Page 26 of Miss Hawthorne’s Unlikely Husband (The Troublemakers Trilogy #3)

“Miss Hawthorne,” he called out. It still felt unnatural calling such a formal appellation instead of using her given name.

He called for her again, fear curdling his stomach. He wasn’t sure what he would do if she was hurt. Could he keep pretending that he saw her as nothing but A’wei’s friend?

A pool of orange in the grass caught his attention. That had to be her. His worry that she was ill or hurt sprang up again. Why else would she be laying on the grass wearing a silk evening gown?

“Miss Hawthorne.”

She still wasn’t moving. He hurried over and knelt down beside her. He touched her cheeks and tried not to focus on how soft her skin was. “Ellie.” He gripped her shoulders and shook her gently. “Ellie, wake up.”

She sighed and another scent caught his attention.

Brandy. How had she gotten her hands on that, and what on earth had possessed her to wander around the garden soused?

Either way, he couldn’t leave her there.

He lifted her up by her shoulders and leaned her against his chest. Then he slipped his arm under her knees, working his way past yards of silk until he could get a solid grip on both her legs.

Then, with one arm around her shoulders, he picked her up and began the slow trek up the slight slope to the house.

It was the closest she had ever been to him, with the exception of that mad kiss that still haunted him. Her scent was overwhelming.

It was a short trip back and he found himself slowing his steps, trying to draw out the moment before he had to put her down.

Before he couldn’t hold her in his arms. Thunder rumbled again, then he felt the first few raindrops land on his head.

Wonderful. Almost on cue, she began to stir, moaning softly and squirming in his grasp.

She pressed her face into him, nuzzling like a child seeking comfort, and a knot in his chest dissolved like dew under the sun.

He wanted to be the one she turned to for comfort, the one she clung to and trusted above all others.

He wanted to be her rock, her shield, her safe haven.

He wanted to be the one who carried her to bed when she fell asleep.

He wanted to be the one she curled against at night when she had a bad dream.

He was sick to death of standing apart from her, exhausted from the effort of being strong for both of them against something they both bloody well wanted.

Her arm slid around his neck and he froze as her warm breath wafted over his skin. Was she waking up?

“Ellie?”

She began moving around again, moving her arms and legs, trying to turn onto her stomach.

At first he tried to maintain his grip on her, but the second time he nearly dropped her, and he gave up and stopped by the gazebo.

It was raining after all, and if she was going to be so active, she could bloody well walk herself.

He sat down on the stone bench, resting her in his lap for the time being.

Until she woke up fully. Who knew if she would be able to support herself if he set her on the bench?

It wasn’t the most appropriate thing in the world, but he never claimed to be God’s strongest soldier.

So he sat there in the garden holding the woman he was almost certain he loved while the rain fell, hoping no one did something wildly inconvenient like come out with an umbrella.

She whimpered and he glanced down at her frowning face.

“Ellie?”

One dark eyelid lifted. Then she grinned. “Richard.”

What was that look? “Yes, it’s me.”

“Did you carry me?” She was squinting now.

“I did. And it wasn’t easy, let me assure you.”

She sighed and then closed her eyes again, nuzzling his chest. “I felt myself floating but I wasn’t sure. You carried me once before, do you remember?”

“I do.”

“I don’t.” She almost pouted. “I just wanted to know what it was like.”

“So I take it you were awake enough to walk?” She nodded with a proud grin, and he shook his head. “Well done.”

“Are you cross?” She blinked up at him, her eyes as wide as his little niece’s.

It had a similar effect. If he had been annoyed before, he couldn’t possibly be now.

“No, but your antics nearly left you with a wet bottom.”

She snickered but didn’t move, and curse his weakness, but he couldn’t bring himself to make her.

“Why are you drunk, Miss Hawthorne?” he asked.

She frowned. “Don’t call me that. I hate when you call me that.”

“You asked me to call you that,” he reminded her.

“Because you have to. We have to. I still don’t like it.”

He didn’t like it either. “It’s not appropriate, Ellie.” Her name was like nectar on his tongue. It didn’t make sense to call her anything else. She was Ellie, and she was his.

“I know.” She curled into him and sighed. “I like how you smell.”

He moved his arm from behind her knees and immediately regretted it as the complete weight of her full bottom settled on his thigh and his crotch. Damn. He clenched his teeth together and tried not to focus on where she was sitting. “Ellie, why were you drinking?”

“Because I was sad.”

“Why were you sad, sweetheart?” The endearment tumbled past his lips and his hand settled on her arm, keeping her as close as possible.

“Because I ended up by myself.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Her fingers plucked at the buttons of his waistcoat. “Everyone has someone. Everyone had someone who wants them but me.”

“Why do you imagine no one wants you?” he asked, his other hand curving around her shoulder.

“No callers. I dance and dance and smile and play and nothing happens. No interest. I didn’t think it would be so hard.”

“You are a rarity. Not every man will have the courage to pursue you.”

She smiled, but he could tell she wasn’t convinced. “I miss you,” she murmured.

I miss you as well. He very nearly said it.

It was true and she was likely too drunk to remember.

No harm done. Except he’d told her something else, something she was trying desperately to respect no matter the cost to herself.

