If His Kiss Is Wicked. Jo GoodmanЧитать онлайн книгу.
Have the carriage made ready. I will not permit her to walk and renting a hack is out of the question. You will ride with Whittier, won’t you? Or has her faint given you pause?”
“I’ll ride with him,” Hobbes said. “He wouldn’t know what to do if there’s dustup.”
“My thought also.” Restell did not trust anyone so much as the sergeant to act on what must be done should the occasion arise. “I should like to be confident that she will be returned to her home safely.”
Hobbes bobbed his head once, acknowledging his employer’s confidence was not misplaced, then left the room.
As soon as Restell heard the doors close behind him, he raised Emmalyn’s veil. He was not surprised to find her staring back at him, although her mottled features made it challenging to determine the nature of her expression. It seemed that she was more out of patience than she was chagrined. When she started to rise, he placed a restraining hand on her shoulder.
“Allow yourself another moment’s respite,” Restell said. He saw her eyes dart to his hand and immediately lifted it. He straightened and took a step toward the foot of the chaise. “You took your fall on your face. I expect you will have another bruise to show for it.”
Emma raised her gloved fingers and gingerly explored the length of her jaw, working it back and forth slowly as she did so. She winced when she happened upon the injury. “Am I bleeding?”
“No. It is merely a carpet burn.”
She turned her head so she might see the Aubusson rug.
“Do not give it a thought,” Restell said. “It appears none the worse for all that you attempted to plow it with your chin.”
“It is good of you to evince so much concern for my person,” she said wryly.
“Yes, well, the carpet is new.”
“That explains it, then.”
“And this is my brother’s home.”
“Of course.”
“My mother had a hand in choosing it.”
“I quite understand.”
“You couldn’t possibly, but it is good of you to evince so much concern for my person.”
Emma was mildly astonished to hear herself laugh. The sound of it was not in the least robust, nor even particularly joyful, but as a first attempt she thought it was well done of her.
Restell watched Emma suck in her breath on a whimper of sound and what might have been an inkling of a smile was transformed into a wince. He inched closer to the chaise. “Are you certain you are recovered?”
Her response was to arch one eyebrow at him and raise herself on her elbows. “You will do me a great kindness by not encouraging me to laugh.”
“Your lip is bleeding again.”
Emma touched the small split in her lip with the tip of her tongue. She pushed herself upright, took out the handkerchief he had given her earlier, and pressed it to her mouth. After a moment she held it away long enough to tell him, “I blame you for it.”
Restell inclined his head. “As you wish.”
Emma regarded him suspiciously. His gracious capitulation was unexpected, and he seemed to be lending his words more gravity than circumstances warranted. There was also the merest suggestion of a smile playing about the edges of his mouth. She realized that he was agreeable to her blaming him but accepted no responsibility for the same. “So you make no admission of guilt.”
“Hardly. I cannot be held accountable for what you find diverting. What if your sense of humor is tickled by the absurd, or worse, by farce? I cannot promise that I will never be caught in some improbable scheme, and if you knew my family better, you would not suppose for even a moment that I could resist it. If you fancy the ironic or the vaguely twisted, you might be less aggrieved in my company, but if you are amused by such observations as I make about circumstances of the moment, then there is no help for it but that you make a full recovery and come to embrace laughter as you would your dearest friend.”
Emma removed the handkerchief from her mouth, but she was quite without words. She blinked widely instead.
“I know,” Restell said sympathetically. “I have no argument for it myself.” He indulged his urge to grin, offering it with an insouciant shrug of his shoulders. “Perhaps one will occur to me later.” Nelson’s light rapping at the door caused Restell to turn his attention in that direction. The careless air he’d affected vanished as he observed Emma’s response to the sound. Out of the corner of his eye he was witness to her immediate wariness. She did not draw herself up like a hedgehog this time, but it seemed to him that she was fighting the urge to do so. Had it been his knocking at the door that provoked her faint?
Restell chose not to call attention to her reaction as she was struggling to do the same. He called for Nelson to enter. The pot of hot tea was exchanged for the cold one, and Restell dismissed the butler and poured a cup for his guest. “Will you take a dram of whiskey with it? It is mildly efficacious in calming the nerves.”
“You know this for a fact?”
“Dr. Bettany assures me it is so.”
Emma wondered if she could believe him. It seemed to her that Mr. Gardner was not above prevarication if it served his ends. As he obviously did not want an overwrought female on his hands—and truly, what gentleman did?—it was in his best interests to lie without compunction. She nodded and watched him add the whiskey to her cup. His notion of what constituted a dram was more liberal than her own, but she offered no comment. It was better to keep a sense of proportion about the whole, she thought, than focus too narrowly on the particular.
She accepted the tea, holding out both hands to balance the cup and saucer. She was gratified to see her fingers did not tremble. “Thank you.”
“You’re quite welcome. Will you have a biscuit?”
Emma shook her head. The thought of eating just now had the power to make her stomach turn over. “The tea is sufficient. More than that, really.” She sipped from the cup and found the taste was not unpleasant. The tea settled warmly in her stomach.
Restell turned to his desk, hitching one hip on the edge, and observed the light pink color that flushed his guest’s cheeks as she drank. The more subtle effect on her nerves would take longer to note, but Restell was confident that alcohol would serve her better than the laudanum had done.
Aware that his steady regard was not at all useful just now, Restell’s glance fell on the bank draft lying on the blotter. He gave it a cursory look before turning it over.
“Is it not enough?” Emma asked when he made no comment.
“I have no idea. For what service did you mean to reimburse me? It is rather a lot for a cup of tea, even accounting for the whiskey.”
“It is compensation for your time.”
“I put no price on my time.”
“That is very generous of you, but I think you are due—”
Restell held up one hand, palm out, effectively quelling her objection. “You misunderstand, Miss Hathaway, or perhaps it is that I was not clear. My time is priceless. You haven’t sufficient funds to effect payment. No one does.”
Emma’s brow furrowed slightly as she considered what this meant. “Can you really think so much of yourself? Your time cannot be so precious as to be invaluable.”
Restell simply shrugged.
“But what if I desire to engage your services?”
“I am not a hack driver, Miss Hathaway, waiting at the curb for someone to hire my cab.” He waved aside her objection. “In any event, I do not deal in currency. I deal in favors.”
“Favors?”