heart.
92
Katherine
Sutcliffe
Fear,
no doubt. He'd never so much as spoken to a child, much less held one. Or
perhaps it was simply distaste. For him children had always been a necessary
nuisance, essential mainly for continuing a bloodline, an entity foreign to a
man of his dubious origins.
Olivia
said nothing, yet her body tensed. She watched him with an intensity that
bordered on panic. Yet, there was something else there too. An awakening of
sorts.
She
withdrew the child from his lap just as the coach stopped at Devonswick's front
door. Deets, having flung open the coach door and dropped the steps, assisted
Olivia and her son to the ground, then escorted them at a brisk pace into the
house. Miles took his time stepping into the cold. He told himself that he
should leave; his business, whatever that had been, was finished. And he was
wet through. Then the sound of excited voices reached him. Obviously the help
were scurrying to see to the boy's needs.
He
stepped into the foyer in time to see Emily join her sister and nephew at the
foot of the stairs. She might have just stepped off some Paris fashion plate,
adorned as she was in a pearl-colored silk gown trimmed with cerise edged with
black lace. Quite a contrast to Olivia's plain brown frock.
"What
on earth are you doing?" Emily demanded.
"Bryan
fell into some horrible pit, and—"
"You've
left mud all over the floor, Oli! Look at the mess, and Lord Willowby is due to
arrive just any minute."
Holding
Bryan in her arms, Olivia stood up to her sister. "Didn't you hear what I
said, Emily? Bryan could have been killed. Have you no sense of compassion? No
modicum of concern for this child? Dear heavens, Emily, occasionally I truly
question both your sense of morality and conscience."
With
that, Olivia swept the child up the stairs. Only then did Emily turn to
discover Miles standing inside the door. She looked shocked.
"I
don't recall having invited you in," she said, recovering herself.
"You
wouldn't," he replied indifferently, his mouth curved in a hard smile.
She
hurried toward him, stopping short and covering her nose with her hankie.
Emily's blue eyes slid down his person, noting his damp, mud-encrusted clothes
and boots. She said nothing about them; however, she lifted her gaze back to
his and hissed, "Get out of this house. Do you hear me? Get out!"
"What's
wrong, sweetheart? Afraid my being here is going to somehow upset old Lord Willowby?"
He laughed and anger glittered in her eyes. "Have you beguiled him with
your innocence? As I recall, you were quite good at that."
She
gasped. "Get out," she demanded.
"And
if I don't?"
'Then
I'll have you thrown out."
"And
what's to stop me from riding over the hill and waiting for Willowby? Perhaps
informing him that his angel-faced sweetheart has a heart-shaped mole on the
inside of her left thigh, and that she's particularly sensitive to the touch of
a tongue on her—"
"Blackmailer!"
she whispered furiously. "What will it take to make you leave here and
never come back?" She looked thoughtful, then her eyes narrowed. Moving
nearer in a suggestive manner, she forced a shaky smile.
"Don't
bother," he replied to her shocked eyes. "I'm completely uninterested."
"I hate you," Emily sneered.
He
winked and adjusted the sleeves of his soiled suit coat and decided his cloak
could wait. He'd had about enough of the Devonshire women for one day.
"Mr.
Warwick."
Looking
around, he found Olivia standing at the foot of the stairs. Again, she wore her
eyeglasses. Her hair, however, still spilled becomingly around her face.
Twirling,
Emily stomped toward her, pausing only long enough to say, "Get him out of
here, Oli, before His Lordship arrives or I'll never forgive you." Then
she fled the foyer through a nearby threshold, slamming the door behind her.
A
moment passed before Olivia turned her eyes back to Miles's. "Your
cloak," she stated evenly, and approached him, the article folded neatly
over one of her arms. The
92
Katherine
Sutcliffe
Fear,
no doubt. He'd never so much as spoken to a child, much less held one. Or
perhaps it was simply distaste. For him children had always been a necessary
nuisance, essential mainly for continuing a bloodline, an entity foreign to a
man of his dubious origins.
Olivia
said nothing, yet her body tensed. She watched him with an intensity that
bordered on panic. Yet, there was something else there too. An awakening of
sorts.
She
withdrew the child from his lap just as the coach stopped at Devonswick's front
door. Deets, having flung open the coach door and dropped the steps, assisted
Olivia and her son to the ground, then escorted them at a brisk pace into the
house. Miles took his time stepping into the cold. He told himself that he
should leave; his business, whatever that had been, was finished. And he was
wet through. Then the sound of excited voices reached him. Obviously the help
were scurrying to see to the boy's needs.
He
stepped into the foyer in time to see Emily join her sister and nephew at the
foot of the stairs. She might have just stepped off some Paris fashion plate,
adorned as she was in a pearl-colored silk gown trimmed with cerise edged with
black lace. Quite a contrast to Olivia's plain brown frock.
"What
on earth are you doing?" Emily demanded.
"Bryan
fell into some horrible pit, and—"
"You've
left mud all over the floor, Oli! Look at the mess, and Lord Willowby is due to
arrive just any minute."
Holding
Bryan in her arms, Olivia stood up to her sister. "Didn't you hear what I
said, Emily? Bryan could have been killed. Have you no sense of compassion? No
modicum of concern for this child? Dear heavens, Emily, occasionally I truly
question both your sense of morality and conscience."
With
that, Olivia swept the child up the stairs. Only then did Emily turn to
discover Miles standing inside the door. She looked shocked.
"I
don't recall having invited you in," she said, recovering herself.
"You
wouldn't," he replied indifferently, his mouth curved in a hard smile.
She
hurried toward him, stopping short and covering her nose with her hankie.
Emily's blue eyes slid down his person, noting his damp, mud-encrusted clothes
and boots. She said nothing about them; however, she lifted her gaze back to
his and hissed, "Get out of this house. Do you hear me? Get out!"
"What's
wrong, sweetheart? Afraid my being here is going to somehow upset old Lord Willowby?"
He laughed and anger glittered in her eyes. "Have you beguiled him with
your innocence? As I recall, you were quite good at that."
She
gasped. "Get out," she demanded.
"And
if I don't?"
'Then
I'll have you thrown out."
"And
what's to stop me from riding over the hill and waiting for Willowby? Perhaps
informing him that his angel-faced sweetheart has a heart-shaped mole on the
inside of her left thigh, and that she's particularly sensitive to the touch of
a tongue on her—"
"Blackmailer!"
she whispered furiously. "What will it take to make you leave here and
never come back?" She looked thoughtful, then her eyes narrowed. Moving
nearer in a suggestive manner, she forced a shaky smile.
"Don't
bother," he replied to her shocked eyes. "I'm completely uninterested."
"I hate you," Emily sneered.
He
winked and adjusted the sleeves of his soiled suit coat and decided his cloak
could wait. He'd had about enough of the Devonshire women for one day.
"Mr.
Warwick."
Looking
around, he found Olivia standing at the foot of the stairs. Again, she wore her
eyeglasses. Her hair, however, still spilled becomingly around her face.
Twirling,
Emily stomped toward her, pausing only long enough to say, "Get him out of
here, Oli, before His Lordship arrives or I'll never forgive you." Then
she fled the foyer through a nearby threshold, slamming the door behind her.
A
moment passed before Olivia turned her eyes back to Miles's. "Your
cloak," she stated evenly, and approached him, the article folded neatly
over one of her arms. The
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