The Fearless Miss Dinah by Laura Rollins

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Then, as luck would have it,” Uncle Jeffrey said, his hands moving as he spoke, “just as the French soldiers were about to spear the stack of hay I was hiding in, a wolf off in the forest howled and drew their attention away. In that moment, I darted from the hay, leapt atop a horse, and rode past their startled faces and out into the night.”

Dinah sipped at her tea as the elderly man leaned back in his chair. “They’d have been far more surprised if they’d known I held the troop movement plans in my pocket.” He patted his chest as though the plans were still there.

“You make it sound as though you won the war singlehandedly,” Miles said from across the room.

“It might just be that your old man did,” Uncle Jeffrey said in return.

Dinah only smiled into her tea. The family was in the parlor at the moment, enjoying the fact that this room stayed cooler than the rest of the house during the hot summer afternoon. Everyone was here except Henry. She’d awoken that morning to find him already gone. It was strange how easy she’d found it to feel safe while he’d been in the room. She’d rather hoped that last night might have proven to be a bit of a shifting moment for them.

That Henry still believed they could never be more than man and wife in name only was no secret to her. And yet, when she’d awoken to find herself alone in the room, she’d been quite sad. She hadn’t seen him all day either. A maid had informed her that his lordship was in town but hadn’t known why.

It had only been since last night that they’d spoken, yet she already missed him.

Which was foolish since he clearly didn’t miss her.

And now she had to worry about what to write to her family . . . yet again. It seemed they were respecting her only slightly veiled wish that they give her and her new husband time and space to make a life together. She hadn’t had a visit in weeks. But what they lacked in face-to-face communication, they had made up for in the written variety. How many more times would she be forced to lie to her family? To say all was well and that she and Henry were blissfully happy together?

Or perhaps it was time to write them the truth. Henry had only married her out of a sense of duty. They rubbed together well enough, but there was no love. At least, not on his part.

There was plenty on hers.

But right now, that love for him only made her feel pitiful.

Aunt Beatrice fanned herself as she placed her tea down on a table beside her chair. “It’s such a dreadfully hot day.”

“Regrettably so,” came Emily’s quiet reply. “I thought it best if the boys and I stayed indoors today.”

“Very good.” Aunt Beatrice gave Emily a small smile, but as her gaze moved away and toward Dinah, her smile shrank, and she lifted her nose.

“Actually,” Emily said, “since the ball is only a few days away, I had thought—”

Dinah glanced up to see what had caused Emily to pause mid-sentence.

Henry stood just inside the room, and he looked ghastly. His left eye was red and a bit swollen. A small bit of blood was dried to the side of his mouth.

“What the—” David stopped himself there.

“I am quite fine, I assure you,” Henry said, his tone as light as though nothing out of the ordinary was about. “The other man is far worse off, though.”

“Tell me you have not been boxing again,” Aunt Beatrice said, her tone indignant.

“I needed to do something,” he said, sitting himself down directly across from Dinah, and giving her a most pointed glare, “seeing as how I didn’t sleep well last night.”

Oh, so he was blaming her, then?

“I’d best see to the children,” Emily said, her voice weak. Quickly, she stood and hurried out of the room.

David watched his wife leave and then stood as well, coming around to face Henry. “What’s gotten into you?”

Henry continued to stare Dinah down.

“You know my wife can’t stand the sight of blood,” David hissed. When Henry continued to ignore him, David let out a sigh and then followed his wife from the room.

Still, Henry only stared at Dinah. And Dinah, never one to back down, only stared back.

“I think it is terribly ungentlemanly of you to enter the room looking thusly,” Aunt Beatrice huffed. When no one looked her way, or even acknowledged her statement, she walked up to Henry much as David had done. “I insist you go and clean yourself up this minute.”

“I promise to be clean before dinner,” Henry said, his eyes still on Dinah.

Aunt Beatrice turned herself about. “Well, it is indecent for a woman to look at you as you are now. I will see you at dinner.” And with that, she took herself from the room.

