Chapter 8

 

“Wherein our hero is held at knife point.”

Charity watched, still astonished, as David picked up the kittens and arranged them in the nest he’d created.

“I never would have believed it unless I’d seen it with my own eyes.”

Charity bit back a laugh as David jumped at the sound of her voice. He grunted and turned his back on her until all kittens were snuggled into a fluffy pile.

“That was very kind of you,” she said, meaning it, the gratitude in her voice too audible.

Little Jane didn’t have much in the way of toys and though she adored and idolised her big brother John, his rough and tumble games of war and hunting were not always to her taste. The kittens would be something for her to love and play with, if they survived, when the big boy games became too much. She prayed David would not grow tired of caring for them as Jane would be devastated now if they died. With chagrin Charity acknowledge that she’d end up looking after them herself before she saw Jane upset.

David still said nothing, and she sensed rather than saw his unease. He got to his feet brushing straw from his clothes and sighing over the state of his boots.

“I… I was wondering if you’d like me to shave you?” The words were out before Charity had time to think them through and she wished to take them back.

His cool blue eyes lit with astonishment and something else she could not interpret, though it made her heart thud a little harder. He rubbed his hand over his beard and grimaced, and she knew she was correct in believing he didn’t like being unshaven.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, sounding rather terse as he looked away from her, a frown drawing his dark brows together.

My, he looked forbidding when he scowled. She remembered him moments ago, petting the kittens, and bit back a grin. She thought perhaps his black-hearted image had been tarnished for good now, though he could scowl all he wanted.

“I know I don’t have to,” Charity said, rolling her eyes and tutting. “I was being kind. It’s what people do for each other… normal people at least, ones with manners,” she added, folding her arms as she saw the irritation flash in his eyes. “You were kind to Jane and the kittens, you didn’t have to do that either, so now I’m being kind to you.”

He glanced over at her, and she smothered a grin, amused by the rather perplexed cast to his expression. She watched as he frowned, fighting some internal battle, but he rubbed at his beard again and gave a taut nod.

“You know how?” he asked, his tone sceptical. “Or are you just hoping for an opportunity to cut my throat?”

Charity laughed.

“You’ll just have to put your life in my hands, won’t you?” she said, enjoying the chance to taunt him a little. “But yes, I know how. My father hated to be unshaven and when he and mother fell ill….” She shrugged, pushing away memories of her father’s emaciated frame in the last days of his life. “Kit too, when… when he’s not well enough,” she added, wishing and praying that those terrifying days would never revisit this house. She wasn’t sure she would survive the loss of her twin. No one else must leave her. Never.

David cleared his throat, bringing her back to the present. “Yes, then. Thank you,” he replied, sounding a little as if the words were unfamiliar to him. “I would appreciate it.”

Charity nodded. “You’re welcome. I’ll come up in a moment, if that’s all right?”

He nodded his agreement and turned away from her.

“Did you really have a kitten called Dinah?” she asked, wondering if he’d made it up or if it was something he’d remembered about his life. “You remember her?”

“Yes,” he said, avoiding her gaze. “Small things are coming back. Seeing the kittens brought the memory to mind, I suppose.”

That made sense at least and she was glad his memory was still returning. She could not imagine how lost it must make one feel, not knowing who or where you belonged. Perhaps that was what made him so bad tempered?

“You must have been fond of her, to have remembered that,” she said, wondering why she was keeping him talking, unwilling to let him go. He seemed somewhat unbalanced by his act of kindness, though, and she wanted to press him before he retreated behind sarcasm and bad manners. That he inevitably would seemed obvious enough.

“I suppose,” he said, gruff now, impatient to leave.

“Did you keep her with you a long time?”

He let out a breath, and she could see he’d had enough.

“No,” he replied, the word terse and a little annoyed now as he turned on his heel. “My father drowned her.”

Charity watched as he walked away, the breath leaving her in a sigh. “Oh.”

For the first time, she wondered if perhaps the man’s life hadn’t been of the gilded and polished quality she’d supposed. She’d heard the cut glass of his accent, seen the impeccable tailoring of his clothes, and assumed his life was one of pleasure and ease. Was she so far from the truth?

What if he’d been treated badly? What if he’d been lonely, unhappy? She imagined him as a little boy, the same age as Jane, without someone to save a beloved kitten for him, like he’d done for her little sister. Was that why he’d done it?

Charity frowned, wishing she wasn’t so eager to know. Mr Baxter was right. The man was trouble, trouble of a sort she could ill afford to get involved with. Offering to shave him had been an idiotic idea. Even now the thought of her hands on his bare skin made her own heat, although she still lingered in the cool shadow of the barn.

Still, she’d done it now and she must keep her word. Hoping she could do it without cutting his throat as she’d promised, she thrust her trembling hands under her arms and stalked into the house.

***

Dev opened the bedroom door to find Miss Kendall carrying a tray with a jug of hot water and a steaming damp towel. He’d laid the spare shaving kit her brother had lent him out and put a chair by the window so she’d have good light.

