The Gift of Love (The Book of Love #8) - Meara Platt Page 0,83

love. It was going to happen with or without that book. Perhaps we would have hit more bumps along the way, made more mistakes. I know we would have moved slower toward this end. But I don’t regret our taking this leap. Will you give the book to Heather now?”

“I will, but not right away. She has a little more growing up to do, I think. She’s a young eighteen-year-old. Do you know what I mean? Robbie calls her a pixie, and I think it is apt because she is still a little girl in some ways. Not that I am one to judge. I was hardly a good example for her to follow. I think–”

Ronan suddenly pulled her forward and threw himself over her as something smashed through the window, sending shards of glass hurtling toward them. Most of the shards landed in a spray beside the window. But several sailed farther, landing dangerously close to the bed. “Queen Pea, are you all right?”

“What just happened?” she asked in a shaky breath.

“Someone tossed a rock through the window.” Under normal circumstances, he would have been on his feet, pistol drawn, and ready to chase after the culprit. But he couldn’t move. His lungs felt as though they were about to burst, and pain was shooting up both sides of his body. “Bollocks, I’ve ruined your gown.”

He was atop her, probably crushing her with his weight. They were chest to chest, and her bodice was smeared with the foul substance he had just applied to his wound.

She scrambled out from under him as he rolled off her with a grunt. “Ronan, are you all right? Can you breathe?”

“Yes, Queen Pea.” Bollocks. He lay on his back, seeing stars as pain continued to course through him.

“Dear heaven! I’ve never seen anyone move as fast as you did just now. How are you able to do this? And injured, no less? Don’t worry about my gown. Let me run down and get help.”

She ran out before he could stop her. He barely had time to wrap the sheet around himself before his brothers and Robbie tore into the room. Glass crunched beneath their boots as they hurried to the window.

A cold wind blew in through the broken panes. But he was still in a sweat and struggling to quell the fire in his chest, so he felt none of the chill.

“Whoever the blackguard was, he must have run off by now,” Robbie said. “We were just on our way out to fetch the minister, but...I’ll look around and see if I can find anyone still lurking suspiciously. Snow’s on the ground. There may be some tracks to follow.”

“I’m coming with you,” Tynan said.

Joshua ran a hand roughly through his hair. “Me, too.”

Finn stopped him. “I’ll go, Josh. This is your house. You’ll need to have the window repaired as soon as possible, and the shards of glass cleaned up. Who do you think did this?”

Joshua shook his head in dismay. “Hell if I know. It wasn’t aimed at me or Holly. Lord knows we’ve had our own headaches. This had to be someone angry with Ronan. Why else toss the rock through an upper floor window instead of into the parlor where we were all standing?”

“Or someone who is angry with Dahlia,” Finn mused, now frowning. “After all, until yesterday, this was her guest chamber.”

Unfortunately, Dahlia returned in time to hear these last comments.

“Me?” She put a hand to her throat, and her face went ashen. “Who would want to hurt me?”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Dahlia felt completely drained. It could not have been more than an hour before the window was replaced, the glass swept away, and Ronan safely settled back in bed, but it felt like an eternity to her.

Ronan was in pain. In typical fashion, he was too stubborn to admit to it. Fortunately, his breathing did not appear strained, nor did he appear to be in any worse discomfort than he’d been in before the rock was hurled at them.

Who had thrown it, and why?

She had no enemies.

In truth, Ronan had none either. Everyone was hailing him as a hero. Except perhaps Lord Peckham, but he did not seem the sort to hire a ruffian to cause overt destruction. Men like him were political weasels, sneaking behind an opponent’s back within the halls of Parliament to undermine that opponent’s power by duplicitous deal-making and snide innuendo.

What hurt most was this prank had ruined the gown she had chosen to wear for