Chapter Seven
Flaherty scooped the lass into his arms and held her to his heaving chest as Mrs. Green bustled into kitchen and gasped. “What happened to Miss Pippa?”
“I have no idea. We were having a conversation, then she stopped, drew in a breath and, I swear to ye, ’twas as if she forgot to exhale.”
The cook stared at Pippa’s chest. “She’s breathing now. Hartshorn should bring her out of her faint.” She reached into her apron pocket and drew out a small vial.
Flaherty was grateful that the cook had taken to carrying a vial around with her after the first time Lady Phoebe fainted unexpectedly—before it was discovered she was expecting. Relieved, he asked, “Should I set her down?”
“That’s not necessary. If you would just hold still for a moment?” Mrs. Green opened the vial and waved it beneath Pippa’s nose. Her dark lashes fluttered for a moment and then she slowly opened her eyes.
“Ye scared the life out of me, lass. What made ye forget to breathe?”
Pippa closed her eyes and shook her head in answer.
He was about to order her to tell him when the cook suggested, “Carry her to the room at the end of the hallway. She can gather her composure there without prying eyes.”
“Will ye be staying with her to ensure she’s not going to faint again?”
The cook shook her head. “I’ve got to pull the scones out of the oven, put the next batch in, and prepare the midday meal.” As an afterthought, she said, “Pippa has been tired these last few days. It’s either from the strain and worry she’s been under, or her loss of appetite.”
“I can’t just leave her there. What if she stands too quickly, becomes dizzy, falls and cracks her head open?”
Mrs. Green studied him for a moment. “You’re right. You should stay with her until you are assured that she is steady on her feet. Should only take a half an hour or so.”
Flaherty wondered why Pippa wasn’t opening her eyes. Her breathing appeared normal, not rushed or unsteady. “Lass?”
She scrunched up her face and squinted, but did not answer or open her eyes.
“Fine. I’ll take her to the room next to the pantry. But ye’ll need to tell O’Malley or his lordship where I am and why I’m not at me post.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Green said. “Everyone has been so concerned about Pippa. A little time to herself may be just the thing she needs.”
Flaherty felt the lass tremble, and his protective nature snapped into place.
’Twas his fault she’d been reduced to a state where she was not eating.
Could lack of food affect the brain to the point where a person couldn’t remember to breathe on their own?
Had the lass been sleeping at night, or lying awake worrying?
Garahan was right. He needed to speak to the lass, and though it scraped his pride to do so, he’d forgive her…and mean it.
He heard the telltale hitch in her breathing—a prelude to a bout of tears—as he carried her down the hallway. “Hold on, lass. We’re almost there. Ye can cry all ye want once I close the door.”
Her eyes shot open. “Oh, but you cannot close the door! There is no chaperone. What will people think?”
“If they’ve half a brain, they’ll be thinking ye fainted, need yer rest, and no one else is available right now to watch over ye but meself.
” He stared at the woman. She’d been the bane of his existence since he stopped to lend aid.
Now he was starting to wonder if there wasn’t more to what he felt for her.
Had his stiff-necked pride been ignoring what his heart had been trying to tell his brain?
“Servants talk,” she whispered. “I cannot have a blot on my reputation and still protect Millie and little Roarke. By association, her reputation will be ruined, too, and that I cannot allow. Millie is my dearest friend. Losing her husband nearly broke her strong will. For the last few weeks, I have watched her blossom as a mother. Her darling babe is gaining weight and filling out. He’s thriving.
They both are. I cannot do anything that will bring harm to them physically, emotionally, or to their reputation.
She needs a strong man to protect her, though she refuses to accept that she does.
Mayhap she doesn’t need a man protecting her because she has me. ”
“What about what ye need?” Flaherty asked as he shoved the door open with his shoulder and strode into the room. “Ye obviously need a keeper, if ye aren’t eating.” He gently laid her on the cot and noticed the dark circles beneath her eyes. “Aren’t sleeping either, are ye?”
“Whether I am or not is hardly your concern.”
“I’m thinking ye need someone strong to protect ye, too.”
Pippa bit her lip and closed her eyes. A lone tear slid from the corner of her eye, followed the curve of her cheek, before it disappeared beneath her ear.
When the second tear clung to her lashes, Flaherty pulled his handkerchief out of his waistcoat pocket and blotted her tears.
“Don’t cry, lass. Surely yer da will have arranged a marriage for ye by now.
