Lady Lilias and the Devil in Plaid - Julie Johnstone Page 0,49
was merely hearing what she had longed to hear for so many years.
“Shh, don’t fret,” he said, his hand suddenly moving from her shoulder to stroke her head.
Good heavens, his hand sliding down the rounded slope of her skull felt divine. She wanted to curl into him like her cat Tabitha did to her when she would pet the feline. But what did he mean don’t fret?
“Why did you not say something?” he asked, a faint tremor in his voice. “Were you afraid?”
Well, of course she wasn’t, but she found she wanted to hear what he would say next, so she kept her silence.
“Give me the man’s name, Lilias. And if you don’t know his name, tell me where you saw him, what he looked like.” Nash’s hand had stopped stroking her head.
Pity, that. Though, how tightly he was now holding her and the way both his arms were encircling her, as if he was going to protect her from the world, felt wonderful. Too wonderful. Longing sprang forth hot and throbbing. She had to move away from him, break contact before she did something unthinkable. She set her hand on his thigh to push him away, and the unbridled power she felt under her fingertips made her shiver.
“It’s going to be all right,” he said, his voice now low and soothing. “I will find the man that dared to touch you, and I’ll kill him. I’ll rip his heart out. I promise I’ll—I mean, Owen will never let harm come to you again.”
His impassioned words sent her pulse spinning in a direction she dare not allow her emotions or her mind to go again. He was honorable so he was angry that any man should act with dishonor, and that was that.
She shoved away from him, breaking his hold and put the little space she could between them on the small seat of the gig. “It was a tree, not a man. I climbed a tree and ripped my gown. Though I appreciate your neighborly concern.”
She expected him to laugh or possibly lecture her on tree climbing or some such. What she did not anticipate was the fury that settled on his face as he stared at her. “You,” he bit out, “need a keeper. You will get yourself killed carrying on as you do. Your mother has never been up for the task, and—”
“Don’t you dare speak ill of my mother,” Lilias bellowed, and this time when she shoved Nash, he did fall backward onto his arse where he belonged. She snatched up the reins before he righted himself, whistled at her horse to go, and proceeded to leave him behind her, as she should have done the day he’d left her without ever looking back.
But before she got too far, she heard him yell, “Stay home or else!”
Later that night, she lay awake in her bed staring at her ceiling. She’d long given up the notion that she would sleep this night. Nash was far too heavy on her mind, and guilt filled her heart and her head that Nash, not Owen, was in both. Owen, who had declared his love. Owen, who had told her that the pain he lived with from his limp was nothing if he had her as his wife in the end. Owen loved her, but Nash still filled every cell she possessed. She hated herself, and she hated Nash, too.
Yet, she didn’t. She hated that she loved him, and that it was not a simple matter to forget him, particularly when he sounded so enraged on her behalf that someone might have harmed her. She rolled onto her side and punched her pillow. When he did things like vow to kill the villain and rip his heart out… Well, those sorts of words could confuse a lady, especially one prone to romantic leanings as she used to be. She was not going to be that sort anymore. An impassioned vow such as Nash’s could make a lady think a man was harboring secret feelings for her. But not this lady, of course. She flopped onto her back again. She could not, under any circumstances, ask Nash if any of those scenarios might possibly be the case. Nor could she put herself in a situation where he might tell her.
She bit her lip as she stared once more at the ceiling. If Nash did love her, it would be worse to know, wouldn’t it? She listened to her breathing for a long