Everything I Ever Wanted (28 page)

Darrow contributed a low utterance that was somewhere between a grumble and growl. He was ignored.

She pointed to Darrow. "Do not set this man and his remedies upon poor Miss Parr. She deserves not the like. She was everything kindhearted while he lay abed."

"Diabolical," Darrow muttered. "That's what she was."

"Oh, shush," Mrs. Simon said, turning on him. "You act as if it were a hardship having one such as she care for you. After that first night, she never said a word about you tiptoeing down the stairs to take your meal from the larder." She glanced back at South a shade guiltily, her bow mouth turned down at the corners. "It were just a game, you see, my lord. She pretended one thing. He pretended another. Only I don't know that Mr. Darrow here knew how much pretending there was. She's a right good actress, that Miss Parr. I can't say that I've seen the like since our vicar played Falstaff at the village fair three summers past."

South managed not to choke, but it was a narrow thing. "High praise, indeed. Have you shared this observation with Miss Parr?"

"Oh, yes, m'lord. I complimented her several times on the same. She allowed that Falstaff is a very difficult role and Mr. Dumfrey, our vicar, is to be commended. Gracious to a fault, she is." She gave Darrow another pointed look. "In spite of what some people might say."

Darrow kicked a small pile of wood shavings at his feet into the fire. They burned brightly, sparking red and orange and finally yellow. "Have off, woman," he said. "I'm not likely to hurt Miss Parr. I've been looking after his lordship with my remedies, and you can see for yourself he's none the worse for it."

The cottage was too small, South decided."Do you know, Darrow, Mrs. Simon might like the pleasure of arguing that point with you on her way home. I believe you should escort her back to the village."

"Oh, but that's not necessary," Mrs. Simon said, flushing deeply. "It's not so very far."

Darrow, who had been rising above his stool, sat back down.

"I insist," South said.

Darrow started to rise again, hovered when it looked as if the widow would mount another protest, then straightened completely at South's quick nod.

There was a bit more tit for tat as Darrow and Mrs. Simon bundled up for the walk into the village, but South found he could enjoy it, knowing it was going to be short-lived. He found a moment to press some coins into Darrow's gloved hand. "In the event the snowfall keeps you in the village," he said with a significant look, "and the widow doesn't see to your comfort for the night."

"How long will you not be needing me?"

"A few days. Mrs. Simon, too."

Darrow nodded. "Have a care, m'lord," he said under his breath. "Miss Parr's tenderhearted."

South blinked. "I am becoming convinced the same can be said of you."

"Hmmpf." Darrow stepped outside, where Mrs. Simon was waiting for him, and took the widow's arm. Behind them the door closed.

The widow patted Darrow's sleeve. "Cheer yourself, Mr. Darrow. Didn't I say his lordship could be induced to send us along directly? What need does he have of us, anyway? I've never known the like before. Most times when the cottage has been occupied, my services are only required for a few hours each day, lovebirds being what they are and all, but Mr. Marchmanwell, his grace nowwas particular that once I made the cottage ready I should also make myself useful all the day long."

Darrow looked at her askance. "Those were West's instructions?"

She nodded.

"I think he meant to have some fun with his lordship."

"I was wondering if that might not be the way of it. A shame, too. What with Lord Southerton and Miss Parr deserving to be alone more than most. I probably shouldn't say so, but his grace has always had a bit of the devil in him."

Darrow hunched his shoulders against the cold and moved toward the widow protectively. "The viscount also," said Dairow. "But what a dull business serving them would be if it were otherwise."

She laughed. "Exactly so, Mr. Darrow. Exactly so."

India heard South climbing the stairs. He bypassed his own room and came to stand outside hers. She held her breath, wondering not only what he would do, but what she wanted him to do.

The rap on the door came lightly. If she had not been alert for it, she might not have heard. Still, she hesitated. There was no second knock, and the knob did not turn. A moment later she heard his faint footsteps in retreat.

India pushed her sketchbook off her lap and ran to the door. She opened it just as South would have stepped into his room. They both hovered on their respective thresholds, half in, half out, their glances locked, questions traded at first without words.

"I I thought I" India heard herself falter and fell silent.

"I saw the candlelight under your door. Forgive me if I woke you. It was not my intention to disturb you." He started to go in.

"No! Wait. You did not disturb me. That is I was making sketches, not sleeping."

"Then I will let you return to your work. I only meant to assure myself that you were all of a piece."

She nodded slowly."Yes. I am. Thank you for" India stopped. She did not know why she felt compelled to thank him for anything. "Did I hear Mrs. Simon leave?" she asked.

"That was some hours ago."

"Hours?" With her sketchbook for refuge, she had lost all sense of time. "I hadn't realized."

"Darrow escorted her to the village."

"That was kind of him."

"It has started to snow."

India looked over her shoulder, but the candlelight near the window simply reflected the room back to her. "Will there be a lot, do you think?"

"Mrs. Simon says knee high by morning."

"Oh." There didn't seem anything more to be said. India could not make out what he was thinking; the thin curve of his mouth seemed more impatient now than amused. "Good night, then."

"Good night, India."

She ducked back into her room, closed the door with a quick jerk, and leaned against it. Then she was struck by the realization that her heart was beating rapidly and that her breathing was shallow. Her stomach fluttered uneasily in a way that was familiar to her. Onstage, this tangle of anticipation and excitement was not entirely unwelcome. It made her acutely aware of her performance.

Here at Ambermede, it served only to remind her how acutely aware she was of him.