Ye have to be at least seven and ten summers. ”
Instead of soothing her, his comment had the reverse affect. She snorted and opened her eyes. “Twenty summers.”
“Are ye now? What of suitors? Sure and ye’ve had them lining the block in front of yer home waiting for a chance to offer for yer hand.”
The lost look in her eyes unmanned him. Had the lass been ignored? With her curves, faery eyes, and angel hair, how was that possible?
“Is yer father holding out for a man with a title for ye?”
“I’m tired.” She started to close her eyes to avoid answering him.
But Flaherty wasn’t having it. He needed to know if they should be expecting her intended to arrive at any given moment.
“Ye’ll answer me question. ’Tis a matter of courtesy to his lordship and her ladyship to know if yer intended will come knocking on their door demanding to know if we’ve been taking care of ye while he searched for ye. ”
She shifted on the cot and pushed herself up. Crossing her arms beneath her generous bosom—distracting him—she grumbled, “If you must know—”
“I must.”
“I do not have an intended. My father has been speaking to two titled gentlemen, but I won’t have either one of them.”
“Why not? What’s wrong with them?”
“Both are nearly thrice my age. One is cadaverously ancient, the other so overweight that I cannot imagine a marriage to either gentleman lasting six months before I’d be a widow.”
“Ye have a wild imagination, lass. What da in his right mind would marry off his beautiful daughter to a man three times her age?”
“Mine,” she rasped. “Papa wants to see me settled with a man who is older and of some consequence…” She added in a soft whisper, “And able to tame my wild heart.”
“I didn’t catch that last bit, Pippa-lass. What did ye say?”
She clenched her jaw.
“Come now, lass—if I’m to be of any further help to yerself and Millie, we need honesty between us. What did ye say?”
Pippa’s gaze shifted away from him. She answered, though her voice wavered, “And able to tame my wild heart.”
He leaned close and cupped the side of her face in his hand. “Wild hearts are courageous and loving. Ye have me word that if ye were married to me, I wouldn’t try to change ye, lass.”
Her eyes widened and her lips parted. Need shot straight to Flaherty’s gut. He pushed past it to find the honesty the lass deserved from him.
“Why would I, when I think ye’re perfect the way ye are…well, except for the small matter we already agreed not to discuss again.”
She lifted her gaze and studied him for a few moments. “You mean that, don’t you?”
“I always say what I mean. Tell me now, what do ye want, lass?”
“Truthfully?”
His gaze locked on hers. In that moment, he made a decision—even if someone should discover them alone together behind a closed door, he would marry her. “Aye, lass. We’ll only have the truth between us.”
She hesitated, then rasped, “Love.”
“I take it ye don’t love either of the two men ye mentioned.” At least, he hoped she didn’t, because she would belong to him. His mind was made up—he just needed to find the right moment to tell the lass they would be married to save her reputation, thereby saving Millie’s and her son’s as well.
Pippa’s ire returned with a vengeance. “I do not! They only offered for my hand because I have a dowry and am young—they plan to use me as a broodmare.”
Flaherty nearly choked on his laughter.
“It is not a laughing matter!”
“Then ye’d best find another way to describe yer meaning. Ye could say both prospects are ‘wanting a family.’”
She shook her head, but did not say anything, leaving Flaherty to wonder if that was her way of disagreeing.
“Do ye always speak plainly?”
“I do try.”
“And there have been no other men that have come courting?”
The lass’s face flamed. She clenched her hands in her lap and stared down at them. “With four older brothers who found fault with every man who even looked at me with interest? If anyone did come courting, they soon forgot about asking for my hand, facing the wall of sibling disapproval.”
He placed a knuckle beneath her chin, urging her to look at him. “Then ’tis a good thing yer brothers are not presently in Summerfield-on-Eden.”
“If they were, they’d have ganged up on you and knocked you unconscious by now.”
Flaherty smiled. “Ah, they could try, but they’d never make it past the perimeter guard—which is either meself, Garahan, or O’Malley.
Have no fear, lass, we’ll protect ye.” He paused and held her gaze, “I’ll protect ye with me strength, me heart, and me name.
Marry me, lass. I know someone who’ll obtain a special license if I ask.
Then ye’d never have to worry about yer reputation, nor Millie and Roarke’s. ”
Her blank expression had him wondering: had no man gotten close enough to press a kiss to the back of her hand, or her cheek?
“Yer angel hair and faery eyes draw a man’s attention, lass. Yer curves are a distraction. I’m man enough to admit ye’ve turned me heart and me head—despite the blow to me pride.”