Though Dinah didn’t allow her gaze to leave Henry’s, she could feel every man in the room looking at her. They were no doubt wondering when she would take herself off as well.

It’s what Henry was waiting for, she didn’t doubt it. He was daring her, Dinah could see it in his eyes. Daring her to swoon under the sight of him all bruised and bloodied. Daring her to turn her nose up at the “indecency” of how he looked. But if he thought she would do any of that, then he had another lesson coming.

“I think,” Uncle Jeffrey said, coming to a stand, “that I’d best go see a man about a horse. Come on, Miles and Oliver.”

The twins started to protest, but Uncle Jeffrey insisted. Mr. Wilson followed them out silently. Soon, it was only Dinah and Henry left in the room.

Sitting directly across from one another.

Staring each other down.

Dinah lifted a single brow and smiled. “If you’re trying to scare me off, it isn’t going to work.”

In return, Henry smiled a wolfish grin. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

A footman entered the room carrying a bowl of water, a rag hanging over his arm. He moved past Dinah and walked up to Henry.

“Leave it,” Dinah said.

The footman only seemed relieved as he sat the bowl and rag down, bowed, and hurried from the room.

Dinah, her gaze still holding Henry’s, stood and moved over to him. His confident smile faltered as she neared. Coming to kneel before him, she picked up the rag and dipped it in the water. The water was warm, and yet it felt cold in comparison to the heat she felt at Henry’s unwavering gaze.

She lifted the damp rag to the side of his mouth. Henry didn’t so much as flinch or even blink. His dark eyes were captivating. Dinah lifted the rag, moving it only a fraction, then patted it once more against him.

“It’s a shame you cut your hair,” she found herself saying. “I rather liked it long.”

He didn’t say anything. He hardly moved, hardly breathed, it seemed.

Dinah dipped the rag back into the water, this time placing it against his swelling eye. The small scar just below his left eye seemed to stand out whiter than usual in comparison to the bruised skin about it. Why did he insist on keeping his distance? Slowly, her hand dropped away from his face. Why could he not just allow her to love him? Allow himself to love her in return? How she ached to cover these sores not with a rag, but with kisses.

Her gaze jumped to his lips, then back up. If he couldn’t see what was wrong about them staying only friends, then perhaps it was time she stopped thinking about it and simply showed him.

She went up on her knees, bringing her closer to him. He seemed equally as drawn in, leaning forward until she could feel his breath against her.

Dinah wrapped a hand around his neck, pulling him still closer. He let her, his own hands wrapping behind her back. He leaned in closer . . . closer.

Then froze.

She searched his face. His eyes held the same fire she felt, yet his brow was creased. In uncertainty?

“It’s all right,” she whispered. “I want this, too.”

Henry’s eyes widened, and in an instant, the intense burning she’d seen there was extinguished. His hands moved away from her, then he took hold of hers and pulled it away from him.

“You are mistaken,” he said, his voice cold. “For I don’t want this.”

He stood abruptly, pushing past her. Dinah had to rock back and place a hand on the floor to keep from tipping over, all the heat and anticipation of moments ago morphing instantly into disappointment tinged with humiliation.

“This was a mistake,” Henry muttered, rubbing a hand over his cut lip.

Dinah blinked a few times. A mistake? What had been? Daring her to leave the way he had? Letting her press the rag to his bruised face? Or perhaps his statement meant something more. Was he lamenting having her around at all?

Was she just fooling herself that she could make him fall in love with her? What an arrogant notion to begin with—to think that she could convince anyone to love her. Dinah stood and threw the rag back into the bowl of water. It hit with a smack, spraying droplets every which way.

“If you will excuse me.” Dinah strode purposefully toward the door. Let the idiot wash the blood off his own face. He’d made it quite clear he wanted nothing more than friendship from her. Why had she ever thought their connection would grow into something more?

Had he not told her that if she tried to make him fall in love with her, it would only lead to hurt on both sides?

Well, he’d been right.