The Obsessions of Lord Godfrey - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,11
get here—without his aid, we might not have made it.” He met her eyes. “Is he still here?”
She nodded. “That was Michael Masterton. And yes, he’s stranded here as well. The snow’s still coming down, and it’s already so deep, we’re snowed in.”
“Oh.” Tales of snowstorms in Yorkshire flitted through his brain. “How long is that situation likely to last?”
“In these parts, a week or even more is not unheard of.”
“I see.” So he was going to have time at Hinckley Hall to get better acquainted with the intriguing Miss Hinckley.
“I had thought to ask,” Wally said, “about whether you think we should notify your family, but with being snowed in…”
Godfrey met Wally’s eyes and understood what his friend was actually asking: Should he use Godfrey’s title or not? “I don’t think that’s necessary.” Godfrey returned his attention to Miss Hinckley. “You said Mr. Masterton is stranded ‘as well.’ Are there others here?”
“As well as the household and Mr. Masterton, two friends of my father’s—Mr. Morris and Mr. Pyne, local gentlemen—had called, and they also will have to remain until the thaw.”
So there was no one in the house who would recognize him. Godfrey looked across the room to where his clothes sat stacked on a dresser. “In that case”—he shifted his legs and started to sit up—“I expect I had better get dressed and come downstairs.”
“Oh no.” Agitation bloomed in Miss Hinckley’s fine eyes, and concern invested her expression. “You’re already running a fever. It’s only slight at this point, but we can’t allow you to risk your chill transforming into a fever of the lungs.”
The words “fever of the lungs” sent a very real chill through him.
Before he saw the threat, Wally—also exercised—gabbled, “You know you’ve been susceptible since you were a nipper. You don’t want to take the chance of coming down like you used to again.”
Godfrey glared. “Wally!”
Before he could take his henchman to task for revealing far too much, Miss Hinckley clasped her hands before her and firmly said, “Mr. Cavanaugh!”
When, lips tight, he glanced her way, she caught his gaze and said, “I would ask you to view this situation from our family’s perspective. You came into Yorkshire at our behest—perhaps not directly but ultimately because of our approach to the National Gallery. So you and your man being caught in the snowstorm was essentially because of our need of your services.”
Ellie had polished her arguments in preparation for just such a clash. Keeping her gaze level and locked with Cavanaugh’s and doing her utmost not to notice the temper glinting in the distracting gold flecks in his hawklike brown eyes, she continued, “As such, the last thing the family wish is for your evaluation of our painting to be affected or in any way influenced by illness. That would definitely not be in the family’s best interests.”
He blinked, and she saw an awareness of what she was saying—and more, that he wasn’t about to try to deny that illness might affect his judgment—and forged on with what she considered her culminating argument. “On top of that, the painting is here and not going anywhere, so there’s no urgency over formulating your verdict. Indeed, even if you were well and viewed the painting this afternoon, with the snow lying so thickly, you couldn’t leave or even send a report to the gallery.” She paused, then still holding his gaze, stated, “There’s no sense in leaving this bed until you’re fully recovered and not at risk of developing any complications. For your information, by the time you reached us, you were close to frozen.”
She invested the last phrase with enough force to warn him off any attempt to argue.
Judging by the frustrated look that crept into his hawk’s eyes, he heard her loud and clear.
Godfrey felt about twelve years old, which was not at all how he wished to feel around Miss Hinckley. Before he could decide how he should respond, the door opened to admit a pleasant-faced motherly woman.
His angel turned to the newcomer. “Mrs. Kemp, I was just telling Mr. Cavanaugh that he should remain abed until his fever abates and he recovers fully from his ordeal.” Miss Hinckley returned her gaze to him. “Mrs. Kemp is our housekeeper.”
And, Godfrey suspected, a no-nonsense one at that.
Mrs. Kemp confirmed that with a brisk “Indeed, miss.” To Godfrey, she said, “It will do no one any good if you push yourself into a more serious state, sir. My advice is to rest and recuperate and