Page 48 of The Viscount and the Vicar's Daughter
Had he not been with her, she might have cut one of her fingers while chopping rhubarb. Or burned her hand. Or tripped even if she hadn’t been running from him. Such things happened when one was mind-numbingly tired.
She was trying to remain angry with him, but this was not in her nature. She sighed and cast him an apologetic look. “Thank you for tending to my foot.”
“I’m sorry I upset you.” He wanted to caress her cheek, but he had caused enough damage already. “Truly, I wasn’t thinking. I only meant to taste the strawberries.” Yes, he was sticking to that lame excuse despite both of them knowing it was a blatantly sexual gesture.
So was the matter of his hand cupping her shapely leg as he worked on her injury.
And the graze of his fingers along the tender sole of her foot as he bound it.
In truth, was not everything he did concerning Viola fraught with sexual hunger? His every look. His every touch. His dreams of her that filled his nights. “Viola, what time will you be heading to the village green?”
This is where the fair was to be held.
“Around eleven o’clock.”
“I’ll send my estate manager to you in one of our wagons shortly before then. He’ll load everything up for you and drive you down there. He will also stay on to set up your display table. You are not to do any of the heavy work yourself. Leave it all to Wilson. I want your promise on this.”
She ground her teeth. “The village men usually do this heavier set up work for me. I expect to be looked after just fine.”
“And my estate manager will make certain of it. He will also check on you frequently throughout the day and take you home whenever you are ready. Do you hear me, Viola? You are not to overdo it. If you will not think of yourself, then think of your father. You need to stay strong for him.”
Her eyes began to tear again. “That is not fair.”
He knew the frail, old man was constantly in her thoughts. It was obvious she was working herself to the ground in a desperate attempt to take her mind off him.
He understood the helplessness of watching a loved one die and aching because there was nothing to be done for them. “I know, my sweet girl. I felt the same when Jillian and Molly got sick. It is the worst feeling in the world. I am here because I do not want you to go through this same agony alone.”
Mrs. Bligh lumbered back into the parlor.
He rose. “I am done tending her and will now carry her upstairs. Miss Ruskin, I shall be angry if I hear that you did not rest. Can you manage the kitchen on your own, Mrs. Bligh? I will send one of my men down to assist you, if you wish. As for the fair, I’ve already told Miss Ruskin that my estate manager will come down here at eleven o’clock to take her and her wares to the village green. He will take care of setting her up. She is to do nothing but point and give orders.”
He scooped Viola into his arms.
She felt so good against him.
The scent of her skin had his heart in somersaults again.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned her head against his shoulder. “I suppose it is useless for me to insist on climbing the stairs on my own.”
“Utterly useless and your protests will fall upon deaf ears.” This girl was so exhausted, he expected her to fall asleep before he reached the top of the stairs.
She felt like a kitten in his arms.
Mrs. Bligh opened the door to Viola’s bedchamber. The bed did not look as though it had been slept in at all last night. The room itself was small but tidy and pleasantly appointed. It suited her, for this is what she was, too. Small and neatly buttoned up, but very pleasing.
He set her down atop the counterpane, leaving it to Mrs. Bligh to assist her in changing out of her flour-drenched clothes. “I will see you later at the fair.”
He returned home.
Despite all that had happened, the hour was still early and he expected his father would still be asleep. This gave Alexander time to wash up and change out of his work clothes. He allowed his valet to set out an attire befitting his rank because, as viscount, he had a certain dignity to maintain.
Not that he had maintained any dignity at Viola’s this morning.
He had done a rather poor job of it.
Hopefully, word of his latest encounter with the girl would not get around the village. Not that he cared, but Viola would, and he did not want her feeling more hurt than she already was.
He sauntered into the dining room just as the clock chimed the nine o’clock hour. In truth, he usually came down to breakfast much earlier. But there would be no work done today in Ardley because of the fair.
