Page 42 of Love and the Shameless Lady

He rolled his eyes. “Come, let’s see which rooms they’ve given us.”

She blew her nose again and handed him the crumpled handkerchief. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

“Not particularly.” He folded the used handkerchief and stuffed it into his pocket. “You bring out the chivalry in me.”

Because she was so pathetic, she supposed. She’d almost burst into tears again when he’d said he liked her as she was. It was frightfully noble of him, because she wasn’t likeable in the least.

And preferred it that way, she reminded herself. She stood, pulling herself together.

Soon Reams led them upstairs and along a passageway. “The west wing is the family’s side of Garrison House,” he said. “Lord and Lady Garrison’s rooms are in this corridor as well.” He threw open the door of the Rose Room, a pretty bedchamber with rose-embroidered curtains and hangings. “This is yours, Miss Daisy. You will find your belongings already bestowed. Please take as long as you need to refresh yourself, and ring if you need assistance. Dinner is sometime between six and seven.”

He bowed and led Sir Julian away. Daisy watched them go, feeling bereft. She wished Sir Julian wouldn’t be so far from her at night. Not that she truly felt endangered here, but she would feel safer if he were nearby.

She shook away that thought. She was accustomed to taking care of herself. She understood that they had to be housed far apart for propriety’s sake, but it seemed rather unfair, since people would assume Sir Julian had already bedded her.

He glanced behind, as if he felt her eyes on him. He raised a hand in brief farewell, and turned away again.

She went into her bedchamber and shut the door. Alone at last, she heaved an exhausted sigh, allowed a few more tears to fall, and then firmly dried them. She kicked off her shoes, splashed her face in the warm water some efficient maid had provided, and burrowed under the coverlet on the bed. In less than a minute, she was sound asleep.

Julian washed and changed, pondering this strange woman with whom he’d become entangled. He didn’t consider himself a particularly chivalrous man, but she aroused every protective instinct he possessed.

As well as his libido, which had responded with alarming alacrity even while he held her sobbing. He would have to control that. Any attempt to bed her would be appallingly disrespectful and probably estrange her from him for good.

Which reminded him of her reaction to being touched. He didn’t think she found him repulsive, and yet that flinch seemed to say so. Perhaps it wasn’t him, but previous experience that had caused that reaction. What had that smuggler done to her?

Then there was her insistence this afternoon that young women should be better informed about physical desires. What could her mother have said that would have made a difference to her? Would she have remained a virgin if she’d been properly informed?

He could speculate all he liked, but it would get him nowhere, and meanwhile his goal was to protect her. Not an easy job when she was at the opposite end of the house. He left his room, returned to the family wing, and knocked softly on her door. No answer. He tapped again. Nothing. Had she already left? He glanced up and down the passageway, but no stray servants were about. He opened Daisy’s door.

She was curled up on the bed, fast asleep.

Softly, he shut the door again and went downstairs. An exploration of the grounds seemed in order. No one was about, so he let himself out the front door and went for a walk.

Garrison House was a red brick Jacobean structure with the requisite turrets at each end and a very pretty parterre, unusual nowadays, as such gardens had gone out of fashion ages ago. He wandered along the garden paths, which led, at the side of the house, into a magnificent rose garden. He strolled on, savoring the aroma of the flowers, and emerged into a more natural-looking landscape, but he suspected it was the result of design. The practices of Capability Brown had spread far and wide in the previous century.

The glint of water led him to a small lake, with a summerhouse in the classical style on a little knoll above it. He followed a path to the summerhouse, pushed the door open, and went inside. Benches lined the walls and a sketchbook lay on a small table between them. A plaited rug covered the floorboards in the middle of the room, an easel and a chair atop it. Perhaps Lady Garrison came here to sketch and paint the peaceful, pastoral view.

He was alone and with time to waste, so he pulled out the sheet of foolscap which he’d stolen from Daisy’s desk early that morning. In the dim light of dawn, he hadn’t noticed the smudge of butter on one edge of the paper. Judging by that and the perfectly legible ingredient list, she’d written it in the kitchen. Why, then, was the rest of the writing in a kind of shorthand? The obvious explanation: so no one else could read it.

Julian sat on the chair and set to work. Something about a fair-haired stranger . . . gentleman lounging at his ease . . . his sharp gaze missing nothing.

This might be part of one of her stories, he supposed. Definitely nothing to do with espionage.

Their eyes met across the coffee room. Was she describing a scene at the inn? Something about lightning . . . Ah. Desire shot through her like a bolt of lightning. Her fingers curled into claws . . . longed to rake them down his bare back in a moment of passion. His broad chest with a dusting of fair hair, his powerful thighs, and his member rising virile and ready for her.

Good Lord. Julian’s own cock responded shamelessly.

He raised his hand, the ruby on his finger sparkling in the candle’s glow, and called for a tankard of ale.

Julian glanced down at his left hand and the ruby ring he always wore. Daisy had been describing . . . him?

Did she truly desire him in that delightfully wanton way? If so, she’d shown no sign of it. Quite the contrary. But she must have strong sensual urges, or she wouldn’t have bedded that smuggler, wouldn’t write books about love and passion.

Julian folded the foolscap and put it back in his waistcoat pocket. He would have to find a way to return it without Daisy’s knowledge.

Or keep it for himself. Or confront her with it? He found himself smiling. Would she ever forgive him if he did?