Page 6 of Mending the Baron's Sins
He moved to the nearest chair and sat down fast. It had been so long since he had felt anything akin to attraction that the sudden power of it was alarming. He needed to hide his body at once from view, in case his length stood to attention before her.
“I am Irish by birth, my lord,” she went on.
“Now, you know what to do,” Mr. Byrne said hurriedly to Orla. Once more, he seemed in a hurry. “As long as you have no objections to my niece, my lord? I assure you; she is excellent. There is no one better to take care of you in my absence.”
“Absence? Where are you going?” Horace asked. If he’d had the strength, he would have leaned forward in his surprise, but dressing so fast had drained him of energy.
“To town. The news of my attendance to you seems to have spread, and I have many new enquiries for my help.”
“Ah, I see.” Horace scratched the back of his neck, pushing away his long copper hair. “It would seem everyone is benefitting from my illness, except myself.” The attempt at lightening the air was futile, yet Mr. Byrne laughed all the same.
Orla did not. She continued to stare at him with boldness in her gaze. She did not look away as many servants would have done under his look.
Do not make me like you all the more, Miss Orla. I am attracted enough as it is.
He thought of those eyes looking up at him, with her on her knees before him. He had to shift in his seat once again.
“Are you happy with Orla’s attendance, my lord?” Mr. Byrne asked with more care this time. “If you wish me to stay in her place, I will.”
Horace had many words he wished to say. There would have been a time when he would have been outraged by the deception, for Mr. Byrne had most definitely never mentioned that the assistant he wished to bring into this house would be a woman. Horace would have been sharp tongued and offered a few choice words at the evasion, but what would be the point now?
It would serve no one to be angry, and he did not have the energy for the outburst.
Besides, at least she will be a fairer face to look at than Mr. Byrne.
“You go, Byrne.” He waved a hand. “If she is as excellent as you claim she is, then I am sure we will have no problem.”
Orla placed her hands on her hips. There was outrage in her expression, but it did not help matters. The eyes wild, the anger palpable, he longed to draw her toward him, and make that angry look soften.
“Very well, I shall leave you two alone, then. Good day, my Lord.” Mr. Byrne bowed and left the room, leaving the pair of them quite isolated together.
Chapter 3
Orla waited until the door closed behind her Uncle Colm. Then she acted swiftly. Turning to her leather case on the dresser, she pulled it out, open wide, reached in and took out the book she had taken to dinner the night before in order to make some notes on the baron’s condition.
Yet Colm had been cagey with details, seeming much more interested in talking to her about other things the night before. Her handwriting, squiggly like spiders across the page, left her with little help.
“Well?” the baron’s voice sounded cool in the dusky light of the room. “What miracles has a lady got for me?”
“Do you treat all of your healers in this vein?” she asked, refusing to look at him as she marched across the room.
One look was enough. The pale and translucent skin of the baron was oddly attractive, not to mention the long copper hair that almost reached his shoulders. The face, as if carved out of marble, chiseled jaw and cheekbones, was alarming in its power over her.
I shall not look again. I will not be controlled by the handsome eyes of a baron.
“I beg your pardon?” he said sharply, clearly startled by her tone.
“Do you always live like an invalid?” She stood in the middle of the room, her hands on her hips, looking about the space.
Errant vials had been discarded everywhere, evidently the left over the medicine that her uncle had given him and no one had bothered to tidy it away. She wrinkled her nose in surprise, for the rest of the house was tidy. She imagined the maids were no longer permitted in here to tidy away.
It was also dark, the curtains drawn across, and the fire grate full of roaring flames.
“In case your uncle did not inform you, Miss Byrne, I am an invalid.”
“You have legs, do you not?” She turned to face him, giving into weakness at last.
That gaze…
