“I do,” he said, falling into a seat by the dormant fireplace.
She studied the room with pursed lips, and some of his irritation with her behavior fled when he noticed how pale she looked.
“It’s surprisingly…nice.”
He let out a huff of amusement. “Take out the ‘surprisingly’ and your compliment might also have been nice.”
To his delight, one corner of her mouth hitched up at that. “This is just not what I’d expect from…” She gestured toward him and it was impossible not to laugh.
“Oh no, do go on,” he said, resting his arm on the settee’s edge so he could slide down and make himself comfortable. “I would love to hear how that sentence will end.”
She pursed her lips and looked away. Unwilling, it seemed, to outright insult him in his own home. Though he suspected he knew what she meant. She thought he was a pauper. Maybe even something worse. She had no idea who he really was, and for the moment, that was how he preferred it.
He had a feeling if she knew his father was a marquess, she’d behave entirely differently and that he could not bear. He liked this Delilah, the one that said whatever was on her mind, no matter how rude or thoughtless.
It was… Well, it was refreshing. She was cold lemonade on a hot day. Slightly sweet, a little sour, and anything but bland.
She turned to him suddenly, her arms wrapped around her waist as though she was cold—hard to imagine in this heat, but he supposed it could be shock.
The thought had him frowning, and his expression must have matched hers.
“You saved my life,” she said suddenly.
His eyes widened in surprise at the shift in conversation. “You’re welcome.”
She stared at him for a long moment and he watched her swallow. “Thank you.”
He nodded toward the end of the settee. “Have a seat.”
She rubbed her arms. “No, thank you, I should—”
“Have a seat.” His tone was less polite this time and he shifted forward, making more room for her as he eyed her steadily. “Please.”
She blinked rapidly at the ‘please’ and he thought he saw confusion flicker in her eyes.
Poor thing had just been through the scare of her life and she was trying her best not to show it.
His heart did something strange. It made its presence known with a lurch. An inanimate monster coming to life, just like in that novel he’d recently read.
He shook off the thought with a rueful little laugh. It seemed they’d both been shaken by today’s events.
She perched on the edge of the seat, her spine stiff and straight, her hands clasped daintily in her lap. When a servant entered and set the tray before her she blinked in surprise.
“I—I should not be here,” she said slowly.
He knew what she meant. She should not be here alone with him. He knew it too. The problem was…he had no idea what else to do with her.
“I should go home,” she said. Staring at the pot of tea before them but making no move to touch it.
“You should rest first.” Even he was surprised by the softness of his voice. It felt like it had been an age since he’d talked to anyone like this—gently, as if to a child. He cleared his throat and moved forward, pouring the tea since she looked unfit to move. “You’ve been through an ordeal,” he said. “You’re shaken. Perhaps in shock—”
“I am no such thing,” she said. “I am fine.” As she said it she began to tremble and he muttered a curse under his breath.
In one move he was right next to her, his thigh pressed to hers as he wrapped an arm around her.
She stiffened even more. “What do you think you are—”
“Hush,” he commanded. He held her tight, and after a heartbeat of holding herself stiffly, she collapsed against his side as though all the fight drained out of her at once.
She was warm and soft, and she smelled like heaven.
They sat like that for a long moment and he found himself wishing it wouldn’t end.
It had to, of course. But he would have been content to sit like that for eternity.
“I should go home,” she said when she finally stirred against his side. Her cheek rested against his heart and he wondered if she could feel the way it pounded heavily against his ribcage.
Of course, his heart had been working just fine his whole life, but he’d never been quite so aware of it before. He’d never felt it thudding away inside of him like this.
Like it wasn’t his to control.
Like it no longer belonged to him.
Stuff and nonsense.
It wasn’t until she made to move again that her words fully registered and when they did, it was with a thud.
She still didn’t understand. Or maybe she just didn’t wish to…
“You cannot go home, Delilah.”
She pulled away from his arm and sat upright, adjusting her skirts as if that would lend this moment some decency. “Of course I can. I must. They will worry if—”
“Delilah.” He leaned forward to see her face.
Her voice had an odd edge to it. She didn’t wish to understand. But she was starting to. His heart did that lurch again, and he reached a hand out to cover hers, gentling his voice as he said her name again. “Delilah…”
“Don’t.” She pulled her hand from his. “Don’t say it.”
“You cannot go home, love—”
“Don’t call me that.”
He shifted to face her. “Delilah, listen to me.”
She frowned, her lips pursing. She looked far more like herself, and he was glad, even as her pout made him sigh with frustration.
“It’s Miss Clemmons,” she snapped.
Stubborn little thing.
But that was how he liked her.
“Miss Clemmons…” He drew her name out exaggeratedly, making her scowl. “You cannot go home. You may not be safe there.”
Her face drained of color. He hadn’t thought she could grow any paler and he cursed himself for being responsible for her fear.
But what else could he do? She was in
