His face heated all over again. “Such p-praise.”
“Well deserved.”
And if they continued on this path, he’d have her frothy night rail banished to the floor and his body covering hers in seconds.
Though he was loath to put any distance between them, Daniel disengaged their arms and scooted down a foot. “Have you anything else to ask of me?”
His tone was brusque. He hoped she didn’t take offense. Didn’t—
“What’s a munsons muffler?”
Of all the things she might have said… “Pardon?”
“Munsons muffler,” she repeated as though he was supposed to know. “I heard it at Sarah’s party when the men greeted you. The night we met.”
Daniel cast about his brain. “Lord Munson? He and I sparred the d-day b-before. He got in a good punisher, a muffler, when he was faster than me.” He shrugged. “That’s the b-best I can figure.”
“You really should learn how to hunker and block. Don’t you have a Tremayne coat of arms? Painted on a shield you could use—?”
At the image of bringing a medieval shield into the ring, there he went, laughing again. Which was good. He had important things to say and laughing with Thea always seemed to loosen his throat.
Reluctantly, he stood. “Now p-pull on your wrapper and join me downstairs. If I have to see you in that b-bed one more minute, I’m liable to fall on you like a rabid d-dog and never get the rest out.”
7
Stars & Scandals ~ More Poetic Than He Thought
The house was settled and silent when Thea made her way toward the drawing room. While he’d lit a surprisingly large number of candles (judging by the glow that reached her well into the hallway), she’d tidied her appearance and done her best to suppress nervously flapping butterflies. What was so important he had to tell her in a more formal setting?
When she entered, Cyclops appeared enthralled with the scraps of beef and bone he noisily gnawed on near the banked hearth, and Daniel—
Her breath sighed out.
For when she glanced his way, Daniel stopped idly rubbing the ivory knob of his walking stick and set it aside. Standing, he waited for her to join him. So big and masculine, casually handsome, so very appealing, she feared her hard-won composure would soon crumble.
He’d removed his waistcoat and loosened his cravat. The ends hung loosely, exposing—
“What’s that on your neck?” Shutting the door behind her, she went straight to him and peeled back his shirt. Angry red lines slashed across the curve of his shoulder, two and three at a time. She placed her fingers over the worst of the thin welts and met his gaze. “A new style of sparring?”
A rueful grin lifted his lips at both corners. “That’s why Cyclops is here. We have more company at home. Feline company.”
Her brow crinkled at his perplexing explanation. Feline company? What manner—
“Mrs. Freshley and her six kittens had moved in t-to your old room, t-tucked themselves nicely under that falling-over chest.”
Mrs. Freshley? A mama cat had been in that den of despair? Which explained the soft cries she’d heard. A mama cat he’d named after her silly, childhood poem?
The ragged skin beneath her fingers burned hot. “And you rescued her?”
Would this man never cease to amaze her?
“With help.” His big body shifted and she let her hand glide lightly over the scratches and fall to her side.
It was impossible to be this close to him and not touch, so she moved back. He’d asked her to come downstairs to tell her something. Something serious.
Something that took precedence over joining her in bed and finishing what his tongue had so flirtatiously started. Best she remembered that.
Oh heavens—she tensed at the unbidden idea—was he here to tell her goodbye?
“They’re ensconced in an extra bedchamber until she quits trying t-to t-take a chunk out of everyone.” It took Thea a second to realize he was still talking about cats—and not giving her the heave-ho back into the streets. “I’ll relocate her Royal Scratchiness to the stab-b-bles once her kittens are old enough. Hopefully, she and Cy will come to an accord b-by then.”
At his name, Cyclops abandoned the bone and shuffled over to deliver an impressive slobber on her slippers.
Rather bemused, totally befuddled—trying not to borrow trouble and worry over what hadn’t occurred—she watched the spreading stain a second, then raised her gaze to Daniel’s. The soft expression in his eyes laid her bare.
“I love you.” Did that just fly from her lips?
Granted, she’d been thinking it since last night, since Mr. Taft unwittingly revealed the reasons for Daniel’s ongoing reticence—in actuality, she’d thought it even before—but she shouldn’t have said it.
He hasn’t been reticent today, has he? Nay, he’d poured out his heart and she could do no less.
She took a single step toward him. “I do.” A step back. Then another. Then her eyes fell to her salivated-upon slippers. How could she look at him after confessing such a thing?
Both Sarah and Susan had warned her against it. Don’t let your heart rule your head, it’ll hurt more when it ends, Susan had instructed. And with the good ones, it always ends.
But Thea couldn’t avoid the truth. “Aye, I do. Love you, that is. But I shall…” And she could no longer avoid him, having to glance up as she finished, somehow the words easier to say to his startled gaze than to her spit-riddled shoes. “You’re an incredible man, Daniel Tremayne, but let’s forget I said that, shall we?”
“Never.” The growl came just before he hauled her against him. “I’ll never forget and you can nnn”—he exhaled near her ear—“never take it back.”
“I can’t?” I don’t want to.
Still holding her tight, he whispered, “And it’s Holbrook, sweet Thea. D-Daniel Anthony Holb-b-brook. Tremayne’s just the title.”
Just the title, she thought on a hysterical giggle. “Aye, well, it’s a mighty imposing title and a lovely and strong name.”
“It should be yours t-too.”
What? Stunned, she pulled back and stared at