She came in, avoiding his eye and he frowned, tamping down a rather peculiar prickly sensation in his gut as she brushed past him. He felt as nervous as a virgin in a whorehouse and he couldn’t fathom why for the life of him. Miss Kendall was the virgin here. It ought to be her blushing and trembling, for heaven’s sake. He was a man of the world, to put it mildly.

So why did thoughts of her hands on his skin make his nerves leap?

Because you’ve sworn to keep your damn hands off her, a terse voice retorted in his head. Ah. Yes. That would be it. Nothing worse than having an itch you couldn’t scratch and now the wretched creature was about to make things a damn sight worse.

Dev watched as she set about preparing to shave him, noting the high spots of colour upon her cheeks. He hid a smile, pleased that she was suffering nerves too. Was she eager to put her hands on him, he wondered? Or was that just maidenly anxiety at the impropriety of being in a man’s room alone?

He wondered if Kit had any idea she was here and dismissed the notion. If his earlier outburst was anything to go by, the fellow would suffer an apoplexy. She’d get the scolding of her life when he discovered what she’d done. He glanced up at her again, wondering if she knew. She must know her brother would disapprove.

Yet here she was.

The thought puffed him up a little until, and with rare humility, he wondered if perhaps he was over-inflating his own appeal? The woman did seem to do as she pleased no matter what her brother said. Perhaps Kit’s opinion simply didn’t matter?

“Sit down then, please,” she said, with that brisk, no nonsense tone in her voice that he well recognised, though there was a faint tremble to the words.

Moving with deliberation, he kept his gaze on her as he stepped closer, noting the way her colour rose further. Oh yes, she was unsettled. The idea pleased him, and he bit back a grin.

Dev seated himself in the chair, tilting his head back as she placed the steaming towel over his face. He sighed. It felt good, though having his head at this angle wasn’t comfortable.

She removed the towel and lathered up the brush, applying the soap to his face. She was careful not to touch him more than necessary and continued to avoid his eye.

“You really do have a valet, don’t you?” she said, as she reached for the razor, opening it with care.

Dev nodded. No point in denying it. “Yes.”

“Do you remember his name?”

Jacobs.

Dev frowned, wondering if he should make a name up or pretend he couldn’t remember such details. He did not rely on his valet as much as Miss Kendall might suppose, but the fellow always shaved him far better than he could manage himself. His beard was thick and unruly and, on the occasions when he had tried to do it himself, he’d ended up covered with tiny nicks. It was not a good look.

“I don’t remember,” he said at length.

The fewer lies he told, the less likely he’d get in a tangle by forgetting something.

“Lean back,” she instructed him, which he did for a moment before straightening again.

“I can’t stay like that the whole time you shave me,” he protested. “It hurts my neck.”

She tutted at him impatiently. “Well, how does your valet do it?” she asked. “I’ve only ever shaved my father and Kit in bed so it’s easier.”

She turned an intriguing shade of scarlet as she realised what she’d said, and Dev swallowed his laughter. That was a cheap shot, though, and he’d not take it. Too obvious.

“I lean back against him,” he said with a slight shrug, though the thought of resting his head against her breast was rather too inviting for his peace of mind.

“Very well.” She bit the words out, unwilling but resigned and Dev leaned back.

He closed his eyes, knowing that watching her was a recipe for a cut throat, no matter her assurances. After an initial hesitation and a sharp intake of breath as he rested his head against her, she began. He was unsurprised to find her touch sure as she shaved him with almost as much skill and dexterity as his own man.

“It’s very coarse,” she commented as she reached over to clean the blade before beginning on his neck.

“Yes.”

“Do you have foreign blood by any chance? Your skin is so dark.”

Dev nodded as she moved back to carry on. “Yes. Italian.”

Damnation.

He bit his tongue. He shouldn’t have told her that. Few people knew or remembered that his grandmother had been Italian but, although it wasn’t a secret, he must have a care.

“But you still don’t remember your family name?” she asked.

He dared to glance up at her, cursing the puzzled look in her eyes and his own foolishness. “No.”

“My uncle said amnesia does funny things to the mind,” she said, her quietly, almost as if she was reassuring herself as much as him. “I suppose he’s right.”

“So it seems,” he murmured, hoping he’d escaped any further questions.

“There,” she said, wiping the last of the soap from his face with a smile. She stood back to admire her handiwork, and Dev saw that flush rise on her cheeks again. He returned her smile, holding her gaze and running one hand over his smooth jaw.

“That feels wonderful,” he said, the words low and intimate, though he hadn’t intended it to be.

There was something in her eyes; an appreciative glint that made his thoughts stray into dangerous territory.

Miss Kendall looked away from him, busying herself in gathering the shaving things together and cleaning the blade of the razor. “I’m glad,” she said, a tart note to her voice. “But you needn’t think I’ll be doing this every day. You must learn to do it yourself, you know.”

“Yes,” Dev replied, his tone solemn. He smiled at her as she turned her back on him, knowing she did it so he couldn’t see how he’d flustered her, and he did fluster her. “I will, you have my word.”

“Good.” She turned back then, holding the tray before her like a shield. “Well, then I’ll… I’ll see you at dinner.”

She paused, not moving, as though she’d forgotten what she’d meant to do.

