How To Entice An Enchantress Part 30

"Where else would I have gotten it?"

"A tanner's yard."

He laughed. "It's the oldest nag there. Neither of us is a rider, and I didn't want a horse that might bolt at thunder." He removed his gloves and then reached out and patted the horse's nose. "I was told that even were I to scream in its ears, it wouldn't startle. He's the perfect horse for us."

Dahlia supposed she should feel offended by that, but she was caught in the grip of a lethargy so deep that her shoulders were weary from it. What's wrong with me? I can't seem to think well, and my head aches so. She closed her eyes, willing the pain away.

She wasn't certain if she fell asleep or if time simply stopped, but suddenly, long cool fingers grasped her chin as Kirk tilted her face toward his. She found herself looking into his eyes. He had the most beautiful eyes. She could drown in those eyes. Lose herself completely to- He pressed a hand to her forehead, his brows snapping down. "d.a.m.n it, you're burning up."

She struggled to follow his words. Burning? No, the fire was burning. She was just cold. It was cold outside, for she could see her breath. Or was that the smoke? She wasn't certain anymore.

"d.a.m.n it, I have to get you home. We're leaving right now."

But she was so, so tired. What's the hurry? she wanted to ask, but he had already kicked out the fire, the smoke carrying the scent of damp peat.

A cough caught her by surprise, shaking her until she thought she couldn't breathe. When she opened her eyes, Kirk was back out in the rain, untying something from the horse's saddle. She thought it was his cane until he unfurled an umbrella and brought it to the ledge. "Come."

She looked up at the umbrella. In the back of her mind, she heard Lady Mary say, One day, I would like to meet a man who wants to hold my umbrella.

Well, Dahlia knew one man who would bring her an umbrella, and here he was, holding it for her now. It was too bad he didn't know what it meant.

Her eyes welled with tears and she desperately blinked them back. To cover her embarra.s.sment, she put a hand on the damp ground and pushed herself upright. But as she struggled up, her knees gave way and, with a mumbled cry, she fell forward, straight into blackness.

Twenty.

From the Diary of the d.u.c.h.ess of Roxburghe

I aged nearly twenty years when Lord Kirk carried Miss Balfour through the front door. She was so pale, and burning with fever. We put her to bed and sent for the doctor, who p.r.o.nounced that she, too, had Spanish influenza. Thank goodness he had medicine for her, or things could have gone much, much worse.

I'm sure no one is more relieved than I am. Well, perhaps one person . . .

Dahlia slowly opened her eyes until shards of light pierced her. "Ow!" she tried to say, although nothing but a croak slipped from her lips.

"Ah, you are awake!"

She forced her lids up and slowly focused on Lady Mary's smiling face.

"You gave us quite a scare."

How had she done that? She struggled to remember where she was, and how she'd gotten here. There were cool sheets against her skin, but the room looked unfamiliar . . . Where was she? Oh yes.

The d.u.c.h.ess's house party.

Kirk.

The cave.

"Here." Mary held a rag soaked with water and dribbled some water on Dahlia's lips.

Grateful, she swallowed, the moisture easing her painful throat. "Thank you." Her voice sounded old and creaky, as if it belonged to someone else.

"You're quite welcome."

"What day . . ." She couldn't finish.

Mary gave her some more water. "Only two days. You've been even sicker than Alayne, but it pa.s.sed quicker, which is good."

Dahlia looked at Mary with a frown.

"She's fine now. Her parents have arrived and they're with her. The poor d.u.c.h.ess is quite sad, for she's had to cancel her ball, something she'd never before done. But she's relieved you're better."

"Have . . . have you been here the entire time?"

Mary gave her a curious look. "You don't remember?"

"Remember what?"

"That-"

The door opened and Lady Charlotte looked in. "Oh! You're awake!" She hurried forward, all soft lace and plumpness. "We've been so worried about you. But I told her grace you would be just fine."

"Thank you for nursing me."

"Oh lud, it wasn't me, although I would have been glad to do it. Lord Kirk was here and he refused to leave your side. Grew quite nasty about it when MacDougal tried to get him to leave for a nap one day-" Lady Charlotte went on and on, but Dahlia had already closed her eyes, her mind whirling slowly through a sudden spate of fogged memories.

She remembered a deep voice whispering in her ear, reading poetry and telling her to hang on, to never give up, to stay with him forever . . . That was Kirk.

Dahlia smiled and, with a great sense of peace, she drifted back asleep.

Two days later, ensconced upon a settee by the fire in her bedchamber, Dahlia took the teacup Freya held for her.

The maid smiled. "Ye've no tremble in yer hands today."

