Page 31 of Rakes & Reticules
Then what would happen to Kimber and Paddy?
Releasing an annoyed huff, she paced to the door and pressed her ear against the panel.
Rustling and low voices outside the chamber almost sent her hurtling back beneath the bedcovers, but she’d had enough. Tilting her chin upward in defiance, she backed away until she stood in the room’s center and faced the door.
No matter what happened, she would remain calm and poised.
Easier said than done when one stood in one’s nightclothes.
With a soft squeak, the door swung open, and Fletcher sauntered in carrying several boxes and packages wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. Two more of his henchmen followed him, each bearing a stack of similarly wrapped parcels, which they placed on the bed. They barely spared a glance in her direction before leaving on silent feet and closing the door behind them.
Humiliation and guilt scorched her cheeks.
What must everyone think of her?
She’d deceived them all, but she could not regret her action. Desperate times called for desperate measures and all that.
Fletcher took in her appearance, hair billowing about her shoulders and toes peeking from beneath her borrowed nightgown, and his expression didn’t flicker a bit.
She liked that about him.
He never leered at his female employees.
“Excellent. You’re out of bed.” He angled his head toward the door. “Saul told me you tried to leave yesterday.”
In a break from his customary attire, which usually consisted of a black suit and crisply starched white neckcloth and shirt, he wore a hunter-green jacket today. The shade did amazing things—dangerous, alluring things—to his already too-beautiful eyes.
To distract herself from her wayward musing and to prove he didn’t intimidate her, which, of course, he did, Siobhan jutted her chin upward.
“I’m not your prisoner, Mr. Westbrook. I committed no crime. Had I done so, I doubt I’d have slept in this elegant chamber the past week.”
“True.” Fletcher nodded, his affability making her even more suspicious. Up until now, he’d treated her like a viper.
He also set his pile of packages on the tidily made bed.
“Why did you cease practicing medicine?”Stop acting the maggot, numbskull, she berated herself. She hadn’t meant to ask the question out loud she’d ruminated on for several days.
His features tautened, and he thinned his lips. Finally, he gave a small shake of his head. “I wasn’t cut out to watch people die, especially children and babies. With every death, I blamed myself even though I logically knew I’d done everything possible to save them.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” And she was. “I shouldn’t have asked. Forgive me.”
“It’s far past time I talked about it.” He lifted a broad shoulder. “For whatever reason, I feel comfortable doing so with you.”
Should Siobhan be honored?
The man didn’t even like her.
“I’ve made a decision.” He rubbed his nose with his bent forefinger. “Or rather, I’ve decided on a plan of action.”
“Really?” Siobhan raised an eyebrow, trying to appear poised despite standing barefoot in a nightgown. That Fletcher didn’t seem to notice or care rankled, which only caused her more confusion. “And how, pray tell, does that pertain to me?”
She braced herself, prepared to hear the words she’d expected for days.
Sure look. Everything shall be fine, Siobhan Moya Neasa Kenney.
Somehow, she and the children would survive.
There was always a chance that Finola wouldn’t evict them—at least not immediatelyifshe hadn’t already let their room. Only a numpty would gamble on that fragile hope. Finola Florry hadn’t displayed a charitable nature thus far.