“You will,” Dev agreed, amused now as he saw her swallow. She wanted to leave, but she didn’t. The realisation made him smile, warmth unfurling in his chest.

“It’s not much tonight, as we’ve been out,” she continued, her tone almost apologetic. No, no, that would never do. “Nothing cooked, at least. Just cold meat and such like.”

“You mean to say I won’t have a cooked meal?” he demanded a deliberate thread of irritation to his words.

Her temper flashed in her eyes. “Not unless you cook it yourself, no!”

The words were curt and snappy, and Dev grinned at her. There she was, his little hellion.

“Oh!” she huffed, realising he was teasing her. She stalked to the door, leaving without another word while Dev held it open. He watched her walk back down the hallway, admiring the sway of her lovely behind as she went.

***

Dev yawned and stretched. He had officially lost his mind. There was no other explanation. It was three in the morning and here he was, feeding kittens. If any of his cronies from town discovered that the hard living, hard drinking viscount they knew had been reduced to such indignity, he’d never live it down.

Once he’d encouraged the little grey runt of the litter to drink his, or her, fill—Dev wasn’t sure which—he laid his head back against the straw. It seemed pointless to go back to bed when he’d need to come back in a few hours anyway. The straw wasn’t so uncomfortable. With a sigh, he closed his eyes.

***

Charity stared and stared, but could not decide what to do. She’d assumed, after hearing him tiptoe down the creaky stairs around midnight, that David would have had enough of his angel of mercy routine and decide the kittens could wait until a decent hour of the morning. When she had heard him tread the stairs once more at three am, she’d admitted astonishment. Feeling sorry that the poor man was getting no sleep at all, she’d decided to go for him, assuming he’d go again around six am. She was always up and doing by then anyway—a farm was no place for lay-a-beds—and so she had thought to allow him a lie in and had risen at five thirty, expecting to send him back to bed. Except she couldn’t… because he was asleep in the straw, with the kittens in his lap.

She bit her lip, wondering how long she dared just stand and stare at him. It was a view worth studying, in her opinion.

Charity had experienced little of the male of the species. Oh, there was her brother and she’d brought John up from a baby, so she knew what the basic anatomy looked like but… well, she’d never seen a man like this before. She knew Kit was a beautiful man, but he was slender and built on finer lines than this fellow, and he was her brother. Ugh.

David, though. She swallowed, her throat feeling tight and rather dry. His head lolled back against the straw and she admired his rather obstinate, square jaw, and the strong line of his throat. His hair stuck up in odd places, dishevelled, with bits of straw caught in the thick black here and there and, as her gaze travelled over him, she saw black hair on his chest too where his shirt gaped open. He’d pulled on breeches and boots, but his shirt was open, falling a little from one heavy shoulder to expose a dark nipple. He was exquisite. Masculine beauty at its finest, not that she had anything to compare it to, but suddenly it was hard to breathe.

Wondering how she dared, Charity tiptoed closer, kneeling in the straw beside him. She’d come to feed the kittens, so he could sleep, and he was sleeping so… she’d feed the kittens and not disturb him. There was no law about admiring the scenery while she did it.

She reached, intending to pluck one kitten from his lap when a large, dark hand darted out, wrapping around her wrist.

Charity squealed, staring at Dev whose eyes were now wide awake and staring at her.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said, looking a little bewildered, and smothering a yawn, perhaps not as awake as he’d first appeared. “You startled me.”

“Sorry,” she said, swallowing as he still held a tight grasp on her arm. “I came to feed the kittens, so you could get some sleep but… you were still here.”

“Oh,” he said again, as Charity realised how close he was.

Her gaze fell to his chest, to the smooth expanse of warm skin and the dark, wiry hair she felt the sudden desire to run her fingers through. She dragged her eyes back to his, only to find them amused and dark with some emotion that sent her skin prickling with awareness.

“I must have fallen asleep,” he murmured.

She watched as his eyes dropped to her mouth, and he licked his lips.

“Could I have my hand back please?” She’d intended her words to sound annoyed but, somehow, they were more squeaky than imperious.

“Depends what you want to do with it,” he said, running his thumb over the pulse that was thudding beneath the skin at her wrist.

The low, masculine timbre of his voice made her breath shorten. That mocking tone that implied he knew well she was an innocent who had strayed into dangerous territory fired temptation and indignation within her at the same time.

“I came to feed the kittens,” she repeated, the words breathless despite her best efforts.

The look in his eyes reminded her of barn cats when they had a mouse cornered in a dark place, but then the intense expression fell from his eyes and he looked away, releasing her hand.

“So you did.” He seemed tense suddenly the teasing quality gone and a harder set to his jaw. He picked the kittens up, one by one, and put them back in the straw where they mewled and crawled over each other. “They’re all yours,” he said, terse now as he got to his feet, brushed off the straw, and left her alone in the barn without a backwards glance.

Charity let out a breath, not knowing what to think. Disappointment at his abrupt departure was not something she ought to feel, his company not something she ought to look forward to. He would leave soon enough, and she did not need or want a broken heart. It was better this way. She ought to thank her lucky stars he didn’t wish to toy with her affections or seduce her. Whether she would was another matter.