Chapter 21 #2
She didn’t have time to dwell on her feelings for too long as Lord Kinsale spoke, pulling her away from her convoluted musings.
“I’ve been mean-meanin’ to tell you, Miss Dav-Davenport that I was …
that I was nothin’ but impressed with the way you rushed over to-to protect young Tom outside the Lion and Lamb.
Although”—he put down his cake fork and pushed his plate away—“there were a few moments in which I was more than a wee bit worried about what that drunk-drunken lout might do when you told him to let go o’ the boy.
Especially when you gave him a poke with your umbrella.
But what-whatever you did, it worked.” He suddenly reached out and put his large hand over hers.
“I know you did-didn’t need me to intervene, but I …
but I would’ve. The idea that some brute might hurt you, fills me with—” He broke off.
“I have power in me fists, Miss Davenport. I don’t like to use them, but I would to pro-protect you.
And the boys. You all … You all mean so very much to me. I-I wanted you to know that.”
Oh. Mina hadn’t expected Lord Kinsale to make such a heartfelt disclosure.
She was touched, more than she could say.
“Thank you,” she murmured. She should remove her hand from the marquess’s, but it felt so very right feeling the warmth of his calloused palm against the back of her hand.
How his long, work-roughened fingers lightly wrapped about hers.
“Even though it’s my duty as a Parasol governess to ensure the children I look after remain safe, I do find that I’ve come to care for Tom.
” And his master too … The telling words hovered on the tip of Mina’s tongue but she held them back.
To steer the conversation in a less dangerous direction she added, “It’s obvious that you’ve always gone out of your way to take care of others.
What you did for your family in Ireland, when you lived in Dublin, was no small thing. ”
Oh dear, she’d said the wrong thing entirely.
To Mina’s dismay, Lord Kinsale removed his hand from hers and clenched his large fists on the tabletop.
Even in the muted lamp and candlelight, the white marks of scars across his misshapen knuckles stood out starkly.
These fists were clearly the hands of a fighter.
Not a gentleman’s hands at all despite the fact he always wore a gold and emerald signet ring on his little finger.
“I … I think about that. Quite a lot,” he said in a voice rough with emotion.
“What I did b-b-back home. The life of a pro-professional p-p-prizefighter is not an easy one. And I can-cannot tell a lie, I’m …
I’m ashamed of the things that I did, the things I had to do, to sur-survive those years.
It was a bloody, bru-brutal existence. I loathe v-v-violence, yet it seems I had a t-t-talent for it. ”
Concern squeezed Mina’s chest upon witnessing the shadows of remorse, and yes, an unmistakable flicker of pain in Lord Kinsale’s green eyes.
A deep frown was etched between his dark brows and a muscle twitched in his lean cheek.
His mouth had twisted as he’d spoken and his stammer, which he constantly made an effort to control, had become noticeably worse.
She wished she could reach out and cradle that tense jaw to comfort this man.
To lessen the immense guilt that clearly weighed heavily on his heart.
But it wasn’t her place to soothe him with her touch, so she would try with words.
“My lord,” she said softly, “you do not condemn Tom for his pickpocketing. Why should you judge yourself so harshly? Desperate times undoubtedly call for desperate measures. Surely no one would censure you for doing what you needed to do to keep from starving.”
One corner of Lord Kinsale’s mouth inched into a wry smile. “Aye. That’s what I k-k-keep tell-tellin’ meself. But then I recall the men I hurt in the ring to earn that m-m-money. Even though it technically wasn’t b-b-blood money, Miss Dav-Davenport, me con-conscience says otherwise.”
“I know you are a good man,” said Mina. “And no one can convince me otherwise. You are kind and generous and patient and noble and brave. Why else would you have embarked on a mission to change the laws in Ireland to curb the power of ruthless landlords? To ensure that wealthy landowners never abuse their privilege and cruelly take advantage of their tenants ever again? It takes courage to challenge the status quo. You have my admiration and my support, such that it is.”
The expression in Lord Kinsale’s green eyes grew fiercely earnest. “You’ve made so much difference in me life already, Miss Davenport.
Hirin’ you was the best … the best decision I’ve ever made.
I may not be the epitome of a per-perfect gentleman yet, but I’m well on the way.
My speech, on the whole, is mark-markedly better.
And I owe … I owe it all to you. Just think, if you’d never boar-boarded the Kinsale Cloud, you and I might never have met.