It wouldn’t be fair for him to blur the line now.

“I have to take you inside, Ellie. It’s too cold and we are both soaked through. ”

She whimpered a protest and cuddled closer, pressing her face to his neck, her fingers curling into his clothes. “No.”

“Darling, I don’t want you to catch a chill.”

“I’m not cold, I like it here.”

“What about me? I’m cold,” he lied.

“I’ll get closer.” She slid her arm under his jacket and around his waist. “Are you warmer now?”

He glanced down and saw her staring up at him, all wide brown eyes, sodden hair and damp skin.

A year ago or even two months ago, he would have assumed she was coming to him as a sister.

Now he knew better, and the effect was overwhelming.

She was plastered to him as it was and all he wanted was to draw her closer, stroke her hair, and show her what a real kiss was instead of the tremulous thing they’d shared before.

A kiss that left them both weak, overheated and breathless.

He needed to get her out of his lap. “We need to go back in. You’ve been missed. ”

She shook her head, laying her head against his shoulder and staring up at him. “A moment longer, please.” Her hand came up, soft and cold, and cupped his face hesitantly. “When we go back, I won’t be able to look at you anymore.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because you don’t like me. You wouldn’t like me looking at you. Not like that.”

He didn’t know how he stared at her forlorn face without breaking and giving her everything. He wanted to say he didn’t mind, that he missed catching her eye across the room in a secret joke. That he wanted nothing more than to keep her hand in his and smile at her openly.

“You’re so handsome, did you know that?”

His heart leapt in his chest. He’d assumed she felt that way about him but it was jarring to hear it said so baldly. “I don’t think I have an answer for that.”

She smiled, but the moonlight was glinting on a wet sheen in her eyes. If she began to cry, he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back. “The first time I met you, I thought you were the most breathtaking man I’d ever seen.”

His throat was like a vice. “Did you?”

She nodded. “Nothing’s changed.”

He closed his eyes and tried to breathe past the weight in his chest. He had to stop this. He had to take her inside. He had to stop this gentle torture before she said something else he couldn’t unhear. She would already regret all of this in the morning.

“Are you sad?”

His eyes opened to see her frowning.

“A little.”

“Because of me?”

He shook his head and encircled her narrow wrist with his fingers, pulling her hand away from his skin. “Not you, àirén. You never make me unhappy.”

“We can go in now,” she said. “Will you carry me one more time?”

“Are you going to behave?”

She nodded and slid her hand up his chest to hold onto his shoulder while he picked her up and continued the trek in the rain to the house.

By the time he reached the pavestones, she was fast asleep, her head heavy against his shoulder, her little hand curled tightly into his lapel.

If he held her a little closer or if he leaned his cheek against her head, he told himself it was a goodbye.

He walked through the French doors and was greeted by the sight of Lady Starkley and A’wei staring at him with concerned faces.

“Is she alright?”

“A bit soggy and a bit pickled, but other than that, she’s right as rain.”

“Pickled.”

“In brandy, to be exact.” He looked at his sister. “Do you know anything about that?”

A’wei’s eyes slid away from his. “I didn’t direct her towards it or anything. She was sad, gēgē.”

He shook his head as Basil watched her in askance. “You didn’t.”

“You told me where the secret brandy was when I stayed by your parents the first time,” she hissed.

“Goodness, we can’t send her home like that.” Lady Starkley fretted, resting her jeweled hand on Elodia’s knee.

“No, we cannot. I’ll take her upstairs, mèimei. Basil, send a note to her father with the driver, let him know she is asleep and will return home tomorrow morning.”

Basil nodded and left to complete the task.

Richard started up the stairs. “I’ll take her up.”

“We don’t have a room ready,” A’wei argued.

“She can sleep in my room,” he said.

“Where will you sleep?”

“I can manage for one night.” For once, A’wei didn’t argue with him. He didn’t have an answer for why he was loath to give up the precious, brandy scented weight in his arms, or why the idea of her sleeping in any room other than his seemed… wrong.

When he entered his bedroom, his valet turned to him with a near comical amount of shock.

“Sir?”

“I won’t need you tonight, Morris.” He laid Elodia down on his bed, careful not to wake her.

She frowned and whimpered, and he ran his hand over her head.

She turned her face into his palm and went still again.

How could he explain what it felt like for someone like her to see him as everything she wanted, as if he was precious to her?

After weeks of people looking to his connections to determine his worth, here she was seeking only his touch, his warmth.

Would anyone ever make him feel like this again?

“The young lady is sleeping here?” Morris asked.

“She is. I’m not,” Richard replied quietly but firmly. “You can leave Morris.”

“I’ll get her out of these wet things,” A’wei said, coming up behind him.

“Yes.” His hand lingered on the smooth, soft skin of her bare brown shoulder, brushing a damp lock of hair from her high forehead, stroking her hand.

“Brother,” Ada murmured.

“What?” He didn’t want to stop touching her.

“I can’t change her unless you leave.”

That broke the spell. What was he doing? He jerked his hand away and stepped back, pressing his lips together. He nodded and turned away, refusing to meet Ada’s eyes. With numb hands, he grabbed a change of clothes and left the room.