Except, he hadn’t been on his deathbed.
He’d made another deal with another devil.
And anyway, why would someone text to say they were on theirdeathbed?
Then again, why did Ed Dawes do anything?
More importantly, why did I believe Ed Dawes when he didsomething?
Thunder rent the air and I jumped.
“That came on quickly,” Dad-not-Dad mumbled from where hewas seated in the duke’s pretty yellow, cream and green sitting room, reading apaper behind me.
Loren had not shown his face again.
Ansley (he told me to call him Ansley, and not whatDad-not-Dad ordered me never to fail to call him: your grace, Lord Dalton, orLord Copeland) had served us tea with scones and jam and cream (Lord,heavenly,I ate two, even if Dad-not-Dad stared daggers at me while I did, and the seamsof my tight dress threatened to burst).
Ansley had then said he had a few things to see to, asked usif we would be all right on our own for half an hour, and when Dad-not-Dad fellall over himself to say yes (Ikindawanted to beshown to my room so I could unbutton a few buttons after tea), he left.
In that time, the storm had come in.
And I had found that standing made it easier for my dress tomake room for the scones and cream.
“The carriages are still out there,” I announced.
These would be plural, seeing as Dad-not-Dad’s valet, and mylady’s maid, Idina, had been in a carriage behind us.
Our trunks had been brought in.
But the horses, who had been dragging those carriages forthree days, were still hooked to them in what was becoming a rather whippingwind.
“The grooms will be having their own tea,” Dad-not-Dadmuttered.
I turned to him.“The horses need tea too.”
His head came up and his brows knitted.“Horses don’t drinktea.”
“No, but they’ve been doing a hell of a lot more work thanyou, me, or the groomsmen have the last three days.So they should be somewherewarm, sheltered, with water, oats and maybe a few apples or carrots.”
I was talking out my ass, since I was a city girl and didn’tknow anything about horses, but people were always feeding them apples andcarrots and oats in movies.
“They’ll be seen to,” Dad-not-Dad dismissed.
“A storm is coming, they should be seen to now.”
“They’ll be seen to when they’re seen to, Maxine, it’s notyour issue.”
“It is when I’m standing right here”—I swung an arm to thewindows—“and I can see them.”
“I can assure you, the grooms know the storm is coming, soif they’re worried about the damned horses, they’ll get the damned horses.They’re horses!They can handle some rain.”
“After dragging yourveryhealthy behind over whathas to be at least a hundred miles?”I retorted.“I mean, I don’t wish to fatshame,Dad, but they’ve served us, now it’s our turn.”
His face turned purple.
A throat was cleared at the door.
Loren stood there, again leaning, now against the jamb.
