Her sudden ferocity startled Grimmett. His hold loosened a fraction. Just enough for her to break free. “No, you don’t!” she yelled. “You won’t touch me ever again!”
She floundered with the drooping bodice, pressing it high across her chest, and wielded the brush again. “Never!” She whacked him again. “You rotten—” Again. “Rotten mouse turd!” Snap! The wooden handle split. But her thrashing didn’t pause. “You maggoty—”
“Miss Thea!” Buttons charged through the doorway, taking the situation in at a glance. He jerked Grimmett around and planted him a facer.
Incensed at the unexpected interruption, the landlord only spit and came forward for more. While Buttons struggled with the enraged man’s flailing arms, Thea dropped the hairbrush, sparing not a thought to its newly broken state, and grabbed up the heaviest thing at hand—an old boot of Mr. Hurwell’s. A mateless boot she’d used more than once to scoop up unwanted, multi-legged or whiskered visitors. Grasping it at the top, waiting for the precise moment between the grappling men, she swung. The heavy heel landed solidly against Grimmett’s hard head. Finally stunned, he sank against the wall.
She opened her mouth to yell at him some more but Buttons launched himself between them. Assured she was unharmed, he took off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders, ushering her to the carriage after issuing a threat to the older man.
Thea had thought she’d learned some ribald slang during her stint in the rough area. Buttons’ menacing warning, delivered in colorful and crude terms, actually had her ears stinging more than her abused breast.
Nothing, however, burned more than her pride.
Upon returning home after the encounter with Grimmett, three unexpected gifts awaited Thea.
One, a lacy ecru fan from Lady Wylde, tied to a note expressing her appreciation for Thea’s company and the education she’d helped impart.
The note was read hurriedly—under the guise of pretending that accepting presents from titled ladies for Instruction in Mistressing Arts was nothing out of the ordinary. This farce was enacted given how Lord Tremayne looked on.
Aye, Lord Tremayne. Who Thea considered the second—and best—gift of the three.
Whose actual presence, given all that’d gone on since she’d left his abode a scant time earlier was nearly sufficient to reduce her to a watering pot of epic proportions.
Thankfully, that cowardly urge was countered by the lifting of her spirits the moment she saw him waiting in her entry. Once she processed that he’d come after her—and so soon.
He smiled a bit sheepishly when Thea hurried in, still covered in Buttons’ coat.
Her instinctive rush toward him was checked with his greeting words.
“Ap-p-pears I’m not your only admirer,” he said ruefully, quickly stashing something behind his back. “I’ll let you open that one first, see who it’s from.”
Though he glanced with interest at the fan, shown to its frilly perfection on the usually empty silver tray, his expression held no accusation, only indulgent curiosity.
Crossing into the sanctuary of her home, taking in everything at a glance and resolved to behave normally, Thea just barely avoided launching herself into his arms.
She sensed Buttons’ frowning disapproval at her back. Could she help it if she was loath to explain, to relive the past hour? Better to forget it ever happened. So after quickly refolding the note from Lady Wylde, she used a magnified fascination with the pretty fan as an excuse to avoid looking at Daniel, concerned her expression would certainly convey The Unpleasant Incident.
The incident already forgotten.
“A fan! How lovely.” Her voice only shook a lot. “I—I’ve—” She swallowed and tried again. “I’ve b-been wanting one. It’s so nice of—of—” She couldn’t very well tell Lord Tremayne that his sister had paid her a call. Certainly couldn’t meet his eyes when she felt him come up behind her and saw that he, impossibly, held out a fan as well.
Easier to latch on to the incongruous sight of the striking specimen captured gently in his strong, masculine fingers. Easier to keep her neck bent, her head down, her gaze far away from the mirror glaring at her.
Unlike the delicate, lacy one his sister had chosen, the heavier fan he presented would whip up a gale. The screen was thick enough, when he fanned it out to reveal an intricately painted peacock upon the black silk, that she couldn’t see the light through it.
“I was looking for something softer, more frilly in d-design, but this one caught my eye and I knew it was p-perf— Thea?”
“It is perfect. L-lovely, in fact.” Her face felt uncomfortably warm as she reached to stroke the decisive pleats, to run the pad of one finger over the colorful bird at home within its folds.
Mayhap she could hide behind it? Bring it up in front of her face and sneak upstairs with no one the wiser. “From none to two in one—one m-m-morning—”
It was difficult to speak through the lump swelling her throat. The unshed tears growing dense and hot now that she no longer put on a brave front for Buttons. Now that she was home. Now that he was here.
She gave a frantic laugh. “I now have two fans.” When only minutes ago she’d been fanless. And accosted. Oh Lord! Another helpless giggle escaped. “T-two fans!”
“Thea. Sweetheart.” Lord Tremayne stepped closer and curved both hands firmly around her upper arms, pulled her toward him. The line of the folded fan dug into one and she focused on the sensation. “Nnn-nay!” he directed over her shoulder, speaking to Buttons, she assumed, “d-don’t frown at me again, mouth at me to wait. Her entire body is trembling and— What’s this she’s wearing…your coat?” And there was the accusation she’d expected when he’d noticed the gift from another. “Swift John? T-talk, man!”
“Aye, my lord, ’tis mine.” She heard him shuffle in place. “Miss Thea, will you be telling him? Or do I?”
“One of you b-better.” The rasp vibrated through her.
She shook her head so hard the coat slid from one shoulder. Nay! She
