“Nonsense, you saved my life today. I am in your debt.” She pulled her hand from his and turned toward the door to leave.
Daffin’s voice followed her. “If you’d like to see my other scar sometime, all you need do is ask.”
Regina paused but didn’t turn around. “Careful. I just might take you up on that offer.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Regina couldn’t sleep. She’d tossed and turned for hours and finally gave up. Her mind raced with thoughts of an unknown man pointing a pistol at her as he emerged from a crowd. She threw off the covers, slid from her bed, tossed on a dressing gown, and sneaked down the stairs to the library. She would find a book. One that would either entertain her or bore her to sleep.
The library was chilly, its miles of books emitting the pleasant, faintly musty promise of a good read. The Persian rug was velvety beneath her bare feet as she lit a candle and wandered from shelf to shelf, her eyes skimming but not really seeing the titles on the spines, as thoughts of Daffin raced through her mind.
The past twenty-four hours with him had been unbelievable. Not only had he nearly been killed, but when she’d treated the man for a pistol wound, of all things, she’d been lusting after him like a common street doxy. At the very least,she should have been able to keep her lascivious thoughts to herself while he’d beenbleeding.But no, she’d gone and told him how alluring he was with his shirt off.
Dear God. The man had muscles that went on for lengths. His shoulders were broad and smooth and strong, and the six muscles that stood out in sharp relief on his chiseled abdomen made her mouth water. It was hardly decent to mention it while he was in pain from a shot he’d taken while protecting her. What in heaven’s name was wrong with her? Adding to her egregiousness, she’d touched histhigh.She may have done it to distract him from the pain of applying alcohol to his wound, but histhigh? Hisinnerthigh. She could have grabbed his knee or even his hip. Ooh, she’d like to grab his hip, too.
She didn’t just lust after him. She liked him, too. The man was noble and kind and funny and flirtatious and a bit arrogant. Just enough to be attractive, not irritating. He was decent and strong and protective, too.
She knew she shouldn’t focus on her attraction to Daffin. She needed to focus on the danger she was in. And shewasin danger. There was no doubt now. It would be entirely foolhardy of her to allow her attraction and flirtation with Daffin to make her forget about the madman who was intent on causing her harm.
Daffin was handsome. Fine. The man was muscled. All right. The man smelled like soap and spice and something else she wanted to bury her nose in. Very well. None of that mattered. She needed to end her flirtation with him immediately so the two of them could concentrate on finding the man who wanted to hurt her.
She cuddled up on the sofa with a copy ofAs You Like Itnear a brace of candles. She’d been there less than a quarterhour, when the door opened softly and Daffin stepped in. Despite everything she’d just told herself, her belly did a somersault. Bellies could be downright obstinate.
“Can’t sleep?” He rubbed one hand through his slightly disheveled hair.
He wore a burgundy silk robe over trousers and what looked to be nothing else. A hint of his broad, bare chest showed beneath the robe. Not the best start to their supposed friendship, her staring at his chest again.
Regina sat up straight and pulled her own dressing gown tightly over her chest. He shouldn’t see her like this. Her hair was down. She was not properly dressed but couldn’t summon the will to care. They’d already had such a strange relationship, it didn’t seem to matter that they were in the same room alone with each other, wearing night clothes. “I… no, I cannot sleep.”
“Neither can I,” he admitted. He shut the door with a gentle click and wandered toward her, the wood floor creaking beneath his steps.
“I’m worried,” Regina admitted. It was a relief to be honest about it. She’d felt as if she might burst with worry until she’d just said the words aloud. She let out a long breath.
Daffin nodded. “I’m worried, too.”
She tipped her head to the side and contemplated him. “Bow Street Runners worry?”
“Yes, it’s a secret. Don’t tell anyone.” He reached the sofa and sat down next to her. The scent of his light cologne—a mixture of rosewood and fig—wafted toward her. She closed her eyes.
“I promise not to tell.” She crossed her fingers over her heart. “I suppose someone in your profession has a great many things to worry about.”
Daffin nodded. He sank down in his seat, his beautiful bare feet pushing out ahead of him, digging into the rug. “I want to keep you safe. You and Nicole.”
Regina glanced away. His feet were beautiful. The thought was troubling, to be sure. “It’s quite a large responsibility, what you do.”
“I don’t know how to do anything else,” he murmured.
It was so quiet in the house, the low timbre of his voice vibrated through her. It felt like they were the only two people awake in the whole world.
“Have you ever lost a case?” Regina turned to face him. They were only an arm’s length apart.
Daffin cocked his head to the side. He lifted his hand and scratched at the day’s growth of beard on his chin. “A time or two.” He grinned. “Butonlya time or two.”
She studied his profile in the flickering candlelight. He had smiled, but there was an undercurrent of anger there. Or was it tightly leashed resolve? She’d thought he had secrets. She was certain of it now. “It bothers you, doesn’t it?” she asked.
Daffin stared into the banked fireplace and crossed his arms over his chest. “Every day I’m haunted by the cases I didn’t solve.” His voice was rough, but honest. His honesty. That was something else to admire in him.
Regina nodded slowly. She fidgeted with the hem of her dressing gown, trying to work up the courage to ask the question that rested on the tip of her tongue. She took a deep breath. “Did they ever solve your mother’s murder?”
