Page 46 of The Number of Love
No, because he’d been speechless still the next morning as she dressed for Mass, and he had remained so even after she’d returned.
Now here they were, mere hours left in Sunday, right up against his admiral-imposed deadline for telling her, and he knew he had only an hour or two of wakefulness left. He’d managed to shuffle his way to the sofa in the main room, given that Margot De Wilde was due any minute, and it had cost him a ridiculous amount of energy.
He should tell her now, before Dark Eyes arrived. He should.
Hewould.
To prove it to himself, he cleared his throat. “Dot ...”
“Here you go.” Cheerful and smiling and utterly oblivious, she handed him a cup of steaming, fragrant tea. “Just the way you like it.”
“Gracias.”
She kept smiling, but her eyes frowned. “De nada.” She shook her head. “Thinking of Spain, are you?”
A slip—one he usually only made in the first week or two after returning from time in Spain. His subconscious must be trying to help him along. “Perhaps so. After spending so many years there at university, I—”
“Oh! That reminds me!” Dot sat in the chair at right angles to his sofa, bouncing upon the cushion in whatever excitement she’d just recollected. “I’ve been informed that Margot’s birthday is next week!”
For a long moment he could only blink at her. “How does my being at university in Spain remind you of Margot’s birthday?”
She laughed. “Because she was talking the other day of how she hoped to attend university after the war is over. And thinking of her reminds me of what I just learned last night about her, though she never would have admitted her birthday on her own, I suspect. She isn’t one for a fuss. But I’d like to host a small dinner party for her. You wouldn’t mind, would you? Just her and her brother and his wife?”
“Of course I don’t mind. But if we could backtrack a bit, I—”
A knock sounded on the door. Not the usual quickrat-a-tat-tat, but a measured, slightly slower version.Rap, rap, rap, rap, rap.
“There she is.” Dot hopped to her feet again with enviable ease. “And I’m sorry. What were you saying about your university days?”
Maybe it would be easier to tell it to her back as she scurried away, toward the door. He glanced at her retreating form.
Nope.
Besides, he would only be interrupted again by her opening the door and greeting her friend. He’d just have to tell her and Miss De Wilde both.
Perhaps it would be better that way. Perhaps Dot wouldn’t overreact in the presence of company.
He didn’t bother answering her question directly, and she didn’t seem to notice, given that in the next moment she was unfastening the chain, turning the lock, and opening the door with an exclamation of greeting.
Drake couldn’t drag himself to his feet fast enough to stand like agentleman when the ladies entered the room, but he managed to sit up a bit straighter, anyway. And he’d donned a real shirt and trousers for the occasion. Nothing constricting, no waistcoat or jacket, but he was at least out of his pajamas and dressing gown.
Not that Margot De Wilde did more than glance at him with a generic smile, the same one she’d have given anyone. A blow to his self-confidence, to be sure. He may not be the most handsome bloke in the world, and girls may not fall over themselves vying for his attention, but it would be nice if he weren’t entirely invisible to her.
“Sit, sit.” Dot waved her friend toward the chairs. “We’ve another half an hour before the food is ready. Would you like something to drink, Margot?”
“Not yet, thank you.” She shrugged out of her coat and passed it into Dot’s outstretched hand. Then she turned her dark eyes on him while Dot went to put her coat somewhere. “How goes your recuperation, Lieutenant?”
“Very well, thank you.” He took a sip of his tea and prayed silently for a way to broach this conversation with his sister.
Miss De Wilde—would she ever give him leave to call her Margot?—shifted on her seat a bit. “I don’t believe Dot ever mentioned which ship you were on. I’m afraid I’m not aware of any that saw action last week.”
Sometimes the Lord answered prayers at an alarming rate. He cleared his throat and tracked Dot with his gaze as she came back from her bedroom, all smiles. For now. “TheRoyal Oak. Though, actually...” Blast, but the truth was hard sometimes. He’d pay her the respect of looking her in the eye when he delivered it though. “Actually, I wasn’t on a ship at all.”
Dot reclaimed her chair, looking only mildly curious. “Oh? Where were you, then?”
He wanted to look at something else, anything else. But he didn’t. “On a train from Bilbao.”
A bit of bafflement entered her eyes. “Were you visiting Abuelo on a leave? You didn’t mention such intentions. And how would you have got shot on a train?”
