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Dinah leapt from her seat and barred the door to his room. “Is all this”—she waved a finger in a large circle that seemed to encompass not only his scowl and stiff shoulders, but also his frustration and dark mood—“is all this because I said you should talk to David?”
He held her gaze and enunciated his next word clearly. “Yes.”
She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she eyed him carefully, a hand going to her hip, her head listing to the side, and her pink lips puckering.
Henry stopped himself before he drew too near her. Had she any idea how tempting she was? Standing there, a petite barricade, as though daring him to try to move her aside. Only, if he did try, he was certain the moment his hands found her, he wouldn’t be letting go. Far from pulling her out of his way, he was far more likely to pull her near him. Nuzzle his nose up close to her hair and neck. Kiss her soundly.
Nonetheless, he wasn’t about to explain to her that, while he was quite angry at her insistence that he talk to David about their mother, he was also wrestling with an ever-growing sense of foreboding. Dinah would leave him eventually. He was certain of it. Even more so after all the memories he’d relived that afternoon. And the thought of losing her was nearly more than he could bear.
Tired though he was, he righted himself, clasping his hands behind his back and forcing his shoulders to relax. His mighty temptress clearly wasn’t going to yield.
“Very well. Since you clearly wish to talk, how was your day?”
“I added the last bit of trim to my dress for the ball. Thank you for asking.” Her tone remained tight. “How was your day?”
“Fine. I am pleased to hear your dress is...”
Except, Dinah wasn’t watching him anymore. Her gaze had moved toward the hearth, and she’d gone decidedly pale.
“Dinah?” he asked, moving closer despite his better judgment.
Her gaze didn’t waver as she lifted a finger and pointed toward the fire. “Do you see that?”
He glanced over his shoulder. Two golden dots could be seen on the other side of the hearth. “Is that a rat?” He couldn’t remember ever seeing a rat inside Angleside Court before.
Dinah let out a shriek and darted past him toward the far side of the room. She was standing atop the settee before he could so much as blink.
“Get it out of here,” she cried. “Get rid of it.”
Wait a minute. He strode over toward her. “You aren’t scared of it, are you?”
She scowled down at him; since she was standing atop the settee, she was quite a bit taller than he. Being looked down on like that was not something he’d ever experienced before. He would have rather guessed it would be a frustrating experience. But it was Dinah, and she was charming even when she scowled; he found he rather liked her looking down at him.
“Don’t tell me,” he said, moving still closer, “that my Dinah—the fearless woman who cowers atnothing—is afraid of a little rodent?”
Dinah’s brow dropped lower, and her whole mouth squeezed in anger. Picking up one of the pillows atop the settee, she hit him over the head with it. “This isn’t funny, Henry.” She hit him again. “You get that rat out of here this instant.”
“Very well.” He truly didn’t enjoy her displeasure, even if he did enjoy seeing the fire in her eyes.
He turned and moved toward the hearth. The rat must have sensed that his time beside the warm fire was limited, and he darted away. Unfortunately, the small creature chose the worst of all places to go.
“Did he just slip under the door to my bedchamber?” Dinah asked from the settee.
Henry grimaced. “It appears so.”
“I’m never sleeping in there again,” she declared.
“I’ll get him. Don’t worry.” Now if he could only manage it without laughing. He didn’t think less of Dinah for being scared of a rat, far from it. But itwasrather diverting to see her—the woman who shied away from nothing—atop the settee, her skirts clutched tightly around herself.
“I don’t care,” she said, her tone shaking despite her conviction. “I’m commandeering your room. You can have that one.”
Henry moved toward the ropes hanging beside the hearth and pulled one, summoning a manservant. Rats never bothered him, but he knew them enough to acknowledge how slippery they could be. It would undoubtedly take a few of them to catch the thing.
“Never you fear,” he said to Dinah, “we will apprehend him and see he is removed from the house.”
“I don’t care,” she continued, emphatic. “I’m not sleeping in there again. It’s your room now. I’m heading into this one”—she pointed toward Henry’s room—“and I’m shutting the door. Then I’m shoving blankets beneath the doors so that nothing can slip inside behind me.”
With that, she leapt off the settee and hurried into his room. The door shut behind her with force and, true to her word, not ten seconds later, he could see blankets being shoved beneath the door, blocking any rodent’s path inside.
Henry simply watched, silent. Who would have guessed it? His dear Dinah was afraid of something after all.
