His Wallflower White by Tammy Andresen

Chapter Five

Millie satat her dressing table and brushed out her hair.

Her maid had just left, and Millie now wore her dressing gown. Candles still glowed about the room. Agatha would have completed the task for her but Millie found it therapeutic to do the job herself. She liked the rhythmic movement and the feel of the brush sliding through her hair.

When she finished, she’d do a simple plait for sleeping.

Setting down the silver brush, she began to braid, humming to herself. Her meeting with Labonte had yielded little actual information but it had strengthened her feelings about her father’s activities. He’d been up to no good. Not that it was difficult to draw that conclusion, but still.

A soft tapping on the glass of her window made her hands still in her hair. What the devil was that?

It came again, light and quiet. Three soft taps at the glass.

Rising, she crossed to the window. Her room was on the second story, nothing but a narrow ledge a few feet underneath the window. Had a bird perched there?

The taps came again, exactly three. If it was a bird, it had learned to count.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the curtain, drawing it back from the glass.

At first, she saw nothing but then…

A large hand came into view giving three more taps.

She nearly screamed. She might have fainted. But as the fear subsided, she noted just how large the hand was. And scraped.

Exactly like a boxer’s.

Tossing open the window, she peered out to find Patrick clinging to the ledge. She gasped, drawing back. “What are you doing here?”

By way of answer, he scooted closer and bent, pulling himself through the window in a move that was amazingly agile for such a large man. “Paying you a visit.”

“How did you climb up here?” she asked, glancing out the window. “It’s got to be fifteen feet to the ground.”

He chuckled. “I train daily. Or I did until my days were filled with watching you. Now I only do a few hours of exercise at night. But it’s enough to scale a wall still.”

“Hours of exercise at night?” she asked. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.” He winked. “Justice likely does the same. He’s still in peak physical condition as far as I can tell.”

She shook her head. They had digressed. “What are you doing here?” she asked again.

He quirked a brow. “You paid a visit to an architect today. I want to know why. Building a house?”

Her hands came to her hips as irritation spread through her. “That is none of your business.”

He shook his head. “I beg to differ. You are currently my sole business.”

She tsked, crossing back to her dressing table and taking a seat. She’d not finished the task of braiding her hair and the strands had come loose again, hanging down her back.

“Wrong,” she said as she started. “As far as I can tell, your job is to keep me from, I don’t know, being attacked by whoever started the fire on Dez’s ship. That does not mean that you’ve the right to meddle in all of my affairs, nor does it mean you can enter my room in the middle of the night.” She picked up the brush and shook it at him. “Gads. You were the one giving lectures on avoiding ruin yesterday.”

“Are you done?” He’d crossed his arms over his chest but he dropped them and began crossing to where she sat. Millie stared at him, wondering what he was playing at, when he gently took the brush from her hand. Her brows scrunched together, and she turned to look at him when he brushed a hand along her hair. “Turn around.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to finish your hair while we talk.”

She gasped. “What? That is ridiculous.”

“It isn’t,” he said as he stroked his hand down her hair again. “I may as well be of use since I invaded your personal space. I’m sorry for that. Though, in my defense, you did impose on my meeting with Justice yesterday.”

“I did not arrive uninvited to your home.” She tried to hold onto her irritation, but he replaced his hand with the brush.

“You’re right. I’m a cad and you can dock my pay for the rudeness.”

She glared at him through the mirror.

He held up his free hand. “I just want to know why you were there today because I think your visit to Labonte has something to do with your hidden agenda, in which case, you’re paying me to help. And if not, it most certainly impacts your safety, which your brothers are paying me to secure. So, either way, I thought I ought to know why and—” He gently set the brush down and parted her hair in three equal sections, beginning to braid, “make certain you’re not about to be in any trouble. And I can’t very well ask you during the day as you are not supposed to know that I exist.”

His hands felt divine. So soft and gentle that she nearly sighed aloud. “That is a fair point and I’ve only realized just how complicated this is.”

He nodded. “I compared it to an onion earlier. Lots of layers.”

“Indeed,” she answered. Then she did sigh. Because he was correct. She should tell him. “The architect is one of my father’s dear friends.”

His hands stilled. “I see.”

Millie looked down. “He built the home for my father that apparently ran up massive debts that Ben is now attempting to pay back.”

“Ah,” Patrick answered reaching for a ribbon and tying the braid. “But why ask Labonte?”

She shrugged. “He was my father’s closest friend. If anyone would know my father’s business, it was him…” but her words trailed off. “How do you know how to braid like that?” she asked.

“I have a sister,” he replied. “I’ve braided hair many times.”

Millie looked back at him. There was a sadness in his voice that she didn’t understand but it pulled at her chest, causing an ache on his behalf. But she didn’t ask for more details, this meeting was already too personal. Perhaps another time, but she couldn’t quite help reaching back and grabbing one of his hands in both of hers. Then, in a move that surprised even her, she brought the back of his hand to her cheek.

In the looking glass, she watched as his eyes squeezed shut.

Her breath caught and her hands squeezed his tighter.

* * *

Pain lancedthrough him at the thought of Amanda.

His sister.

She’d been a beautiful little girl, full of happiness and smiles. But as she’d grown older, it had become increasingly apparent she wasn’t like other people. Simple. That’s what his mother had called Amanda. His father had used far harsher language.

When she turned twelve, his parents sent her off to a sanitarium to live a quiet life where she’d not bring shame to the family.

