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He forced himself to nod.
Satisfied, Breanna lowered the pistol, pivoting about to replace it in her nightstand drawer. "Coming, Wells," she called. Walking boldly past her father, she crossed over and opened the door. "I'm fine, thank you," she assured the anxious butler. "Just clumsy. Father and I were chatting and I dropped my cup. I didn't mean to worry you." She made a wide sweep with her arm, throwing open the door so Wells could see everything—and everyone—in the bedchamber.
Wells's gaze shifted from Breanna to George to the broken fragments of china on the floor, then returned to Breanna's face—and the clear imprint of her father's fingers on her cheeks. "As long as you aren't hurt. I'll summon a maid to clean up the mess."
"I'd appreciate that." Breanna smiled. "And then I'd like to resume my nap." She inclined her head quizzically in George's direction. "Unless, of course, there's something else you need to speak with me about, Father."
George cleared his throat. "No. As a matter of fact, I have some business to arrange." He left the room, pausing when he'd reached Wells's side. "I'll be gone a good portion of the day tomorrow," he said quietly, for the butler's ears alone. "Keep an eye out for the mail carriage. When it arrives, collect all correspondence, but distribute nothing. From this moment on, I want everything addressed to this manor to be held for my inspection. Is that clear?"
"Perfectly clear, my lord."
With a brooding glance at Breanna, George stalked off, his footsteps echoing down the hall.
Wells watched him go, then turned to meet Breanna's gaze.
A current of communication ran between them.
"I'll send up a pitcher of cold water and a cloth," the butler said in a tight voice. "It will take away the sting."
Breanna walked ov
er, squeezed his arm. "Thank you. And don't look so worried. This won't happen again."
Over his spectacles, Wells's brows rose fractionally. "With all due respect, Miss Breanna, how do you know that?"
A twinkle. "Because I just threatened Father at gun-point. I told him that if he ever struck me again, I'd shoot him and make sure it resulted in the scandal of the decade."
Wells started, studying Breanna as if to ensure she was telling the truth. At her emphatic nod, his lips began to twitch. "I'm sorry I missed it."
"So am I. It was a long time in coming." She leaned up, kissed the butler's weathered cheek. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate your rushing to my rescue."
"My pleasure." He cleared his throat, waited until his emotions were in check. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll arrange for the water and the clean-up. I'd do both myself, but I have a letter to dash off."
"A letter?"
"Indeed." The tiniest spark glinted in his eyes. "I want to advise Lord Sheldrake that tomorrow afternoon would be a splendid time for a visit—from him, and any other surprise guests he'd care to bring along."
* * *
Chapter 16
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Awakening in a man's arms was a novel experience. But given those arms belonged to Damen—the experience was sheer heaven.
Anastasia smiled, snuggling farther beneath the bedcovers, reliving the exquisite hours that had flanked the arrival of that disturbing missive from Paris. First, there had been the dreamlike hour before Proust interrupted, the once-in-a-lifetime moment when Damen had made her his. And then, much later, after the return message to Dornier had been sent, after their immediate plans had been discussed and a late dinner consumed, they'd gone back to bed, spending hour after glorious hour discovering the magic their bodies made together.
Three A.M. had come and gone by the time they fell asleep, wrapped in each other's arms, their future a beckoning wonder they had only to reach.
After the obstacles blocking their way were eliminated.
That reality jogged Anastasia awake, and she shifted, wincing a bit in response. Her body ached in places she'd never known existed before last night, and it was strangely comforting to have those lingering twinges to remind her of the beauty she and Damen had shared, especially in light of the trying events that lay ahead.
Stretching, she opened her eyes, noting the weak sunlight that filtered through the windows. It couldn't be much past dawn, she mused in relief. And that suited her just fine. She and Damen had a lot to accomplish today which, much as she wished otherwise, meant they couldn't loll away the day in bed.
"Good morning." Damen's husky voice came from just above her ear, and she twisted around to see him propped on one elbow, gazing down at her. He looked uncharacteristically disheveled, his hair mussed, a shadow of a beard covering his face.
It was nice to know that the unrufflable Lord Sheldrake could sometimes be ruffled after all.
