

“Have you read this one?” she asked, holding the title out to him.

Kilbane glanced at it, seeing The Count of Monte Cristo written in gold on the fine leather binding.

“Yes,” he said tersely, and felt a stab of regret as her face fell. “But it was a good story. I… I could read it again.”

She brightened at once and he tore his gaze from the pleasure in her eyes, unsettled by it.

“Would you like me to read it to you?” she offered. But there was too much hesitation in the question, and he could almost feel her steel herself for his rejection.

Damn it.