India crawled into bed when she hoped she had exhausted herself. She tossed and turned, then slept fitfully. Once she got up and sat at her window, watching the snow fall. The steady drift of white-lace flakes across the glass made her eyelids grow satisfyingly heavy. She stumbled back to bed and lay there again, wide-eyed and alert to every creak of the floorboards and rush of wintry wind through the eaves.

When she rose a second time, it was not to go to the window. She stepped into the hallway instead, barefoot and without her robe. The light fabric of her nightshift floated about her as she hurried to South's door. She did not knock, because she did not want to give him a chance to refuse her. Pushing open the door just enough to slip inside, India did so.

Firelight cast his still form into relief. In spite of the cold, he slept only partially covered. One arm and leg lay outside the blankets, limned in orange and gold by the flames, long and sleekly muscled, astonishingly beautiful, and perfectly naked.

India approached the bed on the side closer to him. She remembered how he had been the first time she had seen him sleeping in the hackney, and again only yesterday. She had been right to suppose that sleep did not render him unprotected, for here once more was the conflicting appearance of complete relaxation and readiness. She had learned firsthand that he could awake with a languid stretch or prepared to pounce.

Wary of which it would be this time, India touched his naked shoulder lightly. "My lord?" she whispered.

There was no response.

She tapped again, bending at the waist to lean over him. "Southerton."

He did not stir.

India eased herself carefully onto the edge of the bed and hitched the heels of her cold feet on the bed frame. A light shiver passed through her. She looked longingly at the heavy tangle of blankets around him and wondered if she could pull the corner of just one across her lap. "South?"

His breathing did not change.

India nudged his arm aside so she might have the benefit of one small part of the uppermost quilt. "Matthew?"

"What is it, India?"

So startled was she by the husky, rumbling timbre of his voice, India thought that, save for his quick reflexes, she might have come out of her skin. His arm snaked around her waist just as she would have leaped to her feet. He easily hauled her back to the bed, and she sat in the space made by the curve of his body on its side, his arm still tucked securely about her.

She was out of breath again. He was inordinately calm.

"What is it you want, India?"

She had to wait until her heartbeat slowed to answer. "It is what I don't want," she whispered. "I do not want to be alone any longer."

"You only had to say so." South raised his arm and adjusted his position so that she might lie beside him. He pulled the blankets over her and up to her shoulders. She quickly made a nest of his offerings, curling close, rubbing the icy soles of her feet in a depression he'd made warm with his body. "Better?" he asked.

She nodded; then, because she wasn't certain he could see her clearly, she answered him. "Yes. Better."

South rubbed her arm lightly. He could feel the small bumps of her raised flesh under his palm."You're still cold. Let me warm you."

India could have told him that the prickles he felt were not entirely caused by the cold. She did not. Instead, she allowed herself to be turned on her side, and inched closer to him, her head tucked neatly under his chin, her back to his chest, her bottom against his groin. "You were awake, weren't you?" she asked quietly. "When I came into your room, I mean."

He'd been awake far longer than that. What he was willing to admit to was, "Since you opened your door."

"You could hear me?" She thought she had been excessively quiet.

"Yes. And your scampering in the hallway."

India smiled. "I meant to be stealthy, you know."

South's chuckle came from deep at the back of his throat. "To what purpose?" he asked. "When you intended to wake me in any event."

Her smile faded. About her waist, she felt South's arm tighten fractionally. India did not know if he meant to force the words from her on her next breath, or simply sensed the change in her and offered this small comfort. She lay her arm across his and stared at the leaping, licking tongues of fire in the hearth. "I thought you might turn me away in the hall," she said."Or at the door. I thought if I were here, at your side, it might be"

"Impossible?"

"More difficult," she said. "I did not want you to say no."

"This afternoon you wanted to be alone," he reminded her.

"Yes."

"And I left you."

She nodded.

"Now you want to be with me."

"I do."

"And I let you."

India nodded again. Her hair rubbed the underside of his chin.

"Do you understand what I'm saying, India? In these things it will be your choice. Always."

"You cannot say that," she told him softly. "It is generous of you, but it cannot always be thus. You must allow that you will tire of me or grow impatient with my disagreeable ways."

"Then you do not know my mind," he said. "Because even if these things came to pass, I would not turn you away if you had need of me."

She smiled again, albeit with more poignancy than humor. Her mind flew back to some of the first words they had exchanged. She twisted them slightly to suit her purpose now. "Then I can expect that you shall always save me, my lord."

"Matthew."

"Matthew," she whispered.

"Yes," he told her. "You can expect that I shall always save you."

"Even from myself?"

He moved his head so his lips could brush the crown of hers. "Especially then."

India's fingers insinuated themselves between his. "We are safe here."

Not a statement, South realized, but a question. The tiniest inflection at the end made it so. "Yes," he told her. "We are safe." He felt her nod. India made no demands on him to explain how he could be certain. Her trust in him was implicit. "Will you not sleep now, India?"

His voice was so gentling, like the first soft strains of a lullaby, that tears came to India's eyes. She pressed the side of her face against the pillow to catch them.

"Sssh," he whispered.

She closed her eyes.

He absorbed her small shudder.

She slept. In time, so did he.

The muted light of a gray dawn was pressing at the window when India woke. She raised her face just enough to allow her nose and mouth to appear over the edge of the blankets. There were frost flowers on the panes of glass, and the fire had gone out. She could see her breath. Like a turtle, India ducked back inside.