Page 11 of Suddenly a (The St. Clairs 5)

Chapter Four

Mia’s eyes flutteredopen. She smelled sandalwood soap and felt enveloped in warmth. She saw she was moving toward the house—but not on her own two feet. Instead, someone carried her.

Mr. St. Clair...

She fought the urge to scramble from his arms because they felt so good around her. It had been well over a decade since Mama died. No one had embraced Mia in all that time. For a moment, she drank in the scent of sandalwood and man and appreciated the comfort of his arms about her.

She’d totally forgotten the day he was coming. Ever since Aunt Fanny had given her ultimatum, Mia had been scrambling. She’d found a position for their only maid and had the girl and Cook start work on covering the furniture in sheets in order to close the house. Their neighbor, a squire who had entirely too much time and money on his hands, had agreed to purchase their two horses and take their groom into his employ. Mia had begun boxing up her inventions, all in various stages of development. She hoped Uncle Trentham could help her sell the property that had belonged to Mama so she could use it to rent a space in London where she could store and work on finishing the most viable inventions.

All that had her confused on which day it was, else she would have been better prepared for Mr. St. Clair’s arrival. The fact that he’d offered a princely sum for her steam engine and that he wanted to put her and Papa under contract to help in its development and production was like manna from heaven.

Then the news of Papa’s death hit her all over again and she shuddered.

Mr. St. Clair glanced down at her. “We’re almost to the house, my lady. We’ll get you before a fire and some brandy in your belly. You’ll be fine.”

She closed her eyes again, not wanting to look at him. When she’d first seen him, she’d become tongue-tied and had trouble getting her words out. He was by far the best-looking man she’d ever seen although that wasn’t saying much. She rarely saw anyone besides Papa and their few servants. Still, Mr. St. Clair was someone a woman wouldn’t forget. He was a few inches over six feet, with a headful of thick hair black as midnight, matching his brows. His emerald eyes seemed to look into her very soul as they spoke, causing the blood to rush to her ears and her heart to pound so rapidly, Mia thought it might burst. His fitted coat barely seemed to contain his broad shoulders, while his muscular legs were easy to see, thanks to the molded buckskins that fit him like a second skin. At least she’d become more coherent once she began speaking about her machine. Hopefully, he did not think her some raving lunatic.

They entered the house and he began shouting for help. Both the maid and Cook came running, both their jaws dropping at seeing her carried by him.

“Where is Lady Mia’s bedchamber?” St. Clair demanded. “I’d take her to the drawing room but there wasn’t a stick of furniture free to place her upon.”

“No,” she protested. “I’m really fine, Mr. St. Clair. Please. Put me down.”

He eyed her with doubt but set her on her feet, his hands cupping her elbows to support her. His touch brought a wave of heat that zipped along her limbs. She pulled away.

“Thank you. I’m sorry I fainted on you,” she apologized. “It’s unlike me.” She turned to the two women, tightly keeping control over her emotions. “Papa has met with an accident. He is no longer with us. George is bringing him back now. Have them take Papa to his bedchamber. Heat water so that I can bathe his body and prepare it for burial. Tell George and the groom to dig his grave next to Mama. I’ll be up shortly.”

The servants scurried off and Mia turned to their visitor. “Mr. St. Clair, I must—”

“You must sit down, Lady Mia,” he insisted. “Where can you do so?”

She thought a moment. “The study.”

He took her hand and slipped it through the crook of his arm. “I’ll take you there.”

“It’s this way.”

When they arrived at the study, he guided her to the large chair behind the desk, which was stacked high with random papers and all kinds of notebooks in which she kept her design ideas and lists of experiments and results. He took the chair in front of the desk but pulled it around so that he sat next to her.

“Shall I send for the doctor?”

Mia looked at him blankly. “Whatever for? Papa is already dead. I don’t need to pay him for that information.”

“For you,” he said gently.

“I’m in perfect health,” she insisted. “As far as what happened before, I think the shock of learning of Papa’s death merely surprised me. I was only unconscious for a few seconds.”

“Still, this is a trying time. The doctor could give you something to help you sleep.”

“There is no money for a doctor, Mr. St. Clair,” she said. “I’ve been in the midst of closing the house. My aunt and uncle recently returned from abroad and they are coming in a few days to collect Papa and me. Well, me. I’ve been trying to fulfill all of Papa’s obligations and find positions for the few servants we have before they arrive.”

His intense gaze caused her to pause. No one had ever looked at her so, as if they saw her.

And saw through her.

“If you are still interested in buying the rights to my steam engine, how do we go about that?”

“I gathered it was your engine.”

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