"I'm almost better. Just a little tired is all." Dahlia smiled. "Thank you for suggesting the bath. I thought it would be too much, but it's made me feel more like myself."

"It took a while to dry yer hair. Shall I pin it oop?"

"No, let's just leave it down." It felt so soft and silky, cascading over her shoulders in lavender-scented curls. "I'm too comfortable to move."

"Her grace says yer da will be here tomorrow."

"He needn't come."

"Och, I think she's glad to have some company. She's no' used to havin' under a dozen guests at Christmas."

"I'm so sorry she had to cancel her ball."

Freya brought a blanket to Dahlia and then lit a lamp at her elbow, the soft glow warming the room. "Aye, it was to ha' been tonight, but she dinna care, miss, no' since his grace returned."

"Roxburghe is here?"

Freya beamed. "Aye. We think Lady Charlotte wrote to him and tol' him how her grace was mopin' aboot."

"That's-" She tilted her head to one side, the swell of music lifting in the room. "I hear music."

"Aye. Her grace ha' already paid the orchestra, so she's havin' them play, anyway."

Dahlia smiled. "Good for her."

Freya agreed and picked up Dahlia's supper tray. "I'll take this to the kitchen now, miss. I'll be back soon to see if ye need anythin' else."

"Thank you, Freya."

The maid smiled and left.

Dahlia leaned against the high back of the settee, closing her eyes to rest them. Lord Dalhousie and Anne had departed yesterday, although both had left her kind letters. This morning Lady Mary had left with Miss Stewart and her family, along with the final few guests who'd lingered.

She would miss them all, but the person she missed the most was Kirk. Since she'd awakened, she'd neither seen nor heard from him. What if he's left, too? She frowned. If he has, I know where to find him. She did, too, but what would she say when they met? How could she describe her change of heart? Although it wasn't really a change, but an awakening.

Her heart pressed against her chest as the music ebbed and flowed. Trying to distract herself, she imagined how the ballroom would have looked, filled with women in ball gowns and men in formal finery. It would have been a beautiful sight.

The door opened.

She didn't bother to open her tired eyes, but said to the maid, "I love this music."

"I'm not Freya, nor do I love this music," came a deep voice.

Her gaze flew open. "Kirk!"

He was walking toward her, smiling faintly, and looking as dark and dangerous as ever.

But it was his clothing that caught her attention. She blinked once, and then twice. "You're dressed as if you're going to the ball."

He shrugged. "Can't a man dress once in a while without raising suspicions?"

"Not you." She smiled and patted the seat beside her on the settee.

He took the seat she offered, his thigh only inches from hers. He took her hand in his and looked at it, rubbing his thumb gently over the back of it. "Thank you," he said gravely.

"For what?"

"For being alive."

Something in his voice made her eyes fill with tears and she had to fight the odd desire to throw herself in his arms. I am so weepy tonight. She blinked back her tears and gently removed her hand from his. "I'm the one who should be thanking you. Lady Charlotte told me how you searched for me, then carried me all the way here and then cared for me after."

"And I would do it again if I needed to." He looked at her searchingly. "Are you well? Really well?"

"I'm fine. I even took a bath today. I can't take a long walk yet, but I thought I might go downstairs tomorrow for breakfast."

"That's good." He opened and then closed his mouth. Finally, he said, "Dahlia, I-" He rubbed his chin, looking so perplexed that she almost smiled.

"Yes?" she asked gently.

After a long, agonizing moment, he said, "I don't know what to say."

She had to swallow a sudden lump in her throat before she could reply. "Neither do I."

"I don't know where to start, but we're going to talk, we two. And we're not going to stop talking until this is done."

She found herself leaning toward him, holding her breath. "I'm listening."

"I'm torn." The words burst from him as if dragged out.

That wasn't what she expected to hear. She pulled back a little. "About what?"

"Us. Dahlia, I've been thinking about us. I've made such a mull of things and-"

"You stayed with me while I was sick," she interrupted.

He frowned. "Yes, but-"

"And you came for me when I was out in the storm."

"You were ill, but you'd made a fire. The footmen would have found you when they'd come looking."

"I was ill and didn't realize it, but-" She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. Kirk, I've been thinking, too." She raised her gaze to his. "I was wrong. We are very compatible. Perhaps I shouldn't expect more."

"No."

She blinked.

"You were right to expect more. I was being selfish, seeing things only from my own perspective and not from yours." He gave a short laugh. "I came to the d.u.c.h.ess's with the purest of intentions, but once you arrived and didn't seem to appreciate all I'd done to change myself, I couldn't seem to keep from acting in ways that-" He rubbed at his scar. "I don't even recognize myself at times."