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“Anyone who is utterly fearless is either demented or dim-witted,” Daphne said. Leena pointed to her head. “You have enough up here for six men. You do not need a man with a great brain. You need a man with big muscles and great courage.”
Rupert had nodded wisely while privately wondering if Beechey, like Archdale’s servant, had been smoking too much hashish lately. Any sober person would have understood that Rupert Carsington was exactly the wrong man for any assignment requiring discretion, tact, and delicacy.
“His name is Udail,” Daphne said. “Tom,” said the boy, gazing worshipfully up at Mr. Carsington. “Esmi Tom.” My name is Tom. In mere minutes, the man had frightened one servant into submission and cajoled another into idolatry. And he was tying her mind in knots.
he lifted his gaze from her feet to her face, to watch her try to contain the tempest within…and fail, praise be. Few sights stirred his senses as did that of Mrs. Pembroke flying into a passion.
“My mind is used to going at an even, orderly pace. Perhaps, in some ways, I have been like those women locked up in harems. They are ill-equipped for dealing with the outside world. I feel as though I am stumbling blindly about.” “Ah, is that all?” His mouth eased lazily into a smile. Threads of heat slid over her skin, as though his mouth were there…everywhere. “No need to fret,” he said. “If you stumble, I’ll catch you.”
“Oh, no,” he said. She held up her hand. “I am not going to weep,” she said. “Yes, you are,” he said. She came back to the divan and sat down. She bit her lip. He sighed. “Go ahead.” She shook her head. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’d rather you hit me, but this punishment is much more painful. Exactly what I deserve.”
“When I don’t understand what you’re talking about, I pretend I’m in a picture gallery and you are all the pictures.”
“He was a small man,” he said, “else he wouldn’t have tried to cut you down to size.”
“I’ll be hanged,” Miles said. “You really are in love with her.” The black eyes regarded him steadily. Then they regarded the cabin ceiling. Then the window. Then they came back to him. “Do you know,” Carsington said mildly, “I’ve been wondering what it was.”
“I am not insane,” he said. “A woman of your highly advanced intellect ought to be able to perceive that I am in love. With you. I wish you had told me. It was deuced embarrassing to find it out from your brother.”
I could live without you, but that would only be breathing. It would not be living.”