Patrick had been outraged. Amanda was everything good in this world. How could her family send her away? He’d been fifteen and a terrible row with his father had ensued. It had been the beginning of the end of their relationship.

He didn’t regret leaving his family. He couldn’t have stayed knowing what they’d done. But at the silky feel of Millie’s cheek, he was reminded of how hard his life had been.

Her hair. Good Lord, Millie’s hair.

Patrick knew women found his brute strength pleasing. They wanted to fuck him on a regular basis. Hard, fast, dirty and crude, the interactions were brief and satisfying in their own way.

But here, he realized how devoid of any emotion they’d been.

The simple act of touching Millie’s hair had been so much more…intimate. And in some strange way…fulfilling.

“Patrick?” she asked, squeezing his hand again.

He shook his head. “Tell me about the debts.”

In concise words, she explained what she’d learned so far.

He had to admit, he was impressed.

“I’ve got some hunches but I’m unsure of how to substantiate them.”

He scratched his chin as he reluctantly took a step back. He’d like nothing better than to touch her hair all night, but he knew he’d already overstepped.

He should never have touched her like that or at all. What if someone walked in and found him in her chamber? He’d have to marry her, and what did he have to offer? Not enough. Still, resisting the opportunity to share such an intimate moment with her was impossible. He sighed, his shoulders relaxing a notch.

She turned in the chair, placing her hands along the back and resting her chin on her folded arms. Her mouth pressed down into a decided frown.

“What Justice said yesterday, about your father switching you…”

She lifted her head again. “That does not have to do with my safety or the investigation.”

No, it didn’t. But it explained why she wished for her father to be the culprit, and why she wanted a hand in proving it. “I’m getting the impression that your father was not a well-liked man.”

“That is a gross understatement.”

“It’s a point we might be able to use in our favor. Find out who didn’t like him and see what they know.”

She nodded. “That’s good. I’ll look to see who he owes money to, as well.”

“Good point.” Patrick rubbed his chin, another thought occurring to him. “My guess is, that no matter how good a friend Labonte is, your father also owed him money. Dukes aren’t exactly known for settling debts with tradesmen.”

She sucked in a breath. “Of course, I could offer to settle the debt in exchange for some information.”

He winced. “That is a dangerous move to be certain.”

She shrugged. “I suppose, but it does lead me to another thought. He might have records on my father. There is likely nothing substantial but…”

Patrick’s brows lifted. “Interesting. Are you suggesting we search Labonte’s office?”

She rose from the chair bouncing on the balls of her bare feet. Her enthusiasm was both infectious and endearing. He shook his head. One should not be that excited about breaking the law.

“We could go right now,” she said, clasping her hands. Then her shoulders hunched. “Drat. I returned the groom’s clothes already.”

He chuckled. “Tomorrow will be soon enough. These sorts of things are best when planned.”

She turned her head to the side, assessing him. “Do you have a great deal of experience with these sorts of things?”

Best not to answer that. “I’ll meet you at the garden gate at midnight.” He started for her bedroom door.

She raised her brows. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving,” he said as though the answer was obvious.

“You’re just going to waltz through my brother’s house in the middle of the night?”

“I am in his employ,” Patrick answered.

“Then why the window trick?”

Did he confess part of him had wanted to impress her? “Passing down a hall is one thing. Standing and knocking on a door is another.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Fair point.”

“Besides, I think your plan for tomorrow night proves it’s a twenty-four-hour-a-day commitment. Honestly, if your brothers were smart, they’d move me in full time.” He paused. “And hire a second guard.”

Her arms crossed over her shapeless house coat as her eyes narrowed. “And then you could braid my hair every night?”

She had him there. He shifted. “My apologies. I should have left you to the task.” He glanced at the loose braid now dangling over one shoulder. “You’ve beautiful hair.”

She stared at him, her lips parting. “You like my hair?”

Some invisible cord pulled him toward her once again and he found himself standing right in front of her. He reached out, brushing his fingers along the silky mass that was now contained by a single ribbon. He’d like to tug on the bow he’d tied himself and allow the strands to fall around her shoulders. Bury his hands in the thick mass of it. “I don’t just like it. I love it.”

He heard her gasp of air and knew his admission had surprised her, but he didn’t take it back. He shouldn’t want her. Even if he’d had plans to wed, which he didn’t, Millie was meant for a man of means, which he wasn’t. He was a fighter, a grappler, and every penny he’d saved would go into his new business venture. He could barely support himself, let alone a wife and children.

Still, underneath Millie’s hard veneer, Patrick knew there was a vulnerable woman. He saw glimpses of her, and his compliment was meant for her.

“You love my hair?”

He smiled as he gently ran the back of his fingers along her chin. “Granted, your hair doesn’t hold a candle to your strength of character.”

And that won him a smile so big he thought it might split her entire face. Her cheeks pulled as one of her hands wrapped about his wrist. “You think I’m strong?”

Did she doubt it? “Strongest woman I’ve ever met. But just a bit soft, too. Perfect, really.”

A flush colored her cheeks. “My brothers would tell you that I’m not strong, just annoying.”

“Brothers can be like that,” he answered and then he dropped his hand before he did something completely foolish and kissed her. It must be the candlelight, glinting off the walls, shining off her hair that had muddled his mind, but he knew he should leave. He was in danger of doing something he’d regret. He took a step back and turned toward the door. He forced himself to leave without looking back. Because part of him was so tempted to stay.