Page 11 of Nobody’s Angel (World of de Wolfe Pack #5)

“G oodnight, dear ones,” Frances said, making her way to the stairs soon after they’d all entered the house.

“I do hope this storm passes quickly. We’ve had such awful weather these past few weeks, one would think we’d angered the heavens!

” As though to prove her point, a particularly strong gust rattled the windows with enough force to break them, or so it appeared to Brynne.

Frances paled and put a hand to her heart. “Goodness! They’re angry indeed! This mix of damp and cold isn’t doing much good for my old bones or my tender joints. They’re quite stiff and aching.”

“Shall I get you a warm compress?” Lettie offered, regarding Frances with concern.

“No, dear. I shall manage once I’m in bed.

My maid knows to put a warming brick between the sheets.

Its gentle heat should ease this old body of mine.

” Another gust, even stronger, rattled the house.

Frances glanced upward in alarm. “I’m glad we’re safely home.

I hope the others made it safely to their homes as well. ”

“I’m sure they did,” Brynne assured her. “Most guests left earlier than we, and none of them live very far from the de Wolfe estate.”

“You’re right, of course.” Frances smiled at him, hugged Lettie, and then climbed the stairs as fast as her tired legs would carry her.

Lettie stared after her until she disappeared from view and only then did she turn to Brynne.

Her expression reminded him of an adorably confused kitten.

She began to nibble her lower lip, causing it to swell lightly and flush.

His heart caught in his throat as it had about a hundred times today.

“What’s wrong? Are you worried about Frances? ”

She also looked sexy as hell with that little pout to her lips, and her eyes were dusky with fatigue, giving her a ‘take me to bed’ look that shot his body temperature through the ceiling.

“I don’t understand,” she said softly, resting her hand upon the newel post, unaware of his turmoil.

He waited for her to continue, for she seemed to have something worrisome on her mind that she wished to talk through with him. She was obviously tired, contemplating whether or not to leave the discussion until morning while she headed upstairs to the warmth of her bed.

Brynne closed his eyes a moment and silently groaned as the image of Lettie in his bed, her red hair flowing over her pale shoulders, wearing nothing but a loosely draped sheet around her body, came to mind. “What don’t you understand, Lettie?”

Something was troubling her and he didn’t want her having bad dreams over it.

She sighed another one of those breathy, kitten sighs. “We’re so close, Brynne. I feel it in my heart.”

“Come into the parlor with me. Let’s talk.” He took her by the hand and led her to the parlor, glad when she made no protest. The feel of her soft fingers against his rough palm sent his body temperature soaring through the roof once more.

All the more reason to leave as soon as possible.

His control was slipping, his desire for Lettie growing unbearable. He had to leave before he lost his senses and gave in to the dangerous desire he knew they both felt. That’s what made resisting her so hard, for Lettie had a passionate nature and would consent to anything he wanted.

What he wanted was to keep her safe from scoundrels with no prospects, such as himself.

Still, he sought her out and ached for a little more time with the girl, one more night. One more week. One lifetime. Even that wasn’t enough.

No, he had to leave tomorrow. Valiant had regained his strength, and this storm would be done by tomorrow morning.

A fast moving turbulence such as this one would blow out just as fast as it blew in.

The roads would not be passable at first, but a few hours of sunshine after the storm had run its course would go a long way to clearing them.

He’d make decent time, especially if he were to ride on horseback.

They entered the parlor and Lettie surprised him by settling on the floor beside the fading fire that still emitted enough heat to warm one’s body if one sat close. She positioned herself so that her feet were closest to the fire.

She looked so beautiful by firelight, even when exhausted. Her eyes had a slight droop at the corners that gave them an exotic allure and her shimmering gown seemed to cling a little tighter to each spectacular curve of her slender body.

Had he been thinking with his brain instead of his hardening rod, he would have bid her goodnight and wiped his brow in relief that he’d avoided the call of temptation.

But there was something about the powerful force of the storm that heightened his restlessness and made him heedless of the dangerous desires that simmered within his heart.

He wanted her.

But he’d long resisted the urge to sweep her into his arms and claim her as his. He could resist for one more night, no matter how badly he ached to hold Lettie in his embrace and feel the lavender heat of her skin against his body.

