good care of him now.”
“Yes, go,” Donovan grumbled. “I won’t have you all looking at me like this.”
Mr. Brendan was already walking toward the door.
She didn’t know how she could possibly think of leaving Donovan at this moment, but she couldn’t let Mr. Brendan get away, either—not now, not with the new suspicions in her head. “Mr. Brendan?” When he didn’t turn, she remembered he couldn’t hear her. She darted after him and touched his arm. He looked at her. “Let me see you out—”
“Please. You’ve more than enough to do here.”
Mrs. Plum had enlisted Mr. Brimble to help her remove Donovan’s shirt. He was in good hands. “I insist,” she said, and stepped out of the room with Mr. Brendan.
They walked down the hall in silence; Hollis’s thoughts were racing ahead to what she would say, how she would say it. When they reached the stairs, she said, “Thank you so much for your help, Mr. Brendan.”
“You mustn’t mention it.”
“I hope you weren’t...scandalized.” So much had happened tonight that she was only now thinking of what he must have thought when he surely realized what had happened to Donovan.
But he looked at her as if he didn’t understand at all.
“Because of...” She gestured vaguely in the direction of Donovan’s room. She had never spoken of his affinity to men to anyone, not even her sister. She had sworn to Percy she would never tell anyone and she had kept that promise.
Mr. Brendan started down the steps. “Rest assured, Mrs. Honeycutt, I don’t make other men’s business my own.”
She followed him to the first-floor landing. He paused there and his gaze flicked down the length of her and up again, settling on her eyes. “Thank you for the tea.” He said it softly, as if she’d done him a kindness. “Please, go back to your...butler.” He started down the second flight of stairs.
“Wait,” she said, following him down, catching up with him as they reached the ground floor. “Mr. Brendan?”
He paused once more and waited politely for her to speak.
Unfortunately, Hollis couldn’t think how to say it.
His gaze flicked to the front door. She was pestering him now and had to speak up or lose him. “There is one more thing I have to tell you. Please,” she said, and unthinkingly, impulsively, grabbed his wrist.
Mr. Brendan very slowly looked down at her hand on his wrist. Hollis did, too. Why did she keep doing things like this—hugging him, and putting her hand on him? She should have let go immediately. But she didn’t. She stared at her hand on his wrist and imagined that her fingers couldn’t close all the way around it. She stared at the bit of hair that peeked out from his cuff, at his knuckles, and noticed one of them was scarred. When she did at last look up from his wrist, she found Mr. Brendan looking at her. And his gaze was incendiary.
She let go.
“It’s important,” she insisted. “And...you left your cake.” She tried to muster a laugh as she gestured lamely to the door of her dining room.
His gaze was still locked on her, and she wondered if her flesh was turning fiery red. “Lord Dromio will be expecting me shortly.”
“Mr. Brendan, please—it won’t take more than a minute. Or two. Possibly three.” She was hoping that was a lie. She was hoping he would stay and tell her everything. She wanted to know it all. “Do you remember what I told you about the London Philological Society?”
“How could I possibly forget it?”
She took a step backward, toward the door of her office. “And do you remember I told you that they meet every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon at the London Library?” She stepped into the dining room.
Mr. Brendan glanced at the front door, then at her. He followed her. “I do.”
She started toward the far end of the room, to the armchairs where she’d spent many afternoons with her needlework. She turned back to face him and spoke louder. “And do you remember that I said I wait for them every Tuesday and Thursday to press my case?”
He had taken a few more steps into the room, watching her. He nodded.
Hollis made it to the chairs and picked up his plate of cake. He’d taken only a bite of it. She held up the plate. He watched her set down the cake again near the chair he’d taken earlier. “I recall everything you said, Mrs. Honeycutt.” He walked to the chairs, looked at