The Secrets of Mia Danvers (12 page)

Chapter Twelve

Mia and Rachel walked the rest of the way from the shops to their cottage. “Thank you for suggesting the shopping trip. It was a wonderful diversion,” Mia said. She carried a small bag. She never had much in the way of funds to be spent on frivolous items such as hair ribbons and the sort. But today she’d used some of her money to purchase some badly needed stockings as her last pair had nearly disintegrated from the holes.

“I thought you needed a break away from all of the discussions about murder,” Rachel said. “Shopping is always a nice distraction from anything plaguing your mind.”

“Indeed.” Together they hadn’t bought much, but they’d spent the afternoon and into the early evening walking and talking and Rachel had described the most lovely fabrics and dresses and all the newest in fashions.

“I suppose,” Rachel said, “that kisses from a duke might also muddy one’s thoughts.” Rachel bumped Mia as they continued to walk.

Mia could not help but smile. “I am being a fool, I do realize that,” she said.

“A fool? In what manner?”

“Kisses or not, I know there can never be anything more between me and Alex.” The night air chilled her, and Mia pulled her cloak tighter around her body. Thoughts of Alex’s embrace earlier that day helped warm her. “Even knowing that, I admit that I still cannot turn away from him.” What was it about him that drew her in so strongly?

“He is a powerful man,” Rachel said. “Not to mention exceptionally handsome.”

She’d suspected as much. That he was dashing beyond reason. “And he’s stuffy. More so than anyone has a right to be,” Mia said. Yet she understood it came from a place of necessity for him. It was how he’d been raised. And he’d come into so much since his brother had died unexpectedly and he’d had to assume the title.

“Dukes have so many responsibilities, both familial and social,” Rachel said as if reading Mia’s mind. “I suspect he never had a chance to be anything else.”

Mia knew all about parental expectations. Her mother had been relentless in the rearing of her three daughters. Bringing them up knowing full well their entire purpose in life was to marry well and bring money into the family coffers. She had wanted nothing more from Mia than for her to marry a man with a good family name and a huge fortune so as to not tarnish the Danvers name and to keep her mother dressed in her finest.

Mia had been all of six years old the first time her mother had set her down to talk about the importance of marrying well. She remembered sitting in one of the adult chairs in the front parlor and her mother having to remind her repeatedly to cross her feet at the ankles. Then her mother had rattled off a list of virtues she would need to possess in order to secure a husband. It had been a message ingrained from an early age, the most important expectation for her life. And for a while Mia had believed her mother, had felt it was crucial for her life. Then she’d had a riding accident and her entire perspective changed, both literally and figuratively. And her mother had never again spoken of marriage to her after the accident.

Then when her father died and the unexpected cousin removed them from their house, everything had changed. Of course, for Mia so much had changed before then. That had been a year after her accident when the world had grown dark. Her sisters had stopped talking to her, no longer finding anything in common with their youngest sibling. They were both getting ready to be loosed on Society and their lives were full of preparations and shopping.

Mia and Rachel rounded the corner of the gate that led to the cottage. Mia stepped up to the front door and reached for the key she wore around her wrist, but Rachel stilled her hand. Her friend reached over with her foot and the door simply shoved open.

“Did we forget to lock the door?” Rachel asked softly.

“I don’t believe so,” Mia said. Cautiously, she stepped inside the cottage and immediately the hairs on her arms stood on end. The acrid scent of that tobacco still hung on the air. Her heart pounded and she grabbed for Rachel’s hand as she walked backward. “We need to leave, now,” Mia said. “Someone has been in our cottage.”

“Perhaps they are still here,” Rachel said.

Rachel clutched Mia’s hand and turned them around and they took off running. Their feet pounded against the grass as they moved as swiftly as they could manage with heavy skirts imprisoning their legs. The grass was slick beneath her boots and she nearly lost her footing several times.

It seemed unlikely Alex would be home this time of evening, but hopefully Hodges would give them entrance. A duke had social engagements and his calendar was more than likely always full. Still they’d be safer there and would wait until he returned.

Rachel gripped Mia’s hand tightly as they ran up the hill to Danbridge Hall. Mia’s boot hit something hard and she tripped and fell, bringing Rachel down with her. Her companion cried out as they tumbled.