She smiled up at him as he approached. “Come sit beside me, Brynne. We don’t need to bother with chairs. This is much cozier.”

And much more dangerous.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll add a few logs to the fire.”

His jacket was damp so he took it off and then knelt beside the hearth to stoke the old logs before adding new ones to the pile. He watched as the flames moved up the crackling wood, and once again stoked the flames until they roared.

Lettie was still seated beside him, quietly watching him as he worked. The moment felt comfortable, but everything always felt comfortable and right with Lettie. He set the irons aside and nudged her feet gently. “Take off your slippers. They’re wet. Here, I’ll set them near the hearth to dry.”

He placed them to one side, then rose to drape his jacket over one of the hooks on the wall beside the fireplace.

Frances kept a decanter of port on a table in the corner of the parlor. He crossed the room to pour himself a glass and one for Lettie as well. She looked cold and pale despite the blazing fire and he’d noticed her shivering slightly. Her lips were pinched.

Still kissable.

Still beautiful. “Drink up, but not too fast.”

She smiled her thanks and took a sip. “You think I’m daft.”

He arched an eyebrow. “I know you’re daft,” he teased, setting his still full glass on the mantel before settling himself beside her. She was still shivering, so he took her cold feet onto his lap and slowly began to rub warmth into them.

Much safer than the other ways he knew would heat her.

Indeed, it was the safest way to touch her, and he had an overwhelming need to do just that.

He would leave tomorrow and wanted this moment.

No one would be hurt by it. He craved this safe pleasure, needed to feel her skin against his palms. Rubbing her feet seemed far safer than rubbing anywhere else he wished to rub her… or taste her… or lick her.

Hell , he was depraved.

“You don’t believe in miracles.” She stated it as a fact rather than a question or challenge.

“Never have.”

“And you don’t believe in Jeremiah.” She wiggled her toes as he continued to rub them.

“No. I don’t believe in guardian angels. Especially those who are terrible at their jobs.” He tugged gently on her big toe which made her giggle.

“Please don’t tease me, Brynne. You’ll make me laugh when I want to be serious.” She playfully nudged his thigh with her foot and that raised the heat level in his blood to inferno hot. Perhaps taking her feet hadn’t been a very good idea. Touching any part of her was never a good idea.

“I wish to be serious as well.” He resumed his rhythmic stroking and gentle rubbing for her feet were still cold.

“Good, I’d hoped that you would be. I wish to talk about us.”

“There is no us .”

She arched a delicate eyebrow. “Don’t be dense, Brynne. Everything we’re doing is about us.”

“Lettie, this is your mission, not mine. As far as I’m concerned, we’re done investigating.”

“No! We’ve just gotten started.” Her eyes grew wide in alarm and she scowled at him as though to bolster her resolve. She had to know her plans were falling apart.

He sighed, not wishing to make it harder for both of them.

The sooner she understood the hopelessness of her search, the sooner she’d move on with her life.

“Lettie, I know you believe that I’m somehow connected to the de Wolfe family.

But we’ve walked the battlefields and searched the town records.

We’ve walked through the de Wolfe portrait gallery.

I saw you slip into that gallery no less than three times this evening. ”

“Because I sensed that I was overlooking something important.”

“There’s nothing to find, Lettie. Your wolves and roses and wounded warriors on a battlefield are random ideas that crept into your dreams. That’s all.”

“Those references are important,” she insisted, scowling at him once again and refusing to accept the truth that was staring them both in the face.

He wanted to shake the stubbornness out of her, but it was also one of the things he liked most about her. She was loyal and determined. “We’ve been over this before. The wolf reference is obviously to Frances and Wolverton Grange. You knew you were to be sent here.”

She tipped her chin up in indignation. “No, it’s definitely a reference to the de Wolfe family.

And I know what you’re going to say next.

You’re going to tell me that Lord de Wolfe won’t have any useful records in his home either and that it will be a waste of time for us to return there tomorrow.

But I know he will have something important to show us.

His family and that of Titus and Atticus de Wolfe have dozens of relatives in common.

One has only to prepare an ancestral chart to know precisely how many times their bloodlines have crossed. ”