Daniel sat beside Carolyn on the settee and clasped her hands, entwining their fingers. He wasn't a spiritual man, hadn't uttered in prayer since the age of eight when he'd painfully learned that no higher being listened to his invocations, yet he couldn't stop the mantra reverberating through his mind: Thank you for sparing her. Thank you for not taking her away.
His gaze devoured her and he had to swallow to locate his voice. "I'm sorry, Carolyn. Sorry that something so ugly has touched you. Sorry that it's my fault. That I underestimated Tolliver. I had no idea he'd be so reckless, so bold. It's a mistake I assure you I won't make again. And you have my word I won't allow any harm to come to you."
"Daniel…" She slipped one hand from his then reached up to brush back his hair where it had fallen over his forehead. How was it possible that such a simple, innocent gesture from her shuddered more pleasure through him than the most erotic caress from any other woman ever had?
"You are not responsible for the actions of other people," she said softly. "Only for your own. Whatever Lord Tolliver chooses to do is in no way your fault." She trailed her fingertips slowly down his cheek, then along his jaw. "Please don't blame yourself."
He captured her hand and pressed it against his chest, right over the spot where his heart thudded hard and fast. Her words… bloody hell, weren't they a lovely fairy tale? He knew all too well the hell his actions were capable of causing. The images he always battled away crowded his mind and he forcibly shoved them aside. One death already weighed heavily on his conscience. He couldn't bear another one.
"I would never forgive myself if any harm came to you." The words felt ripped from his throat. They sounded raw. Edgy. Not a big surprise, he supposed, as that's precisely how he felt. Uncharacteristically so. But there was no denying that the mere thought of Carolyn being hurt, especially because of him, pushed him toward the very brink of reason.
"As you can see, I am perfectly fine," she said. "And to my very great relief, so are you-although I must say, you look as if you could use a brandy. Unfortunately I don't have any."
He forced a half smile at her obvious attempt to lighten his mood, but his emotions remained shrouded in a swirl of darkness. "I don't want a drink."
No, what he wanted was to gather her close, bury his face in that warm, fragrant spot where her neck and shoulder met and simply breathe her in. For hours. Days. Until the image of that shot whizzing by her face was erased.
Splaying her fingers against his chest, she said, "I'm frightened for you. You must promise me that you'll be very careful and take extremely good care of yourself." She glanced down at her hand and her bottom lip trembled. Then she looked into his eyes and he felt as if he were drowning. "I can't have any harm coming to my…"
"Friend?" he supplied when she hesitated.
"Yes. My friend. And… lover."
He briefly squeezed his eyes shut, savoring her words. Then he lifted her hand and pressed a fervent kiss against her palm. "And you must promise me the same, my most treasured friend. And lover."
"I promise."
No longer able to resist the craving gnawing at him, he gathered her into his arms. He meant to give her nothing more than a brief kiss, but the instant his lips covered hers, all the fear and worry spiraling inside him seemed to detonate. His mouth claimed hers in a hard, deep kiss that felt desperate. Out of control. And utterly lacking in finesse. His hands, usually so steady, shook as they clasped her to him, unable to let go. Or hold her close enough.
The fact that he'd nearly lost her kept echoing through his mind, fueling an urgent demand to hold her closer, kiss her more deeply. Something wild raged through him, something he couldn't name, as he'd never felt it before. Something that writhed beneath his skin and filled his very bones with the need to hold her. Protect her.
In some distant corner of his mind it registered that she was saying his name. Pushing against his chest. Lifting his head, he pulled a breath into his burning lungs. She stared at him, wide-eyed, her lips red and swollen from his frantic kiss, her hair mussed and bodice askew from his impatient hands.
And sanity returned. Bringing with it a healthy shot of self-disgust at his lack of control.
"I'm sorry," he said, forcing his arms to loosen around her. "I didn't mean to…" Give in to something I'm at a loss to explain.
"Kiss me until my bones melted? Believe me, there's no need to apologize."
She touched her fingertips to her lips, and he inwardly cursed himself. "Did I hurt you?"
"No. I… I simply had no idea I could inspire such unbridled passion."
Curiosity struck him at her words. Did she mean she didn't know she could inspire such passion in him-or in any man?
Surely just in him. Because surely Edward had taken every opportunity to show her just how much passion she could inspire with a mere look.
Hadn't he?
He frowned, but before he could ponder further on the question, she rose and hastily smoothed her hair and gown. "As much as I didn't want to stop you, I heard the front gate bell ring. Which means Nelson has returned."
Daniel instantly rose, slipped his knife from his boot and moved to the door. Every muscle alert, he cautiously peered into the corridor, then relaxed when he saw Nelson entering the foyer. After closing the door, he slipped the knife back into his boot then turned to Carolyn and ran a hand through his hair. Bloody hell, he hadn't heard a bell. Hadn't been aware of anything save her. Tolliver could have entered the damn room and he wouldn't have known the man was there until the bastard shot him.
"Do I look… undone?" she asked, smoothing her hands over her gown.
"You look… perfect."
And she did. Like a demure lady. A demure lady whose rosy flush and slightly swollen lips lent her an air of a ripe peach begging to be plucked. For the sake of discretion, he hoped the dimly lit foyer would hide the color staining her cheeks.
He followed her from the room. Nelson stood in the foyer along with Charles Rayburn and, to Daniel's surprise, Gideon Mayne, the Bow Street Runner.
"Where's Samuel?" Daniel asked.
"He returned to your residence, my lord, to make certain the ladies there were safe," Nelson reported. "We assured him you and Lady Wingate were in good hands."
Daniel nodded then turned a questioning gaze toward Mayne.
"I was still with Rayburn at the Gatesbourne residence when your man arrived," Mayne said in response to Daniel's look.
He noticed Mayne's sharp eyes taking in every aspect of Carolyn's appearance and his muscles tensed. There was something about this man and his brusque manner he didn't care for.
"I came here with Rayburn," Mayne said, "to ascertain if tonight's shooting might be connected in some way to the Lady Walsh matter."
Daniel's brows shot upward. "Why would you think that?"
Mayne's inscrutable gaze gave nothing away. "Just a hunch."
"Have you discovered who killed her?"
"Not yet," said Mayne, treating Daniel to a piercing stare, "but I'm confident the matter will soon be resolved."
"I don't believe her murder and tonight's shooting are connected," Daniel said.
"Why is that?" Rayburn asked.
"Let's retire to the drawing room, gentlemen," Carolyn broke in.