Sweet Rogue of Mine (The Survivors #9) - Shana Galen Page 0,29
would bring him food, force him to eat, then take the empty plate away again. This morning—or was it yesterday?—he had threatened to plunge Nash in a tub of water himself if Nash did not bathe. So Nash had done as he was told and sat with wet hair and a clean but damp shirt while the incessant hammering continued.
And then it stopped. Nash raised his head. He thought it might have stopped some time ago, only the ringing of it sounded in his ears for so long that he was only just noticing it. The quiet was such a welcome respite that he actually rose and stretched. His muscles ached from holding the same position for so long and from the tight way he’d curled himself. This chamber had been his haven for days, but now he wanted out. Surprisingly, he was hungry. He’d come to rely on Rowden bringing him meals. Nash didn’t know what time it was, but it seemed past the time Rowden usually brought him a tray.
Nash didn’t bother with a coat, but he pulled on his boots and left his room in shirt sleeves, his waistcoat open. He’d intended to call out for Rowden, but he heard voices after taking only a few steps. As he neared the staircase that led down to the first floor and the foyer, he recognized the voices—it was Rowden and Miss Howard.
Nash halted, feeling an unexpected surge of jealousy that Rowden should be speaking to his Miss Howard. The idea was unreasonable. She was not his Miss Howard. She was not his anything. He barely knew her. And yet, it annoyed him that Rowden also knew her. He stood at the top of the stairs, trying to decide whether he should go down or not, when their words began to penetrate.
“If you don’t wish to pay me, I will do it for free,” Miss Howard said.
What the devil?
“It’s not that I mind paying you, Miss Howard. I think your efforts will be wasted.”
Precisely what efforts was she wasting on Rowden?
“They are my efforts, Mr. Payne, and I believe Mr. Pope would benefit from them.”
Nash simply could not keep quiet a moment longer. “How exactly would I benefit?” he asked, starting down the stairs. “And what are you offering?” He held the banister tightly as depth perception was not his strong suit these days.
“There you are, Mr. Pope!” she said, sounding genuinely happy to see him. Nash halted in the middle of the staircase. He could not remember the last time anyone had been happy to see him. No, he probably could remember. It had been during the war, and his fellow soldiers had been happy to see him. But this was the first time in years anyone had been happy to see him and not because he would kill someone for them. “Mr. Payne said you were indisposed, but I knew you would see me.”
“It seems I have little choice, being that you are in my house.”
“It’s a beautiful house,” she said as he reached the foyer and solid ground. “Or at least it was. I heard you were doing repairs, and I was so glad. I wanted to help in some way, but I couldn’t think how I might help. I can’t hammer or plaster or anything like that. And then I thought I might be able to help with the interior—”
“Miss Howard, get to the point,” Mr. Payne said.
Nash was actually annoyed she had been cut off. He rather liked listening to her speak.
“The point? Oh, my proposal! Yes, then I remembered that I know Ecriture Nocturne. I met Monsieur Barbier in Paris, and I learned it from him. When I came home, I modified it and taught it to my sister. And now she is able to read and write a little.”
Nash heard the rustling of paper, and then the scent and warmth of Miss Howard as she came near. She took his hand and placed a paper in it. “This is a letter my sister wrote to me.”
He tried to hand the paper back. “I cannot see it.”
“But you don’t read it with your eyes,” she said, pushing the paper back toward him. “You read it with your hands—well, your fingertips.”
Nash stared at her, seeing only an amorphous form. She was slim and tall. That was about all he could determine with his one good eye.
“Miss Howard,” Rowden said, “It’s been a long day. Perhaps you could come back another time.”