Darling Beast (Maiden Lane #7)(15)

In the melee Apollo looked over and met Miss Stump’s gaze. Her green eyes were narrowed speculatively on him and he felt a thrill shoot through him, low and visceral.

The feeling might’ve been simple fear, but on the whole he thought it was something far, far more dangerous.

MAUDE AND INDIO were shouting, grappling with Daffodil and the mess on the floor, but Lily was frozen, staring into murky brown eyes. Not eyes the color of coffee or chocolate or that lovely China tea that came in a little red paper packet and that she could no longer afford. No, Caliban’s eyes weren’t like any delicious beverage. They were simply brown. As dull and uninspiring as a dumb animal’s.

Except…

Except that they were surrounded by the lushest lashes she’d ever seen on a man: short, black, and thick, and exotically beautiful in their own way. Why hadn’t she noticed before? Caliban’s eyes were simply breathtaking.

But what was more disturbing, there was a glimmer, somewhere in the muddy-brown depths, that made Lily draw in her breath. It was a glimmer of intelligence—sharp intelligence—and it made her afraid. Because if Indio was right, if this man—this stranger—was not just a simple gardener, but was somehow in charge of the other gardeners, then he wasn’t at all what she’d first taken him for. She was aware, suddenly, of how huge he was, of how male. He was in her home, with her little boy and an old woman, and they had no defenses.

She knew all too well what destruction a big man could wreak.

She drew a shaky breath as Indio sat back down again, between Lily and Caliban.

Indio leaned close to the giant and whispered, “You can have some of mine.”

Lily swallowed, gripping her apprehension firmly. Perhaps Indio had misunderstood something he’d seen. Surely a mute couldn’t be the head gardener? Surely Caliban was exactly what he’d seemed when she’d first come upon him in the garden?

“That’s quite all right, Indio,” she said evenly. “Maude can serve him another portion.”

Her former nursemaid shot Lily a quick look, but said nothing as she fetched the only other plate they owned and began filling it.

“Indio,” Lily said carefully as she touched her wineglass. Her own appetite had fled completely. “Tell me about how Daffodil fell into the pond?”

Her little boy crinkled up his nose. “We-ell, we was walking, me an’ Daff, and then Daff sort of skidded.”

She waited, but Indio was looking at her with an expression of suspicious innocence.

“Indio,” she started, but her son took that as a prompt to speak again.

“He was real quick, Caliban was. Fished Daff out of the water like a… a… well. A drownded rat. Sorry, Daff.”

Indio looked apologetically at the dog. Not that there was any need. Daffodil wasn’t paying her master any mind. She sat nearly under Caliban’s chair. Apparently her tiny little brain had decided that Caliban was the God of All Fallen Food.

“Hmm,” Lily murmured. “I trust that won’t happen again?”

“No, Mama,” Indio said, ducking his head.

“Indio.”

He raised his head, looking at her pleadingly from his beautiful eyes.

She hardened her heart. “I mean it. I don’t want you near that pond again—with or without Daffodil.” She inhaled and said more softly, “Think what might’ve happened had Caliban not been there to save Daff.”

He looked again at the little dog—who had one delicate paw on Caliban’s solid thigh—and swallowed. “Yes, Mama. I mean, I won’t go there again.”

“Good.” She blew out a breath. Hard to tell if he’d remember his promise the next time the water sang its siren song to him, but she had to hope. Deliberately she lightened her tone. “What else did you do today? I vow, I haven’t seen you since luncheon.”

“Me an’ Daff comed back for tea. Don’t you remember?” Indio had pulled his legs into the chair and was kneeling on it again—a habit that she really ought to stop someday. “You was writing on your—”

He abruptly stopped speaking and cast a guilty glance at the behemoth beside him. Fortunately, Caliban was taking a bite of Maude’s excellent dumplings and didn’t seem to be paying any attention to their discussion.

“Mmm,” Lily murmured, covering for him. “And then what did you do?”

“We went to the old musician’s gallery but,” he added hastily as her brows began to lower, “we didn’t go in. An’ then Daff found a toad.”

Lily glanced at the little dog in alarm. Daffodil now had both paws on Caliban’s thigh and was giving him a tragically pleading look. She really was terribly spoiled. “She didn’t catch it, did she?”

Daffodil routinely found the most disgusting things edible.

“No,” Indio said sadly, “It got away. But we did catch a cricket. I was going to keep it in a cage as a pet, but Daff swallowed it before I could. I don’t know why. She didn’t seem to think it tasted very good.”

Maude snorted. “That might explain the spewing.”

“Not spewing,” Lily murmured to her, sotto voce.

Maude rolled her eyes. “You prefer retch?”

“I prefer not discussing it at the dinner table, but nobody seems to be paying me much mind.” Lily turned to Indio. “Now then, I see you’ve finished your supper. I think it’s time for your bath.”