“He’s b-b-bleeding.” Tom’s voice was muffled. “Come on, k-k-k-itty— Ow!” At the surprised cry, Daniel left off his frowning inspection and walked the mere two paces to the corner.
“Got me, he d-d-d-did.” Tiny slashes of red welled from three close-set cuts on the back of Tom’s hand. “Sharp claws, that’s f-f-f-for sure!”
Another Mr. Freshley?
Daniel knelt to face the growling feline. A smear of dried blood matted several whiskers. The cat hissed and he noticed more blood, redder and wetter, on his chin.
If the blame animal wanted to guard this hovel, he was welcome to it. Daniel tensed his thighs to stand but the plaintive mew the cat gave made him pause. What? Ol’ grumpy-puss here wanted attention now? “’Tis all right, Mr. Freshley,” Daniel soothed, shifting a fraction closer and keeping his arms tucked safely out of clawing reach. “Let’s have a look at you. Find out where that bl-blood—”
“Lookit-it here, D-Dan!” Tom’s excited whisper caught his attention.
Seeing where the boy gazed, Daniel peered under the rickety chest.
Only to be confronted with undeniable proof of his mistake.
He turned back to the cat, crossed his arms over his chest. “So, Mrs. Freshley, how would you and your rat’s nest of kittens like a nice home?”
Moments later, after acknowledging the kittens and their grumpy mama were the only things of value in the room (and theirs dubious), Daniel walked into the hallway and shouted for Buttons.
After he made his request, his footman looked at Daniel as though he’d lost his marbles and the bag they came in. “You want me to what?” his servant exclaimed. “Find a padded box for six kittens?”
“Aye, and her too.” He pointed to Mrs. Freshley, who’d followed him into the hallway once she realized he didn’t intend to harm her brood. “Only b-better make hers a locked b-box.
“And get a blanket to wrap her in. Oh, and grab the thickest gloves you can,” Daniel added, idly wondering why it was easier to contemplate facing a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound opponent in the ring than a scrawny, fur-covered feline. Something to do with those sharply pointed front teeth, perhaps? “I’d rather not ruin my nice p-pair.”
“I’ll see what Roskins an’ Jem have. Between us, we’ll get the little ones and their mama corralled.”
The female in question had been rather industrious during their exchange.
When Buttons went off to find suitable cat-catching equipment, Daniel hunkered down to address the newest member of his household. “You’ll have one job, Mrs. Freshley—n-nay, make that t-two. Feed those youngsters and b-be nice to your new mistress. That’s how you’ll earn your keep.”
The cat just blinked at him, licking her lips and daring Daniel to say a word about the fresh blood on her paw or the mouse tail—suspiciously lacking a mouse body—just behind her.
After dropping off an exhilarated Tom and his well-fed servants at their respective lodgings (he’d treated everyone to a thumping good beef steak at a local alehouse Roskins recommended)…
After depositing one very vocal mama cat back with her kittens—“They’ll be right fine under my watchful eye, Lord Tremayne,” his housekeeper Mrs. Peterson told him quietly and precisely, as she always spoke. “I’ll see she has some cream and part of tonight’s ham.” (Tonight’s ham—Daniel’s supper? Wondrous. Now he was reduced to table scraps?)…
After he washed the stench of the stews off his person and talked (ha!) Crowley out of shaving his jaw (time was precious and hadn’t Thea told him she’d come to like his whiskers?)…
After. After. After.
Seemed it took an age to arrive at Thea’s townhouse, Cyclops in tow. A dreamily dribbling Cy whose constant barking (and resultant drooling) professed his pleasure at the unexpected outing.
Daniel couldn’t wait to converse with Thea. Aye, converse. To jabber, to jaw. Hell, he wanted to rhapsodize with her. Share his past, convince her to share his future.
But as she’d done from the moment they met, she stumped him once again. Because instead of eagerly awaiting his return, she was upstairs asleep. And softly snoring, he realized after he spoke with Mrs. Samuels and showed himself up.
“Said she wanted to know the second ye arrived,” the housekeeper had told him downstairs. “Tried to rouse her, I did, when Sam spotted your horse, but the wee thing is done in. Fell into bed the moment we got her washed up.”
Here, she’d paused for breath, her gaze drifting to Cy and the puddle he’d left on her entry floor. Least it wasn’t piss—something Daniel would’ve quipped out loud if Thea, and not the housekeeper, stood before him.
“Yer dog, my lord,” Mrs. Samuels said gingerly, bravely venturing a hand to pat Cy’s head (and of course prompting that long pink tongue to loll and more drool to fall), “shall I take him to the kitchen? Find a bone…”
Cy whined and leaned into Daniel’s leg.
“Ap-pears he wants to see his new mistress. My new marchioness,” Daniel said with a straight face, keeping his gaze on Mrs. Samuels.
The woman indulged in a bit of drooling of her own.
To hide his smile, he bent to blot Cy’s puddle with his ever-present handkerchief.
“Oh, my lord!” exclaimed Mrs. Samuels once she recovered and saw his actions. “Ye shouldn’t be doing that!”
“’T-tis only spit. I can wipe it up as well as anyone.” Rising, he pointed up the stairs with his walking stick. “Go.” Cy bounded up at the invitation.
“Miss Thea?” the housekeeper all but stammered. “Yer new marchioness?”
“If she’ll have me.” Daniel gave a wink, then sauntered after his dog, tossing over his shoulder, “Please see that we aren’t d-dist-t-turbed.”
For once, the wretched blunder didn’t make him cringe. Far too many more important things lay on his tongue.
“Aye, my lord!”
Watching Thea sleep proved an exercise in torture.
It was torture seeing her hair down, long and lustrous, tangled upon the pillow cushioning her head and restraining himself from trying to unknot the strands. Torture seeing that pretty pink mouth part when she groggily rolled over, stopped snoring (which made
