“My horse. You were lying on the ground, and he got a little spooked. That is how I noticed you. After ascertaining you were not badly hurt, I brought you back to the house.”
“You carried me unconscious on a horse?” She didn’t know whether to be horrified or awed by his resourcefulness.
“I assure you, you were not in any danger. I had a firm grasp on you.”
For some reason, thinking about this man having a ‘firm grasp’ on her made her tingle inside. As if he could read her thoughts, a flash of sensual awareness shimmered in his eyes. But it was suppressed so fast she was left wondering if it had really been there. He continued matter-of-factly.
“So I brought you home, sent a servant to fetch the doctor, and had the housekeeper tend to you until he arrived. When he came, he examined you, confirmed you were not badly hurt, and recommended we let you sleep. After he left, I sat by the bed because I didn’t want you to wake up alone in a strange place and feel disoriented.”
Touched, she met her eyes and said softly. “Thank you. That was very thoughtful of you.”
“Think nothing of it, Miss Mirabal.”
“Call me Livvy, please. Miss Mirabal sounds so formal. I feel as if I am in school.”
“I don’t know if I should. To call you by your nickname sounds very... intimate.”
Now, why did he have to put it like that? Everybody called her Livvy. "Don't you have a nickname that your friends and family call you?"
"I used to. When my father was alive, I used to be called Dale by my friends."
"I thought you said that was your name."
"I said Avondale. That's my title. But when my father was alive, he was Avondale. It is customary for the heir to take his father's next highest-ranking title as a courtesy title. Confusingly, in our case, that title was also Avondale. The Marquess of Avondale. To distinguish me from my father, our friends and family started calling me Dale. But I haven't been called that in years."
"Do you like it?"
He shrugged, as if the matter was of little importance. "I like the way it sounds on your lips."
Flustered, she rushed forward with another question. "And what is your given name, then?"
He tensed slightly. "William. But only a handful of people ever called me that. I would prefer Dale. It has happier associations."
"Dale it is then. I think it suits you better, anyway."
“Could I ask you something now, Olivia?” he said, using her name. Deliberately rolling it over his tongue like honey.
“Of course.”
“What is that object? I think you called it a... a ‘phone’?”
She stared at him blankly. “What do you mean, what is it? It is a phone, a cell phone, a mobile.”
He stared back, his gorgeous eyes clouding over while a frown appeared between his brows.
Was he serious now? Did he really not know what a cell phone is? Everyone had one! “You have never seen a cell phone?”
He said simply, “No.”
“How is that possible? What century do you live in?” She laughed.
“The nineteenth-century, of course.” He gazed at her, steady and intent.
She scoffed. “The nineteenth century, indeed! No, but really, all joking aside. How come you don’t know what a cell phone is?” Impossible, and... wait. She hadn't seen any TVs here or any light switches, for that matter. She looked again at the chandelier hanging above the table. The gas chandelier. No lightbulbs. Actual gas. It was beautiful, but why would someone choose to have gas lights instead of electricity? Weirder and weirder.
“Are you Amish or something like that?” she asked. Were there even Amish people in England?
“Amish? What do you mean?”
