The Gift of Love (The Book of Love #8) - Meara Platt Page 0,90

rattled brain? I thought you’d be dressed by now. But my goodness, I’m glad you’re not. I am very much enjoying the sight of you.”

He shook his head in dismay. “I’m moving a little slow this morning. It’s to be my first day outside of this bedchamber.”

“Let me help you, my love. Joshua’s carriage is already out front. He’s eager to be on his way. Yours is not the only budget the House of Lords will be voting on.”

“It will take me only a minute to dress.”

“Nonsense. It will take you an hour at the speed you are moving.” She teasingly sighed. “It is a tragic shame to cover up that splendid body of yours. The sacrifices a wife must make for her country.”

They were still in Joshua’s home since Dr. Farthingale had admonished them not to move him yet. But this forced idleness had done wonders for him. The burning in his chest had subsided. His ribs ached only the littlest bit. His head no longer felt as though elephants were stomping on it, and his eyes no longer blurred whenever he turned too quickly.

As soon as he was dressed and had donned his boots, he pulled Dahlia onto his lap. “You look beautiful, Queen Pea.” He kissed her tenderly, his lips seeking hers as he drew her body against his, always loving the way she felt against him and the cinnamon scent of her skin.

Her lips molded to his, and she clung to his shoulders with sweet urgency. “Ronan,” she whispered, her eyes still closed as she absorbed the lingering sensation of his touch after he ended the kiss, “we had better go downstairs, or Joshua and Holly will leave without us.”

“Right.” He sighed and allowed her to slip out of his arms. “You really do look beautiful.”

She was wearing a dark blue gown, once again, nothing fancy. Just elegant and subtly catching to the eye. He watched as she put on her hat, a pretty thing in a dark blue fabric to match her gown and a small feather sticking out of the top. She set it on her head so that it jauntily tipped to one side and somehow made her eyes look bigger.

Gorgeous eyes.

Her hair was done up in a loose twist so that he could see the highlights of gold and copper peeking out from beneath her hat.

She looked breathtaking.

He felt a surge of pride that he would be the one escorting her into the halls of Parliament.

“About time you got down here,” Joshua muttered but made certain to help him into the carriage.

Ronan fell heavily against the squabs, irritated that the slight effort of climbing in had sent pain shooting up his sides and across his chest. Dahlia settled beside him, her eyes filled with concern. “I’ll be fine in a moment,” he assured her.

She curled her arm in his and clung to him as the carriage rolled through the busy London streets. They did not have far to go, but even this short ride badly jostled his ribs. Dahlia knew it. Joshua and Holly knew it. But his expression must have been fierce, for none of them dared to utter a word about his discomfort.

It would have been pointless.

He would have denied it.

He was going to be present for the vote even if it killed him...as it well might, he decided when the carriage bounced over a particularly large rut. “Bollocks, how much did you pay for this cheap contraption?”

Joshua shot him a look that was somewhere between a smirk and a glower. “You’re the problem, not the carriage. Behave yourself, you arse, or I’ll toss you out and leave you to walk to Parliament on your own.”

He closed his eyes. “Fine. I’ll shut up. I suppose I owe you for saving my life.” He felt Dahlia shudder beside him. “Sweetheart, I’m just being surly. All’s well.”

Which it wasn’t, and they all knew it.

But he only needed to hold himself together for another hour at the most. His three earl cousins, Tynan, James, and Marcus, were standing out front, obviously awaiting their carriage. He should have known they would be here, for this was typical wildebeest behavior, the stronger ones coming to the rescue of their weakest, gathering around him to protect him.

“I’ll punch the first one of you who dares carry me inside,” he warned, appreciating their concern, but not wanting them to overdo it.

“Fine,” Marcus said, “but we’re sticking close. Miranda will kick us to Bedfordshire and back if any