The very thought of that makes this bat-battered heart of mine clench in the oddest way. It’s … it’s the queerest feelin’ …”
Oh heavens. Was Lord Kinsale alluding to the scene in Jane Eyre where the governess bares her heart and soul to her employer?
When they sit beneath the chestnut tree in Thornfield Hall’s garden, and Mr. Rochester declares that he “sometimes has a queer feeling” with regard to the governess.
But the reader knows he is really declaring his love for Jane?
Surely not.
But goodness, the way Lord Kinsale was looking at her right now made Mina’s heart behave in strange ways too. But unlike the character Jane Eyre, it was she, Hermina Davenport who was harboring terrible secrets, not her employer.
A bittersweet ache—a confusing combination of tender emotion and longing and guilt—penetrated Mina’s chest. She wanted to be honest with the marquess about Christopher—that the boy wasn’t her son but her former charge.
But how could she explain that the boy’s guardian was being controlled by an evil Fae queen who had unclear but undoubtedly nefarious designs on the child?
That she, Hermina Davenport, possessed magical abilities courtesy of her Parasol Academy training?
She couldn’t tell Lord Kinsale any of it.
She’d committed a crime in the eyes of the law. She’d broken and was continuing to break countless Parasol Academy rules. She was being duplicitous and underhanded and taking advantage of her employer’s good nature.
Aside from all of that, if she did decide to throw caution to the wind and confess all to Lord Kinsale, he’d undoubtedly think she was completely, certifiably insane.
So Mina held her tongue about all of these things. Instead she said something that was true. “I’m so very grateful that fate has brought us together, even if it’s just for a little while, my lord.”
“Aye …” Lord Kinsale’s expression grew pensive, and Mina wondered what the man was thinking.
“Although, it sounds like Tom, now that he’s decided to stay, might need your ser-services for a wee while longer.
So I hope you’ll con-consider stayin’ on for him, even when I …
when I no longer require fluency or etiquette lessons.
He and Chris-Christopher certainly get on well.
I feel as though they’ve be-become firm friends. ”
“I believe so too,” said Mina. “Like us.” She dropped her gaze to her plate, where her slice of Victoria sponge sat, barely touched.
“Aye, I like to think we’re friends,” said Lord Kinsale softly.
Friends? Was the relationship she shared with the Marquess of Kinsale really a friendship? Could an employer of elevated rank and his employee really be friends in the true sense of the word?
They certainly couldn’t be lovers. And Lord Kinsale would surely be accused of being as mad as a hatter if he offered marriage to someone like her, a mere governess. He was trying to build his reputation, not ruin it.
Mina dared not look up at Lord Kinsale. To try to read the expression on his handsome face. Instead, she picked up her cake fork and prodded at a plump strawberry. Then she treated herself to a small, ladylike bite of cake.
She adored cake of all kinds, but when her thoughts were troubled, as they were now, she either couldn’t eat a thing, or she wanted to eat the whole cake.
Not that she would eat the whole thing—Mrs. Dunkley’s Victoria sponge was a magnificent creation of three light-as-air layers slathered thickly with strawberry jam and cream and decorated with more swirls of cream and glazed strawberries piled on top.
But cake offered comfort. It was something Mina could have when she couldn’t have what—or who—she really wanted.
She was still deciding how much cake she would eat after Lord Kinsale quit the room, when the marquess said, “Are-are you going to eat the rest of your sponge, Miss Davenport? I apologize if our rather serious talk has put you off your … off your food.”
Mina put down her fork. “Oh no, it hasn’t, my lord.” She offered him a smile. “It’s just that I like cake rather too much. One piece seems like it’s never enough.”
He chuckled softly and the deep sound seemed to reach inside Mina and warm her very soul. “I understand com-completely. But seriously. Why not eat that slice and then have another?”
Mina shook her head. “Oh no, my lord. I couldn’t.” She placed a hand upon her middle. “As my mama says, ‘A lady must always remember that a moment on the lips becomes forever on one’s hips.’”
“What?” Lord Kinsale gasped. His expression was caught somewhere between horror and outrage. “Your-your mother really says things like that? To you? To stop … to stop you eatin’ cake?”
“Yes.” Mina blushed. “My waist isn’t particularly slender—”
“Miss Davenport, I’ll hear no more of such-such rubbish in my house.
