Charlie stared past her. “Call for Nathan to wheel me to my room.”
The abrupt dismissal stung. “Why? I can do it.”
“Because you have a visitor.” He pointed to the street, where Rourke O’Malley drew near, an oleander blossom in his hand.
His hair was trimmed, his whiskers shaved, and he wore what must be his Sunday best—a tan-colored frock coat and dark trousers. His boots had been polished and a cravat was tied smartly atop a brilliant white shirt. Only the straw hat looked out of place. He doffed it with his free hand and bowed.
Elizabeth’s hand flew to her hair. “Do I look all right? I should have had Anabelle curl my hair. I should be wearing a bonnet or at least a cap.”
“Stop.” Charlie grimaced. “You sound like a girl.”
“I am a girl.” Or a woman, rather. A woman of twenty, and a man was paying her a visit. Though she’d had a dozen and more gentlemen call at Aunt Virginia’s house, none had sent her heart pounding and her insides fluttering like Rourke O’Malley.
“Good morning, Miss Benjamin.” His gaze drifted to her brother. “Charlie.”
To her surprise, her brother grinned at Rourke. “I was wondering when you’d get up the courage for another whuppin’.”
“Whupping?” Elizabeth looked from Rourke to her brother and still didn’t understand.
“Rourke plays chess with me,” Charlie explained.
“I have yet to win.” Rourke climbed the porch steps and handed her the flower. “I remember how much you liked your mother’s oleanders.”
Her eyes misted. “They were beautiful, but the storm destroyed them.” She drew the fragrant bloom to her nose and savored the memory.
“I’m surprised she didn’t replant them.”
“Me too. I wish she had.”
Charlie cleared his throat, turned from Rourke, and bellowed, “Nathan!”
Elizabeth heard the groom hurrying to the front of the house. He appeared momentarily, a blackened cotton rag in hand. “Beggin’ yore pardon, Master Charles, I plumb fergot about fetchin’ you.”
“I’m afraid it’s my fault,” Elizabeth admitted. “Florie can handle the rest of the silver polishing. You see to Charlie’s needs.”
“Yes, miss.”
Her brother gave her a look of grudging approval before bidding Rourke farewell.
“Do stay,” she said, knowing that she needed a chaperone yet wanting to be alone with Rourke.
Charlie looked from Rourke to her with a smug grin. “I have to get back to my studies. Come back tomorrow, Captain, and I’ll give you a thrashing fit for an admiral.”
The bravado brought a smile to her lips. Her brother had changed so much that she barely knew him. The young Charlie had reveled in grand tales of adventure yet was timid out-of-doors. He hated the boat and refused to swim. He avoided confrontation. She would have thought the trauma he’d suffered would make him more timid. Instead, he spoke boldly and maintained a friendship with Rourke that Father could not like.
Rourke shook Charlie’s hand. “You have a bargain, Master Charles, but you won’t be the one giving the thrashing.”
Charlie laughed. “We shall see.”
Then Nathan wheeled him into the house, leaving Elizabeth alone with Rourke, a breach of propriety that Aunt would decry to Father if she ever found out. Perhaps sitting on the veranda in full public view was not the best idea.
“Would you care to sit in the parlor?” Elizabeth suggested.
“Your aunt is home?”
She shook her head. “She is at market with Cook.”
“Then no, I must not stay. I simply wanted to know if you and your aunt have recovered.”
“We have, thank you.”
The air seemed to crackle between them, like lightning in a storm. Dangerous yet enticing. The rumbling awareness and flashes of excitement made her feel more alive than she’d been in years. Four years. She could not look away, could not breathe, could not run to safety. Perspiration trickled down her temple. She wished she’d brought a fan with her, but no breeze could whisk away the danger of the moment. Father might return for the midday meal. Aunt could return from market at any moment. Suddenly nervous, she lifted the oleander blossom to her nose.
“I wish I could smell these all the time.”
“If you tuck it behind your ear, its scent will be close.”
“What a fine idea.” She managed a smile, though emotion made her fingers shake so that she couldn’t manage to secure it.
“Let me help.” He took the blossom and gently slipped it into her hair.
His touch sent prickles of delight racing all over her.
“Thank you,” she breathed, hazarding a glance into those sea-green eyes.
He stood far too close. “It was my pleasure.”
His pleasure. The stirring she felt at his words was not proper. “I will have Florie bring tea.”