His lordship had placed Dahlia in the room next to her brother’s. She’d been so concerned at her brother’s sudden cries of pain, she’d raced out of the chamber she’d been dressing in without a thought to her appearance.
That had been a mistake. Dahlia heard Lord de Wolfe swear and she tore her gaze from her brother to their host. His penetrating gaze travelled down the length of her, from her wild hair all the way to her bare feet.
Drat. Lord de Wolfe wasn’t the sort of man to which a woman could remain immune. In fact, he positively exuded the sort of male prowess that made her heart beat wildly. Or perhaps that was just the dire circumstances in which they now found themselves? Perhaps it was just the after-effects of all that happened this evening.
No, it was most decidedly him. In a situation that had been completely out of control, he’d effortlessly stepped in, taking the entire affair in hand with his broad shoulders and his achingly muscular chest. Who wouldn’t find such confidence attractive? Or such a chest?
“I’m fine, Dahlia,
” her brother called from the bed. “Please pay it no mind and go back to wherever you just came from.”
She gave a nod and returned to her room, heat filling her cheeks. Foolish girl. She needed to keep her emotions in check. Lord de Wolfe was the only lifeline she had now that her brother was in bed.
Sam had inherited a small sum, which had allowed him to finish his education, and he’d been studying to be a barrister.
She thought back to the day they’d learned that their parents had left the money.
“Oh Sam,” she’d clapped. “This means you can finish school.”
He’d given her a strange smile, that had been sad about the eyes. “That’s kind of you, Dahlia, but I can’t.”
She’d tilted her head. “Why not?”
He’d reached for her hand. “It would take nearly every penny of this money. There would be very little to live.”
She’d shaken her head, squeezing his hand. “That’s all right. Once you’re able to get a job we’ll have all we need.”
“Dahlia,” he said as he leaned closer, his gaze holding hers. “There would be no money to secure your future. No dowry to speak of. No dresses for parties.”
She’d drawn in a breath. He was right, of course. But she was too. “You’ll provide for my future after yours is secured.”
“I can’t—”
She’d let go of his hand to hold hers up. “We’re only going to survive this together. We work as a team. I have every confidence you will do for me what I am doing for you now.”
In the end, he’d agreed. Dahlia had never questioned that decision until today.
His schooling was complete, but their funds were nearly gone. Fortunately for them, Sam had secured a position with a nearby lord and so they’d hired a carriage with the last of their money and packed up their lives, leaving London and all its memories behind. This was their new start, their chance to make a better life.
Dahlia walked into her room, shaking her head. If something happened to Sam, how would she live? She’d tied her fate to her brother’s.
“Miss Dahlia,” Lord de Wolfe called out from the door. Her pulse jumped as she spun about.
“Yes?” She wrapped her hands about her middle. Something about this man made her feel incredibly vulnerable. From his large wolf statues to his own hulking figure, she felt small and raw while around him.
He stopped in the doorway, not entering the room. “I’ll fetch your trunk as soon as I can and I’ll send dinner to your room. There is a connecting door to your brother’s room. You may visit him once I’ve cleared the room of the other men.” He gave her a pointed stare, his eyebrows rising. “Until the room is cleared, I’ll ask you to stay here.”
She understood what he hadn’t said. She was to stay here until she was properly attired. “Of course. Thank you, my lord.” She dipped into a quick courtesy, something that felt quite odd in pants.
He made a low rumbling sound deep in his throat. “You’re welcome,” he answered, then grabbed the door knob, closing it tight behind him.
Dahlia let out a long breath. The man was most disconcerting. Not sure what else to do, she crossed the room and sat on the bed. She had no brush, no stockings or shoes, no hair tie. She’d left her pins on the mantle.
Another knock sounded at the door and a woman came in wearing a smartly pressed uniform, carrying a tray with what looked to be a dress draped over one arm. “Hello, miss.” She bobbed a courtesy. “I’ve come to help you.”
“Wonderful.” Dahlia stood. “Are those my hair pins?” She pointed at the tray.
“Yes,” the other woman smiled. “If I may ask, why are you wearing pants, miss?”