Cheryl Holt by More Than Seduction Page B

guided him into it. Though he hadn’t noticed, his strength had increased. The therapeutic sessions were having a remarkable effect, as were the nutritious broths and teas she’d been forcing down him.
    If only his mood would rectify accordingly!
    Gripping his wild mane, she whacked off a hunk. Hecomplained, and she punched him on the shoulder. While she was no coiffeur, she was no bungler, either. She’d had plenty of practice on Phillip when he was a boy. But that had been before he’d turned fourteen, proclaimed himself an adult, and hied himself off to toil in their father’s stables. She hadn’t seen much of him after that, but she still recalled how to barber.
    “Where’s Phillip these days?” he asked as though he’d read her mind.
    “Back at work.”
    “At Salisbury?”
    She stiffened, irked that he would so casually mention her father’s estate. “Yes.”
    “How’s his leg?”
    “Mostly healed. It occasionally causes him trouble. He limps.”
    “Did you nurse him?”
    “I did my best.”
    “That’s my girl.”
    He patted her hand, which flustered her. What did he mean by his
girl
? He sounded sweet on her, possessive, as though they were connected. Was he fond of her? More than fond? The very idea made her pulse pound.
    “He’s your father’s stable master, isn’t he?”
    “Yes,” she murmured.
    “How is Edward? I haven’t seen him in an eternity.”
    Edward Paxton. Earl of Salisbury. The father she loathed. Stephen Chamberlin knew him well enough to refer to him as Edward.
    Of course, he would! They traveled in the same circle. They were probably bosom buddies, and the prospect aggravated her beyond her limits.
    “I wouldn’t know how Edward
is
,” she answered, inexplicably distressed by the question. “He doesn’t deign to inform me as to his welfare.”
    Angry, she combed through his snarled, uneven tresses, not aware that she’d been so sensitive on the subject. Being very rough, she tugged and jerked.
    “Ouch!” he snapped at a particularly vicious yank. He peered at her over his shoulder, scrutinizing her.
    “I hurt you. I’m sorry.”
    “For what?”
    “For bringing up your father. Phillip spoke of him warmly. I thought you were . . . were . . .” He trailed off, grasping there was nothing he could say that would be appropriate.
    “We’re not close,” she managed, tears suddenly swarming.
    “Do you want to talk about it?”
    Talk
about it? To him? The legitimate, lauded, acclaimed son of an earl?
    How could she explain a lifetime of fury and anguish? A mother who’d died of a broken heart? A father who’d cast them off like so much rubbish? If she’d had an entire year, she couldn’t have vented it all.
    “No,” she mumbled.
    Linking their fingers, he pulled her around the chair, snuggling her onto his lap even though it was painful for him, and he brushed one of his light, dear kisses across her lips.
    “Don’t be sad,” he coaxed.
    “I’m not.”
    “I can’t bear it when you’re not smiling.”
    He kissed her again, lingering, the embrace enhancing to a level it hadn’t before. She relaxed into him, enjoying the moment, but as she raised her arms to wrap them around his shoulders, the rear door opened, and Kate came into the house. Anne jumped away from him as if he’d gotten too hot to handle.
    “Kate?” he inquired. He’d met Kate, and appeared to likeher, had even permitted her to assist them once when he’d fallen, and Anne couldn’t lift him by herself.
    “Yes.”
    Because of Kate’s cautions when he’d initially arrived, she hadn’t found the courage to confess her burgeoning affection, or the intermittent kisses and caresses they’d shared.
    Our dallying doesn’t signify
, she told herself, as she intended to insist to Kate should her flirtation ever be discovered.
He’ll be gone in a few weeks
.
    He held on to her hand, cajoling a smile from her.
    “Will you tell me about Edward someday?”
    “Perhaps,” she equivocated, not