“Rachel, are you alright?” Mia asked.

Before answering, Rachel pulled them to their feet and they moved forward, though Mia could tell by her friend’s gait that something was wrong. “I believe I twisted my ankle. Merely a sprain, I’ll survive,” Rachel said, her voice labored with heavy breathing. Mia tugged on Rachel’s hand, but Rachel held firm. “There is no need to stop, we don’t need to fuss over a simple injury with an intruder in our house.”

So they kept going. The big house shouldn’t be much further. As if to prove a point, they reached the gravel of the circular drive. The tiny rocks crunched beneath their shoes. Normally she could manage her blindness without feeling too frustrated by her limits. Normally she wasn’t angry at her plight. But now, in this moment, when her blindness had hindered her friend, had caused an injury, now she was angry.

Finally they ran up the steps and Mia grabbed the knocker and slammed it against the door. Moments later, the door opened.

“Miss Danvers, Miss Webster,” Hodges said. “I believe His Grace has already left for the evening,” he said.

Mia considered what to say next. She and Rachel needed somewhere safe to go until their cottage could be investigated. “I, we—”

“I haven’t left yet,” Alex said, interrupting Mia’s incoherence. His deep voice came from the back of the hallway. “Mia? What’s the matter?” He’d stepped much closer now.

Relief poured over Mia at the sound of his voice. She was winded from their run, but she gulped air and tried to settle her voice. “Someone has been in the cottage. Perhaps they’re still there,” she shook her head, “we didn’t stay around to investigate.”

“Let them in, Hodges,” Alex said.

“Of course, Your Grace.” The butler did as he was told and stepped away, leaving Alex alone in the foyer with Mia and Rachel.

“Rachel is hurt,” Mia said. “Her ankle.”

“It’s nothing, Your Grace,” Rachel argued, but Alex had already called for two footmen to carry her into a sitting room. Next he ordered his housekeeper to tend to the injury.

“She’s dealt with all manner of injuries with us three boys in the house,” he said when Mia paused.

“I’ll be right as rain in a moment,” Rachel assured her.

He grabbed Mia’s elbow as soon as they were alone and led her down the hall to the third door on the right. His study was almost as familiar to her now as her own rooms.

Once enclosed in the room, Alex spoke again: “How can you be certain someone had been in there?” he asked while leading her to the settee.

She settled into the soft cushions. “The front door wasn’t locked. I never leave my cottage without locking the door. And I smelled the tobacco.” She paused for a moment and took in a slow breath.

Alex swore, then came to his feet, the wooden chair he’d sat in creaked as his weight lifted. “Mia, is that blood on your shoe?”

She shook her head. “I’m not certain.” The concern in his voice warmed her. He hadn’t hesitated at all to allow them entrance into his home and he’d jumped into action at the mention of Rachel’s injury. It wasn’t completely real, this sensation that all would be well; Alex was, after all, only one man. Still, being near him seemed to melt away the fear.

In the next moment Alex cradled her boot in his lap, then gently slid her skirt up to her knee. Mia sucked in her breath and waited for what he’d do next, waited for where on her body his hands would land.

“Your leg is bleeding,” he said gently.

“I tripped. We were running here, and I stumbled, brought Rachel down with me. I, I must have scraped it on something,” she said. She was being foolhardy, of that she was certain. Setting her cap, as it were, for the Duke of Carrington was just plain idiotic.

His thumb ran across the scrape, bringing her attention to it. Now she felt the burning and stinging of her flesh and the stickiness of the blood dripping down her shin. “I’m sorry if I got blood on anything. I suppose your carpet is rather expensive. Your furniture feels very lush and pricey, and the rug is so plush beneath my steps.” She was chattering, something she rarely did, but the words were tumbling out of her mouth so fast she barely took note of what she’d said. Something about his carpets.

“The rug is not what’s important.” Still holding her foot up, he propped it up on top of something, she assumed an ottoman. He came around beside her and placed his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll return in a moment, I’m going to retrieve some supplies and get you cleaned up.”

The rug wasn’t what was important, meaning that she was?

