‘Dearest...’
‘Dearest...’
But her mother wasn’t a mindless fluff when her father wasn’t around. True, she was a bit of a hypochondriac because she loved being fussed over, particularly by her husband. But, separate them and her mother could tally a balance sheet and organise the staff, all while twirling a knitting needle or playing pianoforte.
But Annie could not stay in ton and become one of the pretty posies doomed to decorate a man’s arm and his house and his children. She shuddered.
Barrett had a good thought when he told her she should learn to defend herself. She was destined, not doomed, but destined to become a spinster with a mind of her own. She’d almost perfected the spinster part, but having a mind of her own was giving her some trouble. She’d never be able to do that around her parents. They cried too easily.
She knocked on the oak door, hoping Barrett was right and that sound didn’t carry well.
She rapped again. He was certainly right about not being able to wake people easily in the night.
Then she considered kicking the door.
She couldn’t wait in the hallway forever.
Then she turned the latch and eased inside. The four-poster did look to have a shape in it, but she turned her head slightly aside because she shouldn’t look at a man in bed.
‘Pardon me,’ she whispered.
He didn’t move.
She slid back against the door and knocked on it from the inside.
‘Mr Barrett,’ she began on a whisper, but ended on a high note.
The form rolled over. Long arms. A muttered oath. ‘What—do you want?’ A wakening growl.
‘I thought about what you said.’
He sat up. Covers fell away. She closed her eyes and swallowed, forcing her courage to remain with her. Even in the dark, the man was a tower of strength. She opened her eyes and looked over his head.
He exhaled and his teeth were clenched. He finally spoke. ‘Couldn’t you have thought about it—tomorrow, after breakfast? Before dinner.’ He raised his hand and ran his fingers through his hair. She’d seen that movement before. On a pedlar when his cart of apples had been overturned.
‘You know I’m watched closely. I’m not even allowed to sleep on the same floor as you.’
‘For good reason, apparently.’
‘Did you have the physician arrange for me to be in the room?’
He didn’t answer.
‘Why?’ she asked.
‘You are said to be one of the beautiful Carson sisters. He said I would fall slavering at your feet. I was curious. That’s all.’
Her stomach gave the oddest flutter when Barrett mentioned falling slavering at her feet.
‘And the physician has kept you informed of my father’s business dealings?’
‘Not particularly. Not considerably. Your father has kept me informed. He talks when he’s nervous.’
She ignored his words and instead focused on her purpose. ‘I want you to help me learn to defend myself. In case it’s needed.’ And it might be once she left home. She wouldn’t be living in a large house with servants.
His eyes shut. ‘Practise your punching. Learn to scream out and shout No! If in doubt, bring a knee to the private parts. Goodnight.’
She didn’t move. She’d knocked on his door in the early morning. He should appreciate what an effort it had taken.
‘That was a mannered way of telling you to go away.’ He lay back down, rolled away from her and pulled the covers over his shoulders.
* * *
Barrett could feel her eyes on his back. He should never have spoken with her. Never have convinced his brother to arrange a meeting—wager or no. The damn little innocent was standing in his room in the middle of the night. And he was naked and the bed was warm and big and cosy. Way too comfortable for one. A perfect bed.
But not for him and this naive miss. She was little more than a pretty piece of pottery. Much too young. Younger than he’d been at birth. She was too naive for her own good. And she wasn’t doing him any favours.
‘I...I would prefer to hit you.’ Her voice moved like music along the air. ‘Hitting a pillow alone is not as intimidating. It doesn’t have eyes.’
‘Hire a footman.’ If he rolled towards her, he would not be able to go back to sleep. Well, that didn’t matter. He was unlikely to fall back asleep this night.
‘My parents would never let me punch a footman.’ She sounded shocked.
Heaven save him from an artless miss shocked at the thought of hitting a footman.
‘Go away.’ He put force into the words. No man would dare ignore such a command.
‘I don’t think it’s polite to keep your back to me as you talk.’
Much better than telling you to get the hell out of my room. A thread of civility remained in him. ‘Said the woman holding a lamp near the man’s bed.’
‘I’m across the room and you wouldn’t answer the door.’
He slung his body into a sitting position, using both hands to comb back the hair that had moved to cover his face. ‘Because knocks in the middle of the night never bring peace.’ He bit out the words.
Now she flattened her back against the wood, but her feet remained still.
‘Reach down. A little to the left. Open the latch. And go to your room and practise hitting the pillow. I will speak with your father about sending a maid to you so you can practise dodging punches.
‘Oh, that would never do. If you make him think I am in any kind of danger, he will have me sleeping in my mother’s room the rest of my life.’ She took in a quavering breath. ‘I would have thought you would want me to be safe. After what you said about shouts in the night not waking anyone...and then we have the physician in our house.’
‘You have no need to worry about the physician,’ he grumbled. ‘The man has a strict code of honour. He only lies on weekdays and is careful not to speak on Sunday.’
‘How do you know him?’ she asked.
He shook his head, causing his hair to move over his vision. ‘Everyone knows Gavin.’
‘Well, that doesn’t mean he’s trustworthy.’
‘He’s a whole damn lot more trustworthy than I am.’
He threw back the covers and she dived for the doorknob.
