Page 97 of All I Want for Christmas… Is You
Oliver was quiet for a moment, then he murmured, “I saw your face, Miss Bishop. When Mathilda Rutherford asked you for a kiss, I saw your face.”
“What of it? I told you, I don’t care for—”
“I saw your face,” Oliver repeated softly. “It didn’t look to me as if you didn’t care for her. Just the opposite. Lie to me if you must, but don’t lie to yourself.”
“You didn’t see anything.” Dinah’s voice rose. “You got a vivid imagination, that’s all.”
“No.” He shook his head. “No one’s imagination is that vivid. Why do you say things you don’t mean?”
She stared at him, her face as pale as death. For the first time Oliver could remember, she looked frightened. “I don’t…I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.” Oliver reached out and took her hand. “One thing, Miss Bishop. Tell me one true thing. That’s enough for now.”
He waited with his breath held. Just one small crack was all he needed—one tiny fracture in that shell she hid behind where he could creep in and open a space for himself in her heart.
“I did sleep well last night.” Dinah’s voice was small, but her gaze met his. “Mathilda gave me one of the kittens to take to bed with me, but it was crying, and I thought it must be cold, so I picked it up and put it on my chest. It burrowed under my chin, curled up against my neck and fell asleep. I don’t think it…she, that is…was cold, after all. I think she just wanted to feel my pulse beating, so she knew she wasn’t alone.”
Alone. Her face, when she said that word…
A lump rose in Oliver’s throat and lodged there, choking off his breath. “Did you have kittens when you were a little girl?”
“There were kittens at one point, I think. I was very young at the time—so young I don’t know how I even remember it. There was a gray tabby cat, quite wild, and she gave birth to four black kittens in our barn. They were lovely little things.” Dinah’s fingers flexed, as if she were recalling the warmth of their soft fur, the vibration of their purr against her fingertips.
He squeezed her hand. “What became of them?”
“I’m not sure. I brought them bits of food until they got old enough to hunt, and I suppose they became barn cats.” She frowned as she tried to remember. “I don’t recall, really. My father left soon after that, and we lost the farm. Those kittens were the closest thing I ever had to a pet.”
“Perhaps you’ll have another someday. Until then, I think you’ll enjoy the Christmas gift I chose for Will.”
Some of the pain drained from her face, and she offered him a weak smile. “Don’t say you’ve gotten him a passel of kittens for Christmas.”
Oliver smiled back at her. “No, a hunting dog. Well, he’s a pup now, but someday he’ll be a hunting dog.”
Her tentative smile blossomed into such a delighted grin if Oliver had had the pup in his hands just then, he would have given it to her, his brother be damned.
“What sort of dog is he?”
“You’ll see for yourself soon enough.” Oliver nodded toward the window. “We’re neatly in Dartford.”
CHAPTER5
DARTFORD, ENGLAND
Lord Archer’s new hunting dog was a springer spaniel with soft, floppy ears and a brown and white spotted nose. He gazed at Dinah with sorrowful blue eyes, his chin balanced on Oliver’s knee.
He was smaller than she’d thought he’d be—larger than a teapot, but much smaller than a sack of flour. Dinah eyed him from her corner of the coach. She didn’t know much about puppies, but this one seemed remarkably composed.
“He has blue eyes. I’ve never seen a springer spaniel with blue eyes.” They were a most unusual color—velvety lapis centers surrounded by a ring of cerulean. They were the prettiest blue eyes Dinah had ever seen.
“All springer pups have blue eyes. They’ll change as he gets older, much like a baby’s eyes do. He’s a fine pup, isn’t he?” Oliver chuckled as the puppy nipped at his fingers. “He’ll make a fit hunting dog for an earl.”
“He’s, ah…well, he’s quite small, isn’t he?” Dinah frowned at the pup. He stared back at her with a mournful expression, as if he were very put-upon, indeed. She couldn’t imagine why he should look so desolate, enthroned on Oliver’s lap as he was, with Oliver’s big, gentle hands stroking his head. “What’s his name?”
“He doesn’t have one yet. I thought I’d let my brother name him. I hope William approves of him.” Oliver had been looking down at the pup, crooning nonsense to it, but now he glanced up at Dinah, his own blue eyes bright with excitement.
Dinah swallowed. Perhaps the puppy’s eyes weren’tquitethe prettiest blue eyes she’d ever seen. She watched the rhythmic movement of Oliver’s hands, the slow glide of his long fingers over the pup’s silky fur.
She might have watched for hours, mesmerized, if Oliver hadn’t startled her back to herself with his low chuckle. “He’s a little bit of a thing now, but he’ll grow, and make a capital bird dog. Will’s been going on about wanting a hunting dog for ages.”
