Page 20 of Miss Ellis Unleashed

She gulped, overcome by a wave of emotion and unwelcome tears. She probably would have run away, too, had someone tried to move her into their home after her papa died.

Throsby had done her the only service he could at that time. He wasn’t the cruel monster she’d accused him of being.

He’d tried to make her loss easier to bear.

She let out a shuddering breath. “Better take the knocker off the door so no one finds him here,” she whispered to Gibbs. “He’ll need strong coffee when he finally wakes, and a hearty meal before we send him on his way again. Ask Cook to prepare his favorite dishes. Oh, and send for his valet, too. I should like a word with him.”

Daisy dismissed the butler, and then shut the door behind him. She drew the curtains to darken the drawing room, and then moved closer to the sleeping man and watched him for a while.

Throsby, in his drunken condition, must have forgotten where he lived and brought himself home to the wrong house. She would have never believed those men on the street spoke the truth about him unless she’d witnessed him like this with her own eyes.

Drunkenness? And a mistress?

That wasn’t the Throsby she recognized.

That wasn’t her Throsby at all.

She fetched a blanket from a nearby box and, after a moment, draped it over his body, smoothing it along his broad shoulders and causing him to mumble her name.

“This will not do, Throsby,” she said gently, and Daisy smiled as she brushed her hand over his hair in a halfhearted attempt to bring it to order. But Throsby’s hair, like the man himself, refused to conform to her wishes of how it should behave or look.

She slipped from the sitting room and closed the door on her unlikely champion, impatient for the arrival of Lord Throsby’s valet.

Chapter Six

Max was either having a lovely dream or he was in Hell. He was back in Miss Ellis’ wallpapered sitting room, watching her come down from the upper floor to either annoy him or meet a suitor. Across from him, the mantel-clock hands moved with agonizing slowness. He squinted, trying to focus on what she was wearing today in an effort to outrage him yet again.

Gods, it was agony to dream about being in this house. Back where he wished he could return. But he could not. There was no way back for him.

He turned his head and groaned as pain shot through his skull from the slight movement. He squinted again, quickly discovering he was not dreaming after all. He’d recognize that horrible flowery wallpaper anywhere. The velvet pillow cradling his cheek usually rested on another chair, though.

He was covered in a soft, fragrant blanket, and the room was cast in darkness. He was definitely under Miss Ellis’ roof again but had no idea how he’d gotten here or when. The last thing he remembered was stepping through an unfamiliar doorway with Abelton at his side.

Max raised his head cautiously and looked around—straight into the eyes of his former ward. Miss Daisy Ellis.

The thorn who had once been firmly lodged in his side for years, and the woman he couldn’t seem to forget no matter how much he drank.

It was no surprise that she looked as pretty as she’d ever been, or that the scowl on her face conveyed the usual hostility toward him. She wore a gown of soft blue that made her seem ethereal in the near darkness.

He sat up very slowly, clutching his head.

“I see you’ve finally roused from your stupor,” she complained, but only in a whisper.

Max appreciated her restraint not to yell at him. He probably deserved a good shouting-at for this breach of etiquette. “How did I get here?”

“You brought yourself and flopped down there, where you’ve snored for the last five hours or so.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t have me thrown out,” he admitted.

She smiled slightly. “I considered it, but feared for my servants’ poor backs, should they try to lift you.”

“I apologize for the inconvenience,” he said, wincing as he shook his head. “Why the devil did I bring myself here?”

He glanced across at Daisy Ellis and knew why, of course…longing.

Daisy sighed. “I suppose it was better than sleeping in a ditch, where you might have had your throat cut for that new ring you’re sporting.”

He glanced down at his hands and recalled why he’d drunk so heavily last night. There was no sense hiding the truth. “My cousin died, and his father sent it to me.”