The good news was, the cut was long but shallow. At worst, give his valet a few minutes with a needle and Gavin would be good as new.
The bad news? He and his decimated porch were soaked in blood, Miss Pemberton was squeezing his torso with rib-shattering strength, and the murmur of concerned party guests was getting louder by the second.
“Come.” Gavin wrenched her from his chest, hauled her against his good side, and hustled her back indoors before the party guests caught sight of them. “You can hug me inside.”
She allowed him to lace his fingers with hers and pull her across the anteroom and down the hall before glancing up at him with those wide brown eyes.
“Where are we going?”
His steps faltered. Where the hell was he dragging her? Away from potential scandal should curious houseguests stumble upon them, yes, but aside from that…Where would nobody look for him?
“Yellow Salon.”
Miss Pemberton listed sideways, apparently trying to walk in a straight line whilst bent at the waist inspecting his wound. “Should we send for a surgeon?”
“No surgeon. I promise to live.” He smiled at her reassuringly. “For now.”
She did not look reassured. “But he stabbed you. There’s…there’s…”
“Blood?” Gavin shouldered open the door to the Yellow Salon and ushered her inside. “Nothing a needle and thread can’t fix.” She stopped so suddenly he tripped over her and sent them both sprawling into the back of a sofa. “What? No needles?”
She rounded on him as if discovering he kept an army of circus performers hidden behind the chaise. “No snakes. No snakes upon the paper, no trolls grinning from the wood, no dark flickering shadows. There’s a window in here. A bay window. With a yellow cushion. Gorgeous ivy-colored furniture. And yellow walls. Bright, bright yellow, like daffodils in sunlight.”
He glanced around the familiar room. “Yes. That’s why it’s called the Yellow Salon.”
Her hands jutted forward as if about to shove him in the middle of his chest. But when her gaze flickered to his bloodstained side, her palms turned skyward then slapped down against her hips. “What in heaven’s name is the matter with you?”
Gavin took a subtle step backward. “You don’t like yellow?”
“I love yellow!” She glared at him. “I love yellow, and green and blue and pink and white and—”
He reached behind her to shut the door. His servants did not need to overhear Miss Pemberton’s spontaneous recital of her favorite colors. “You sound like my niece.”
Her jaw clenched. “I sound like a woman forced to sleep in a bedchamber occupied by snake-inhabited walls and a troll-infested bed.”
Ah. That. He tried for a slow, sensual smile. “You can sleep in mine, if you like.”
Her lips pursed. Pursed lips couldn’t be a good sign. “I would like to know why we weren’t shown in here when we arrived, if this is the proper receiving room. It’s beautiful.”
“Becauseit’s beautiful.”
He strode past her to the window and pulled the curtains closed. When he turned back around to face her, she hadn’t moved. If anything, her pursed lips had gotten pursier.
“You don’t like beautiful things?” Miss Pemberton asked at last.
Since she seemed content to stand there squinting at him as though he were the strangest specimen of male she’d ever encountered, Gavin crossed over to a sofa and eased onto the cushion, careful not to bump his injured side against the armrest.
“I like you,” he reminded Miss Pemberton once he’d arranged himself as comfortably as he could, “and you’re beautiful. But I was angry about having unexpected guests. I wanted everyone to leave as quickly as they came, and they wouldn’t hurry off if they enjoyed their stay.” He flashed his most devilish smile. “So I didn’t show anybody into any receiving rooms.”
Her arms crossed below her breasts, plumping them above the dipping neckline. “And the guest quarters?”
“Have not been renovated since I purchased the house. I haven’t had guests in over a decade.” He widened the spread of his relaxed legs, lounged one arm along the back of the sofa, gazed up to find Miss Pemberton staring at him as if he exuded more danger injured than uninjured. “A few weeks notice was hardly enough time to commission new suites, should I have had the inclination to do so.”
She bit her lower lip, suckled it, freed it. Gavin would’ve liked to do the same.
Her gaze dipped from his eyes, to his mouth, to his ruined clothing. “Why didn’t you do it?”
“Do what? Die?”