You are the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, and as far …
as far as I’m concerned, you can eat as much feckin’ …
I mean damn … I mean …” He waved a hand at the decadent sponge on its silver stand in front of them.
“Eat as much as you like. I will not judge you, at all.”
Had … had Lord Kinsale really just called her gorgeous?
Mina bit her lower lip. She wasn’t sure what to say.
Indeed, her tongue had become tangled in hopeless knots while something warm and wonderful had unfurled inside her chest. No one—especially a member of the opposite sex—had ever praised her looks before.
It was a novel feeling. The giddy, swirling, dizzying feeling she often felt in Lord Kinsale’s presence was back and she had no idea what to do with it.
If there was such a thing as a Cucumberfy spell in the Parasol Academy Handbook, now would have been the perfect time to employ it.
“I … Thank you, my lord,” Mina said at last. “That’s very generous and sweet of you to say such things … about me.”
“There’s nothin’ sweet or generous about it,” said the marquess gruffly. “It’s-it’s simply true.”
“Well …” Mina glanced at the clock on the mantel shelf. It was almost three o’clock. “I should probably save any further cake eating until tomorrow and bid you good night, my lord. The boys will likely be up in four hours or so—”
Lord Kinsale immediately climbed to his feet. “Of course, Miss Davenport. I should-shouldn’t be keepin’ you from your bed.”
Mina rose too. “I’m more than happy to converse with you anytime, my lord.”
The marquess’s mouth curved in a slow and easy smile. “I … I could say the same.”
He moved toward the kitchen door and Mina followed him.
But as he opened it for her and she brushed past him, his large hand captured hers.
Their fingers laced together as though they should be intertwined, and in the next instant, the door had closed, and Mina found herself being spun around and trapped between the hard wood panels and Lord Kinsale’s equally hard chest.
His fingers gently caught her chin and there was no mistaking the heated look in the marquess’s deep green eyes as he stared intently at her mouth.
“I-I can’t let you go. Not yet,” he murmured roughly.
“Not … not when you have a few cake-cake crumbs and a dollop of cream”—his calloused fingertip brushed fleetingly beside the corner of her mouth—“right here.”
“Oh … Thank you …” Mina raised a hand and wiped the offending remnants of Victoria sponge away. Then, unthinkingly, she flicked her tongue against her own fingertip … and it was like she’d set a lit match to tinder.
The smoldering light in Lord Kinsale’s eyes immediately flared with unmistakable lust. “Christ, forgive me, Miss Dav-Davenport,” he whispered, his voice ragged with want.
“I-I know I’m crossin’ a line here, but I …
but I so very badly want to kiss you. I …
I can’t stop thinkin’ about it. In fact, I’ve been think-thinkin’ about kissin’ you for weeks. I know it’s wrong—”
Mina pressed a trembling finger to his lips. “You are not alone.” She couldn’t lie any longer. Not about this at least. “I’ve-I’ve been thinking about it as well. You kissing me. I want that too.”
Lord Kinsale groaned. “Thank God.” And then, before Mina could even hint that she was a relative novice when it came to the art of kissing—because she absolutely was—his mouth crashed onto hers, sliding hungrily, desperately …
and she froze. Her breath caught in her lungs and her fingers gripped Lord Kinsale’s shirt.
Nothing in all the romantic novels she’d read—not Jane Eyre nor Wuthering Heights nor Pride and Prejudice nor Sense and Sensibility—had ever prepared her for something as wild and visceral and passionate and as completely overwhelming as this!
She had no idea what to do, at all … and Lord Kinsale knew.
Silly, silly, Mina. What had she been thinking?!
The marquess ripped his mouth away and stared down at her. His brow was furrowed, and his eyes were clouded with confusion as he whispered her name. “Mina? Miss Davenport? What …?” He wiped a hand down his face. “Don’t tell me you’ve never … never been kissed.”
Mina swallowed then nodded. “No. No, I haven’t,” she murmured thickly.
“Not … not properly. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for misleading you.
For allowing you to think—” She broke off as hot tears prickled.
She couldn’t tell him any more than that.
She couldn’t confess that Christopher wasn’t really her son.
That she was living a lie. She’d said too much already.
“I should go,” she said, pushing ineffectually at his rock-hard chest.
But Lord Kinsale shook his head. “No. Not yet,” he said firmly, placing a large hand flat against the door at Mina’s back. “Not until I understand what’s goin’ on.”