Page 118 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
“Och, Danielle,” Thorne muttered, and shifted the reins so he could reach over and wrap his arm around her shoulders. It felt nothing like when Fawkes held her, despite Thorne’s reputation with the ladies. He was merely offering comfort, nothing more, and she buried her face in his shoulder.
“It’ll be fine, lass,” he assured her. “Yer sister is strong, and Demon willnae allow anything to happen to her.”
Was she a completely horrible sister because her mind wasn’t completely on Georgia? Ellie sniffed miserably. She’d used her sister’s labor—and the worry over it—as an excuse to leave Hangcok Hill, because she wasn’t surehowshe felt. And here, again, she’d forced someone to do something to benefit herself.
“I am sorry, Thorne. It was incredibly selfish of me to ask you to turn around and drive—”
He’d reared back, and now frowned down at her. “Och, dinnae fash, Danielle. I’m yerfriend. And I care about Georgia and Demon just as much—well, perhaps no’as much asye, but I love them too. I am perfectly happy to take ye to see yer sister, when she’ll be wanting to see ye.”
After all she’d done to avoid forcing herself on Georgia at Endymion, here Ellie was doing just that, and at the worst possible time.
“I just had to…” She swallowed and finished in a whisper. “Get away.”
“Ah.” Thorne squeezed, his attention on the road ahead. “So this was more an escape than a rescue?”
“Idowant to see my sister, and with it being so early…”
“Aye, I’m worried too, lass.” He was quiet for a long moment, then pulled his arm from around her shoulders and readjusted the top lap blanket which protected the furs beneath. “But I’m guessing it was more than that, aye? Ye didnae ken Fawkes was one of yer uncle’s agents?”
And you damned well did not know he had poisoned your father?
Mutely, she noddedyesto both questions, spoken and silent.
He blew out a breath and their speed caused the steam to stream between them. “And yer father…” Thorne muttered something. “I’m sorry, lass. I ken his death is still a recent blow.”
“My father…” She chose her words carefully. “There was no love between us. I was a tool for him to use, an accessory. My uncle saw me—seesme that way, I suppose.” She was remembering his offer of a place to live, in exchange for being his hostess and a second marriage to one of his cronies.
She watched the snowy landscape flash by, not really seeing it. “With him gone, I had no place to go after Rufus’s family required I leave. That was the greatest effect his death had upon me,” she admitted dully. “But I am discovering exactly how hard-hearted and selfish I really am.”
“Hell, lass, ye’re no’ hard-hearted,” Thorne burst out, with a roll of his eyes. “Ye’re sensible. Yer father was an arsehole, aye, and ye dinnaehaveto love the man just because he fed and clothed ye. Love isnae an obligation, something he was owed. Look at how he treated yer sister, because she wasnae perfect in his eyes!”
Instinctively, Ellie’s gloved fingers brushed against her lips, remembering the ingrained habit Fawkes had tried to break from her.Shewasn’t perfect either, but her imperfections had been easier to hide from Society. Now, though…
She’d gone and fallen in love with a completely unsuitable man, and she wouldn’t be able to hide that.
Well, actually, Father is dead, thanks to said man. So you do not have to worry about disappointing him…
Had she ever really cared about disappointing him? She’d married Rufus because Father told her it would be a love match, and it had been easier than defying him, as Georgia had done.
“I do not miss him,” she whispered.
“Yer father? Or Fawkes?”
Ellie winced. “I miss Fawkes already.”
Thorne’s hum was almost lost in the wind. “Ye’ll notice I didnae ask what ye were doing at Hangcok Hill, aye? I’m practicing restraint.” He shot her a grin before he readjusted his scarf to protect his face. “But I am verra good at jumping to conclusions.”
He had a dimple. On the right.
Just like Fawkes.
Ellie had to swallow. “I suspect your conclusions would be correct.”
“They usually are. I still cannae believe that arsehole never told me he was my uncle’s son.” Thorne shook his head. “Mycousin. He never thought to mention it?”
“Knowing Fawkes,” she offered quietly, “he thought to mention it plenty of times, and fought the impulse.”
The blond man glanced down at her. “Aye?”
