Loved by a Duke (The Heart of a Duke #4)(27)

If he weren’t so concerned with getting her safely ensconced within her carriage he’d have dearly loved to hear an elaboration on her reasoning behind that. “I assure you, for all the power I do possess, I cannot make the skies thunder.”

Her mouth formed a small moue of surprise.

He leaned down, so close he detected the hint of honey and lavender that clung to her. “Did you imagine I forgot your fear of thunder and lightning?”

She wrinkled her pert nose. “I am not still afraid of thunder and lightning.” As if to prove her as a liar, lightning cracked the thick, gray sky and a little shriek escaped her.

He grinned, tucking her gift into his pocket. A real smile, the first he’d managed in more years than he could remember. It was hardly appropriate for an unwed young lady to give an unwed gentleman, who was not a relation, a gift. But this was Daisy. “Liar.”

“That didn’t startle me,” she said, wrinkling her brow. “It…” He arched an eyebrow. “It…” She sighed. “Very well, I may be still just a slight bit frightened. A very slight bit,” she added when his smile deepened. “But more than anything else I was startled by the lightning. As most people would be. Startled by lightning,” she added as though he were a total lackwit who couldn’t have pieced together what she’d suggested. A damp, brown tress fell over her eye and she blew at the strand. Alas, the sopping lock remained plastered to her forehead.

His hand shot out of its own volition and he brushed the lock behind her ear. “There,” he murmured.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m escorting you to your carriage.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. Isn’t that right, Agnes?” she directed toward her maid.

The wise maid had the good sense to remain silent.

With a silent curse, Auric reached for Daisy’s wrist and placed her fingers on his sleeve. The maid, Agnes muttered a quiet prayer of thanks and started toward their carriage. “I expect your mother will be furious,” he said out the corner of his mouth. Daisy of years ago would have had proper fear of her mother’s admonition.

“You would be wrong,” she muttered.

He snorted. Young Daisy Meadows had seemed to be the bane of her mother’s existence. The poor marchioness had shaken her head in lamentation so many times, he and Lionel had jested that the woman surely walked around in a perpetual state of dizziness from the movement.

He recognized Daisy’s black carriage. The driver hopped down from the top of his perch and pulled the door open. Auric looked down at Daisy. “I expect you to use more common sense, my lady, than to go out shopping in this Godforsaken weather. I can’t imagine some frippery is worth risking your life for.”

“You’re wrong.” Something flared in her eyes. “It was important. Is important,” she amended. “And I’ll not make apologies to you for being out in the rain, Auric. I’m no longer a child, nor am I a woman who answers to you.” Her chest rose and fell with the force of her emotion, drawing his gaze downward to the generous swells of her breasts crushed beneath the rain-dampened fabric of her cloak.

No. At some point, these past seven years, Daisy had become a woman. A beautiful woman. Auric swallowed hard and forced his gaze to her face.

“Is there anything else you’d say, Your Grace?”

Ah, so she was Your-Gracing him now? Good, this was safe. He could deal with tart charges and angry “Your Graces” a good deal better than he could Daisy’s abundant breasts and generous hips. “I caution you to use better judgment, my lady.” He took her hand to help her into the carriage.

Her lips pulled in a grimace of discomfort.

Auric looked down. He turned her hand over and, with a curse, gently tugged off her delicate, now shredded, kidskin gloves. An angry, red bruise stood vivid, a small scrape with a thin line of blood intersected her palm. Nausea turned in his gut and he closed his eyes a moment counting to three to drive back the horror of the past that converged with the present. The sight of blood did and, he suspected, forever would, transport him to that horrific day.

“Auric?” Her tentative questioning pulled him back to the moment.

He swallowed back the bile in his throat. “Bloody hell, Daisy,” he growled. He yanked a kerchief from the front of his coat. “Why didn’t you say you’d been hurt?”

“It is just a scrape,” she said softly.

Most other young ladies would have dissolved into histrionics at the sight of blood and bruises. Not Daisy. Then, the girl who used to bait her own hooks when fishing her father’s well-stocked lake had never been squeamish. He used the edge of the fabric to wipe free the dirt and tiny shards of pebbles lodged in the delicate lines of her palm. She gasped. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. He’d rather lob off his right arm than cause her any more pain. He froze mid-movement, guilt ravaging his conscience as he considered the greatest agony he’d already caused her.

“What is it?” Her whisper-soft question jerked him from his reverie. “You’ve gone all serious.”

His expression grew shuttered. “I’m always serious.” He’d not always been.

“Yes.” She shook her head. “But this is different. Your lips are—”

“Here.” He hastily wrapped the cloth about her hand. It wouldn’t do for them to be discovered in the streets of Gipsy Hill with Daisy talking about his mouth, or any part of his person. “Now, take yourself home, Daisy, and have more of a care in the future.”