“She’s awake,” announced Anne.
“You should not’ve opened the curtains, Papa,” chastised Elizabeth, frowning at her father.
Memories hit her. Climbing down the tree in a final attempt at convincing Jasper Sutton to aid her. Hurting her ankle. Him tending to her and then locking her in his chamber. Later, after an interminable length of time spent awaiting his return, it had not been her captor who had approached the door but rather his daughters. They had claimed they suffered from a terrible dream and found the key left in the lock.
In an attempt to comfort them, she had settled beneath the covers with them and told them a silly story. The lateness of the hour had made her own eyelids heavy even after the girls had fallen asleep.
She had spent the night at The Sinner’s Palace.
Mirabel was going to throttle her.
Octavia leapt from the bed. And pain promptly radiated from her ankle. “Oh!”
He was there before she could even be aware he had moved, gathering her in his arms. “You must take care with your ankle, minx.”
His voice was low and warm. Almost—dare she think it?—tender. A far cry from the whistling scoundrel who had locked her in his chamber without a word of explanation the night before. She did not want to feel the way she did, but her heart took command of her body, and she clutched at his strong arms, burrowing her face against his chest. The spicy male scent of him—nary a hint of smoke—curled around her, along with his reassuring heat.
He helped her to a chair, and she sank upon it gratefully. Her cursed ankle felt worse this morning, and she had been so hoping it would be improved. If she was limping, how would she explain the reason to Mirabel?
That concern was rather moot now.
She swallowed, all too aware of the three people staring at her. All too aware of how bedraggled she must appear, wearing yesterday’s crushed, ripped gown, her hair coming free of all its pins. One stocking-clad foot peeping from beneath the hem of her dress, one foot bare.
“It is morning,” she said stupidly.
Her tongue felt as sluggish as her mind. Perhaps on account of the dread seizing her. When her maid discovered her gone, she would go directly to Mirabel. Perhaps the house was already in an uproar, fearing for her, wondering at her whereabouts. And when Mirabel discovered the truth…
“Breakfast?” he asked.
Her stomach growled in response.
“Thank you for telling us the story last night,” Anne told her shyly.
“We slept so damned good,” Elizabeth added.
Oh dear.
“That is lovely, my dears,” she said weakly. “But Elizabeth, damned is an oath, and as such, is not to be repeated by ladies.”
Elizabeth’s chin quivered. “You said it.”
“Only to explain the word in question is not fit for a lady,” she added softly. “Do not be sad, dearest. I only wished for you to understand the difference. I have a niece not much older than you, and I am often helping her to learn what she should and should not say. When I was a girl, my older sister and my governess taught me.”
“You can tell them apart?”
Her gaze strayed to Jasper Sutton, who remained towering over her, his expression unreadable.
Heavens, he was alluring. And rude.
“Did no one ever tell you that it is impolite to stand in the presence of a seated lady?” she felt compelled to ask him, irritated by her unwanted reaction and the thought of what awaited her at home both. “Of course I can tell them apart. They are two different people, Sutton.”
He quirked a brow. “This is the only chair, milady.”
A glance around the chamber confirmed the truth of his statement. She supposed she could not find fault with that. But there remained the matter of his keeping her here against her will for the night and what would happen when she finally returned to Tarlington House.
“So it is,” she agreed. “However, that does not absolve you of your other sins, sir. I must return to my home at once.”
“Papa said you are going to live here now,” Anne announced.