She cursed herself for even thinking it, for even considering that he’d meant such a thing. She knew he’d felt desire for her, but that was as far as it went. Alex had been a soldier, it was in his nature to care for others in some regard, but that did not mean he had tender feelings toward her.

Still she could not ignore the deep longing in her chest, that never-ending aching desire to be important to someone.

Especially Alex.

Several minutes later he returned. Again he knelt in front of her, she could feel the warmth of his body. Water sloshed against the sides of a pitcher as he poured it into a bowl. He dampened a towel, then wrung it out.

“I can have the housekeeper come and do this if you’d prefer,” he said.

“No, I’d rather you,” she said. What she should have said was that the housekeeper was busy with Rachel’s injury, but those words did not form. Instead she’d brazenly preferred him. Though she supposed she’d already been disgracefully brazen with him when she’d told him she wanted him to rid her of her virginity. It didn’t get much more wanton than that.

She didn’t bother to try to correct her words for fear of saying too much. Like how much she longed to feel his hands on her again.

Without another word, he ran the wet cloth against her scraped skin, wiping the blood and debris from the cut. The cool water slid down her leg. As he cleaned the wound, the entire area burned, she couldn’t deny that. But her attention was caught by something else entirely . . . the warmth of Alex’s other hand as he cupped the back of her calf. She could feel the imprint of each of his fingers gently pressing into her flesh. His thumb made lazy circles, and she wondered if he even realized he was making the motion. Meanwhile he continued his cleaning of her shin, but his firm grip on the back of her leg created totally different sensations.

Mia inhaled sharply.

“I’m sorry if it hurts,” he said. “But we don’t want infection to set in.”

“I’m alright,” she said. The hand at the back of her calf loosened its hold and slid slowly down to her ankle. No man had ever handled her legs in such a way, even as a child when she’d been fitted for shoes. Then his fingers trailed across the front of her shin, avoiding the scraped area.

“It’s not deep, just scuffed. Do you think you’ll require any salve?” he asked.

“No,” she said, her voice coming out breathy. “It’ll be alright.”

His hands withdrew from her leg then, leaving cold in their wake. She was distinctly aware of the precise places his fingers had been merely moments before.

She heard him come to his feet. “I’m going to go and look at the cottage myself. I sent two men to check and see if the intruder remained.” He cleared his throat. “I believe from now on, you and Miss Webster need to stay here, at Danbridge. I’ll get you each a room readied and you’ll be our guests,” he said.

“I really don’t think—”

“There is no need to argue,” Alex interrupted. “Your friend is injured and probably shouldn’t be moved. She’ll need to be off her feet for a few days. It will be best if she stays here,” Alex countered.

She hadn’t actually intended to argue the point. She would feel safer staying here inside of Danbridge Hall, at least until the killer was caught. She’d only meant to tell him she was going with him to inspect the cottage.

“I’m going with you,” she said, coming to her feet.

“No,” he said, his voice firm with authority.

“You can try to bully me, Alex Foster, but I will not be cowed,” she said. She had not had to listen to a man’s instructions since her family turned her out and she wasn’t about to start now. “You are not my father nor my husband, and you will not tell me what to do,” she said. She waited for his retort.

“It’s too dangerous,” he said.

“If it is dangerous for me, it will be equally for you,” she argued. “We can bring assistance, some of your male servants. Certainly you must have strong men on your staff that could assist us.”

His silence was thick and tense. If it was possible to hear someone seethe, she heard it. He released a heavy breath, and then spoke. “You will stay close to my side and listen to what I say once we arrive. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” she agreed. Normally she wasn’t used to following someone’s orders, but in this situation, she was more than willing to adhere to his. She did not hear him walk away from her, but felt the draft the lack of his body created. A cabinet opened, then closed, followed by two drawers. Then his feet fell heavy on the floor as he came toward her. Tension fell off of him in waves.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Getting a pistol.”

***

Alex saw no point in arguing with Mia any further so together they walked to her cottage. She was a stubborn chit and it was far more pressing that he be able to search the cottage than get his way. So at the moment she walked quietly beside him, her pale, gloveless hand resting on his arm. The chill from her bare fingers seeped passed his shirtsleeve to his own skin. Did she not own a pair of gloves?