Chapter 11 #3
Damn, damn, damn. That ruddy dog was probably about to rip the toy rabbit’s head off. Cajoling hadn’t worked. It was time for an all-out offensive. Catching Lord Kinsale’s eye, Mina gathered up her skirts then called, “Now!”
Both she and the marquess exploded into action, rounding the fountain at the same time—Lord Kinsale from the left and Mina from the right—trying to head Brutus off before he could evade capture.
The pug gave a yip upon seeing them, then shot past Mina like a miniature tan and black cannonball.
What occurred next happened so quickly, Mina could scarcely comprehend it.
She attempted to slow down so she wouldn’t crash into Lord Kinsale, but the flagstones beneath her boots were slick with rain and her feet went out from underneath her.
With a startled cry, she fell backward, but instead of hitting the hard ground, Lord Kinsale swooped down and caught her in his strong arms. For one breathless moment, Mina felt like she was suspended in midair, the marquess bending over her, his lips hovering only inches above hers.
His startled green gaze searched her eyes.
“Are-are you all right, Miss Dav-Davenport?” he asked before he straightened, bringing her with him.
The soft misty rain had darkened the marquess’s brown hair to a slick shade of sable and an errant drop of water traced a path from his brow, down the slightly crooked path of his nose to the sharply etched cupid’s bow of his top lip.
Mina swallowed. “Aside from being hideously embarrassed, I-I think so,” she murmured huskily. “Thank you for catching me. Again. You seem to be remarkably good at it.”
She was still clasping Lord Kinsale’s substantial biceps (goodness, the man’s muscles were as hard as marble) and her bosom was rising and falling with indecent haste that had nothing to with her charge behind the fountain, and everything to do with her current position—being held so closely by the marquess.
Was there electricity in the air? Because Mina suddenly felt as though she’d been struck by something hot and sizzling like lightning.
Or maybe one of the cherubs atop the fountain had struck her with his arrow.
In any event, it was like her entire universe had been knocked sideways and she would never be quite the same again.
“We … we should check on Brutus,” she managed as she made herself let go of Lord Kinsale.
The marquess’s arms, which had wrapped about her shoulders in a protective circle, fell away as he took a step back.
Then he scrubbed a hand through his rain-damp hair, ruffling it into sharp spikes that did not lessen his appeal; in fact, the wet, messy look lent the rugged Irishman a roguish air that made Mina feel like she was going to have a fit of the vapors for the second time this afternoon.
(Perhaps she should start to carry a bottle of hartshorn about with her.
Something that was labeled Sniff Me whenever the Marquess of Kinsale walked into the room.)
“That dog.” Lord Kinsale shook his head. “I hope to God the rab-rabbit survives. I’ll b-b-buy your son a dozen more t-t-toy rabbits to make up for Brutus’s mis-misbehavior if needs be.”
Guilt pinched Mina. She suspected it would every time the marquess called Christopher her son.
“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” she said as they hastened back toward the townhouse.
The rain was getting heavier by the minute and Mina would have to retire to her room and employ the Unsmirchify spell to repair her hair and uniform.
There was no sign of Brutus. Or Mr. Hopwell for that matter, intact or otherwise, and Mina’s heart sank. Christopher would be beside himself by now. Restoring her appearance to the Parasol Academy’s exacting standards of perfectly prim and proper could wait.
The French doors were still wide-open, and as she and Lord Kinsale gained the terrace, Christopher suddenly appeared in the doorway. “Look,” he cried, brandishing his mauve velvet rabbit in the air. “I have Mr. Hopwell back!”
Oh, thank the Fae! Mina rushed into the drawing room. “Did Brutus give him back?”
“No,” said Christopher. His cheeks might still be tear-streaked, but his face was wreathed with a bright smile. “It was Tom who rescued him. As Brutus ran inside, he pounced on him as quick as anything and Brutus let go.”
Tom stepped forward from one of the shadowy corners. “It were nuffink,” he said, shrugging off the praise. “I s’pose I just ’ave a talent for nicking fings nice an’ quick.”
Lord Kinsale, who’d joined them, released a low chuckle. “I suppose you do, Tom,” he said. “But I don’t think re-returnin’ somethin’ to its rightful owner c-c-can be classed as stealin’. So thank you, lad.”
“Yes, thank you,” said Mina with a heartfelt smile.
Christopher handed Mr. Hopwell to Mina. “He’s only a little bit wet from the rain. And one of his button eyes is loose. Do you think you can fix it?”
Mina took the rabbit and examined him. “I certainly can and will do so at once,” she said.
The Unsmirchify spell would take care of any dampness or muddy streaks.
And it would be easy enough to secure the loose button with a needle and thread.
“If that is all right with you, my lord?” she added, catching the marquess’s eye.
“O’ course,” said Lord Kinsale. Then his mouth slanted into a rueful grin.
“I’ll be track-trackin’ down me wee wick-wicked dog to have a stern w-w-word with him so this nev-never happens again.
” Then his eyes softened and he dropped his voice.
“I-I usually dine at eight o’clock, Miss Dav-Davenport.
W-w-would it suit you to meet me in the d-d-dining room then so I might dis-discuss your other duties related to …
to me own par-particular concerns? If the b-b-boys are all settled o’ course. ”
Ah, the etiquette and “elocution” lessons. Mina brushed a dripping strand of hair away from her suddenly hot cheek. “Yes, absolutely, my lord.”
As the marquess strode away, Mina rather suspected that unless and until she learned to keep her composure around the far-too-appealing Irishman, “pink and flustered” rather than “professional and unflappable” would be her permanent state of being.
If only there were a “cool as a cucumber” incantation she could cast. “Something like a Cucumberfy spell would be handy,” she muttered to herself.
Until then, a bottle of smelling salts would have to do.