Mariah’s mouth rounded into an exaggerated O of shock. “So you’re just going to leave the poor thing stranded up there?”
He saw a gleam of amusement dance in her eyes. The damnable woman was enjoying this! He bit back his growing irritation and ground out, “It will come down when it’s ready.”
“When anything might happen by and hurt it?” Her smile faltered with an expression of inflated dread. “Including a pack of wild wolves?”
“Wild wolves?” He spit out in half anger, half surprise. “For God’s sake, we’re in a walled garden in the middle of Mayfair!”
But the worried look Clara gave him nearly broke his heart.
Good Lord. It was bad enough when just one of the pair beset him. Together they were deadly.
“Fine.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ll climb up after it.”
Mariah gave a deep sigh. “My hero.”
The glare he shot her was murderous. But the minx only stifled a laugh.
“Thank you, Uncle Robert!” Clara threw her arms around his legs to hug him.
His shoulders sagged. Hadn’t he been defeated from the beginning? “When I fall and break my leg, imp,” he teased grimly, giving a tug to one of her curls, “you’ll be the one bringing me breakfast in bed for the next six months.”
She giggled and placed her hand over her lips in a gesture of pure flirtatious femininity as she retreated back to Mariah. He felt a pang of sympathy for her father when in ten years the gentlemen would be flocking to his door to court her. But knowing Chesney’s former reputation as a rake, Robert suspected the universe had a grand sense of humor and was simply getting even.
Mariah smiled victoriously at him as she hugged Clara.
He grimaced. Perhaps not so grand, after all.
“You two stay back,” he ordered as he shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over the stone bench at the side of the path. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Oh no,” Mariah affirmed with an exaggerated shake of her head. “We certainly wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.”
Gritting his teeth, he ignored her baiting and rolled up his shirtsleeves to his elbows. “Just stay back, all right?”
Both females nodded gravely, although one was on the verge of bursting into laughter at his expense. Damned minx.
He walked up to the tree and jumped to catch the lowest of the branches, then pulled himself up onto the bough. In a matter of seconds, he was in the midst of the tree and making his way carefully up toward the ball of white fur, which now meowed such plaintive cries that he would have sworn that wolves truly were stalking it. Far below on the path, Mariah held Clara wrapped securely in her arms to keep the girl from attempting to climb up after him. Both sets of female eyes followed him closely.
Slowly and carefully, encumbered by the smooth soles of his boots, which were not made for climbing trees, he made his way up to the top boughs where the kitten clung from its claws on the side of the trunk. Its tail lay curled between its legs, its eyes wide with fear.
“There now, you little fur ball,” he cooed softly to the kitten as he reached his hand toward it. “It’s all right. I’ve got you.”
The cat let out one more cry for help as he caught it by the scruff of its neck and lifted it from the tree. But when he pulled it against him to free his hand and lower himself out of the tree, the terrified kitten let out a teeth-jarring howl and sank all eighteen claws deep into his forearm.
He bit out a curse, but the kitten clung on, undeterred, leaving him no choice but to climb down with the little beastie firmly attached to his flesh.
When he reached the lowest rung of branches, the cat retracted its claws and leapt onto the bough, then quickly shimmied down the tree. It ran straight to Clara and jumped into her arms, purring so loudly that Robert could hear it as he dropped to the ground.
“Oh, thank you, Uncle Robert!” Clara gushed as the kitten rubbed itself beneath her chin, the long tail flicking against the girl’s cheek. She cradled it against her chest as if it were a baby.
“Oh yes,” Mariah seconded as he approached, with blood beginning to dot the scratches on his forearm and streaks of dirt marring his white shirt. She plucked a leaf from his hair. “Thank you, Uncle Robert.”
Before he could give her the tongue-lashing she deserved, Clara hugged him in gratitude, the kitten still held tightly in her little arms. Then she skipped off happily toward the house.
When she reached the edge of the terrace, she put the kitten down and hurried on inside. It raced up the nearest tree, where it stopped halfway to the top and, once again stuck, began to cry out for help.
Robert slid a narrowed gaze at Mariah as she pressed her hand against her mouth to keep from laughing.
“Glad I could offer you amusement,” he grumbled as he reached to snatch up his discarded jacket.
“Sometimes, Carlisle,” she admitted with a sigh, “you simply make it too easy.”
Muttering a string of curses beneath his breath, he began to unroll his sleeves.
“Wait!” She placed her hand on his arm to stop him. “You’ll get blood all over your shirt. Let’s get you into the house and cleaned up.”
He lifted a dubious brow. “Concerned about me?”
She sniffed and released his arm, as if insulted at the idea. “Concerned about your poor valet, who has to wash out all that blood.”
“Of course.” But he didn’t believe her. For all that the Hellion was prickly as a cactus around him, there was also a softer side to her. One that had her genuinely comforting Clara only a few moments ago, showing affection to his mother, and worrying about her sister. He only wished she’d show that softer side more often, especially to him, and when she did that it didn’t involve blood.
“This way.” She started toward the house. “There’s bound to be salve in the kitchen.”
He followed her into the house, noting that she carefully skirted the drawing room and the three dozen society matrons packed inside.
“Shouldn’t you be in with the ladies”—he jerked his head in the general direction of the soiree—“rather than haunting the garden?”
“I suppose.” She carefully kept her voice low. “But there’s only so much talk about muslin that a woman can tolerate before she goes mad.”
He smiled at that, despite himself. Her wit was one of the things he liked best about her.
“And why were you in the garden?” she pressed. “The ladies were all asking where my handsome escort had gone.”
There was poison somewhere in that, he was certain, but he knew not to antagonize. Instead, he drawled, “There’s only so much talk about muslin a man can tolerate before he goes mad.”
When she opened her mouth to give that the retort it deserved, he took her arm. “In here.”
He pulled her out of the hall and through a double doorway.
She stopped in surprise to gaze at the room. “The library?”
In answer, he tugged at one of the books. With a soft click, a hidden door opened and the false fa?ade of the bookcase gave way to reveal a shelf filled with crystal tumblers and bottles of all kinds. He grinned. “Where Chesney keeps his best liquor.”
She swept her gaze around the room. “It’s amazing,” she whispered, a touch of awe in her voice. “I don’t think I’ve seen a private library in London to match it.”
“My family believes in the value of books.” He liberated one of the bottles and a crystal tumbler from the stash and set them on the nearby reading table. “They also believe in the value of good drink.” When her eyes met his as a smile of amusement tugged at her ripe lips, her glance warmed through him. Spurred on by that moment’s quiet connection, he revealed a private part of himself by admitting, “I’m hoping to have a grand library myself someday.”
“I believe you will,” she murmured, turning her attention back to the room around her.
She slowly circled the room, taking in the floor-to-ceiling mahogany shelves, the dark walnut paneling and wine-colored drapes, the Turkish rug…She stopped in front of the marble fireplace and looked up at the painting hanging over it.