A Reckless Promise. Kasey Michaels

of stairs ended at the tile floor of the entrance hall.

      “Mrs. Camford,” Sadie returned, along with a matching nod of her head. Only a fool wouldn’t believe they were sizing each other up, deciding on how to go on. “Thank you again for your kind and generous welcome. I promise you that Miss Marley is usually much better behaved. She’s frightened, you understand, having so recently lost both her papa and her home.”

      “And you, Mrs. Boxer, if I might ask?” the housekeeper said as she motioned for Sadie to follow her to the rear of the house. “Have you also lost your home?”

      Lost my home? Yes, let’s go with that, since apparently it’s easy to believe, women being so inherently fragile and in need of protection that nobody would ever suppose they could get by on their own.

      So recently reminded by Marley of her betraying tendency, Sadie attempted to tamp down the sweet drawl as she bristled at the woman’s curiosity, as it wouldn’t do to go pop. Still, she would stick to the truth, or as near to it as possible.

      “As I resided with my brother in lodgings provided by his patients, yes, that accommodation was no longer open to either Miss Marley or myself. But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to deliver my brother’s daughter to the man who promised to care for her in the event of my brother’s death. If asked to leave, I will do so, the moment I feel my niece is in good hands.”

      She couldn’t keep the smile and drawl at bay as she ended, “I do most sincerely hope that aids in your information, Mrs. Camford, but if there’s anything else you feel the need to know, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

      The woman’s blush told Sadie that she’d made her point—that she knew she was being questioned, measured, perhaps even judged. The staff was very protective of the viscount apparently. Odd, because he certainly didn’t seem in need of protection.

      “That was rude of me, and uncalled for. Forgive me, Mrs. Camford. I’m horribly nervous about meeting with His Lordship. I know what an imposition this is for him. Not many gentlemen would be willing to take on a young female ward.”

      “He’ll manage just fine, missus. It’s you he wasn’t expecting, or so I say. And here we are,” Mrs. Camford said, putting her hand to the handle of a dark oaken door. “I will see if His Lordship is agreeable to seeing you.”

      Sadie nodded, realizing they’d passed by several rooms she normally would have loved to see, totally oblivious to her surroundings. “I suppose I was a bit of a surprise.”

      “More like a shock, missus, to tell the truth, and so I told Mr. Camford.” The housekeeper quickly rapped on the door and then stepped inside, holding it nearly closed behind her as she said, “My lord, Mrs. Boxer is without.”

      “Without what, Camy? Nothing vital missing, I hope.” Sadie heard the man question, humor in his voice. “And since when have we become so formal here at the cottage? I have enough of that everywhere else. Let her in, and then close the door behind you. Please.”

      Sadie did her best to school her features into some semblance of calm as she stepped into the room...only then realizing she might just be voluntarily entering a lion’s den.

      The door closed behind her even as the viscount pushed himself up from the black leather couch he’d been sitting on. Lying on, she mentally corrected, noticing the sleep marks on his cheek, put there by a quilted satin pillow. Apparently he’d been relaxed enough to nap as he waited for her. How lovely for him.

      “With you on the other side of it, Camy, please. I doubt she bites.”

      Sadie turned to see the housekeeper directly behind her, and gave her a sympathetic look and shrug of her shoulders.

      The door opened and closed again, and Sadie was alone with Darby Travers, the man who held Marley’s fate in his hands, even if he’d yet to know that, and wouldn’t, not until she was assured the man wasn’t planning to wriggle out of his new responsibility.

      She decided to prove her relationship to John before the man could repeat his earlier suspicions, spoken of so jokingly at their first, unfortunate meeting.

      “John told me much about you, my lord, and those days in that horrible camp. You, and your friends, and so many more fine English soldiers, all the victims of the consequences of inferior leadership. How are the others, if I might inquire? Captains Sinclair, Rigby and Cooper Townsend, the latter injured in the same battle as Your Lordship. John said you four were close as inkle weavers and always ripe for adventure. He seemed to swell with pride at having known you. May I be seated?”

      There. Now she could only hope that mentioning the names of his friends carried any weight for him in proving she was who she said she was. Or had she been too obvious?

      She sat down before he could answer, moving the quilted pillow out of the way. The satin was still warm to the touch, and smelled faintly of the same shaving soap her brother had favored. She resisted an urge to clasp it close to her chest, as a sort of protection.

      She’d already noticed that the man really didn’t look well, certainly not displaying the same vibrant presence he’d projected earlier. His complexion was rather pale now beneath a healthy tan, his hair a bit ruffled, as if he’d been running his fingers through it, or perhaps massaging his head.

      He had the headache, perhaps? A lingering reminder of his wound? She felt some pity for him, but wasn’t so silly that she didn’t see the advantage could temporarily reside in her corner during what would probably turn out to be a sparring match between them. With luck, whatever ailed him would put him off his game, as John had told her the viscount was wickedly intelligent, witty and didn’t suffer fools gladly. Her brother had admired the man, his courage and even self-deprecating humor in the face of his terrible injury.

      “They’re all in good health, thank you for asking. We were all quite fond of John, and saddened to hear of his death.” Lord Nailbourne didn’t retake his seat, choosing instead to lean against the front of an ancient carved desk some feet distant from the couch.

      What was the protocol in duels? Ten paces, then stop, turn and fire? Sadie could feel the tension in the room, and wondered if it was all coming from her, as the dratted man still seemed very much at his ease.

      Well or in pain, he was a handsome man, possibly made even more so by the eye patch, and his height would have been intimidating to most. Sadie gave a quick thank-you to her parents, who had combined to make her the empowering height she was. If she’d been a petite thing, she might feel completely overwhelmed and overmatched by the man. In truth, she still would have felt more than slightly intimidated, save for the quilt marks on his right cheek, which made him seem more human. Rather like a young boy, playing dress-up.

      She wasn’t sure now what she’d been expecting, as John had never mentioned the viscount’s age, but it was clear he still lacked a few years before he was on the shady side of thirty. So young, and yet one of the wealthiest men in England, with all the benefits and burdens that sort of thing entailed.

      And now she’d added to his responsibilities.

      “My lord,” she began, searching for the correct words to show she knew of the imposition John had placed on him, but he stopped her simply by raising his hand.

      “Forgive me for doubting your identity earlier.”

      That sounded rather like a demand, but she was too relieved to challenge him.

      “I looked at the letter again, and clearly nowhere did you suggest that you were a solicitor acting on John’s behalf. In fact, you didn’t identify yourself at all.”

      That was definitely an accusation. Even if he’d cut off her apology, clearly he wasn’t going to take all blame onto his shoulders.

      “No, I suppose I didn’t,” she said. It had taken her some time and several attempts before she’d been satisfied with the letter. She certainly could not have given him the one John had written. Yes, John. A safer subject than the letter, no question. “I imagine you’ll want to know more about my