Cardiff Siblings 01 - Seven Minutes in Devon (27 page)

As silly and mad as it
seemed, Emma feared she needed
him
.

For longer than was healthy, Aidan
stared at the empty chair Miss Hathaway had just vacated, fully at
war with himself. He wanted to continue to hate her, but that
wasn’t possible. Not anymore. Not now that she was doing so many
things to help Morgan, things which he and Niall and Mother had
been unable to do for her. Not now that every time he saw her or
thought of her, the direction of his thoughts turned to taking her
in his arms and kissing her as he had before on the lawn. Not now
that jealousy had become an unnatural, constant companion in his
mind. Why should Irvine be granted time with her when it was so
plainly obvious to any observers that Miss Hathaway felt nothing at
all for him?

Deuce take it! How could he ever be
free of her, if all he saw when he closed his eyes to sleep at
night were her downturned eyes and broad lips and silky skin? How
could he focus on finding ways to encourage her assistance for
Morgan if every time he saw her, she was beside Sir Henry Irvine?
Interfering lout.

He had been staring for so long that
Niall lifted a single eyebrow in question. Damnation, the last
thing Aidan needed was to deal with his brother at the moment. He
shoved the book back onto the occasional table, not that he’d read
a single word in his current state of distraction, and stood
without a thought as to what excuse he would make for departing so
early again.

His excuse came to him much easier
than he’d ever anticipated. Along the opposite wall, Morgan rose
from behind the pianoforte with…well, with one of the young ladies
whose name he’d neglected to remember. It hadn’t seemed important,
but perhaps that had been an oversight on his part.

Aidan stalked to his
sister’s side and placed his hand on her elbow. “Is there something
I can help you with, Morgan?” In all honesty, his tone sounded a
bit frantic, but there was nothing he could do about that.
He
was
a bit
frantic. Damn.

She turned her face up to him with
confusion, or maybe frustration, bunching her brow together. “Miss
Goderich was just going to walk with me to the
kitchens.”

Goderich. Yes, he remembered, now that
it had been mentioned. He’d have to make a better effort, in case
his memory was ever put to the test. At the moment, the only thing
he cared to remember was Miss Hathaway, which was quite the
troublesome thought.

“
I was going to fetch
Kingley’s supper…”

Morgan’s voice trailed off since Aidan
started to tug her along with him. “Thank you so much for your
kindness, Miss Goderich, but I’ll be happy to help my sister with
this task.”

“
But you hate Kingley,”
Morgan protested.

By then, they were past the
footmen manning the doors and out in the corridor. Aidan kept going
until they couldn’t be overheard before slowing. “I don’t hate
Kingley. I just don’t like him.” What surprised him more than
anything was that this admission was the truth. He
didn’t
hate Kingley. He
didn’t like that someone or something other than him was helping
Morgan. He especially didn’t like that it hadn’t been his idea. He
plainly loathed the fact that he’d been proven wrong. But he didn’t
hate the dog. The bloody mutt just made him think of Miss Hathaway,
since she was the one who’d essentially made him a pet and a part
of their lives.

Morgan scoffed at his statement and
rolled her eyes, a trait she hadn’t lost when she went
blind.

His breath hitched like it always did
when something reminded him of how she had been before. Or maybe it
was a reminder that she wasn’t gone—the same Morgan resided within
the scarred body, no matter how many changes had taken
place.

“
I just—” Aidan shook his
head, though she couldn’t see it. “I was worried about Miss
Hathaway. I came out to…to see if she’s all right.”

“
Miss Hathaway?” She sucked
in a breath. “Oh, Miss Goderich said she looked quite ill when she
left the drawing room. But—”

“
Please don’t ask me
questions now…particularly questions I don’t even know the answers
to myself.”

Morgan nodded curtly with an impish
scowl. “So what are we doing? Where are we going?”

Hauling Morgan along while
he followed after Miss Hathaway hadn’t been in his plans. Granted,
he hadn’t truly had a plan. For that matter, he still didn’t.
“
We
are going to
the kitchens, so you can get your meal for Kingley. I’ll have a
kitchen maid stay with you to help you return afterward, and
then
I’ll
go make
certain nothing is amiss with Miss Hathaway.”

That brought out his sister’s fiercest
frown. “Should you really be alone with her? I hardly
think—”

“
I don’t want anyone else
to worry about her, Morgan. Most likely, she’s perfectly fine and
I’m concerned for no reason. Please?” This was not a conversation
he’d ever imagined having with his sister, and particularly not
when it concerned one of her dearest friends.

They walked in silence, with Morgan
biting down upon her lip. They’d nearly reached the door to the
kitchens when finally she nodded. “Fine. But if I hear—”

“
You won’t hear a thing.
Nothing will happen. I just want make certain she is quite
well.”

He deposited his sister with a
scullery maid who agreed to ensure Morgan returned to the drawing
room upon completion of her task, and then Aidan excused
himself.

The only problem was he didn’t know
where to go. Where might Miss Hathaway have run to when she’d
departed so hastily? He knew he was the reason for her sudden need
to escape. There could be no mistaking the heated glances they’d
shared.

Aidan sincerely doubted she would have
gone above stairs. That didn’t seem to be her normal escape route
when confronted with a situation she didn’t know how to handle. No,
it was far more likely she’d gone outside even if Kingley was
Morgan’s responsibility now.

He started in the west garden, since
it would be well-lit by the revelry inside and the brightness of
the moon tonight. After going through it thoroughly, however, he
hadn’t discovered even the slightest hint of her. Fighting back the
tension in his jaw, Aidan methodically made his way through the
Heathcote Park grounds.

After half an hour, he’d scoured
everything in close proximity—every part of the grounds he could
imagine she would dare to go alone after dark—and was about to head
into the woods, when a strange sound caught his attention: a tiny
cry. He spun toward it, off near the stables but not quite in them,
and headed in that direction.

It was her gown that he saw first in
the moonlight, the soft rose calling to him like a beacon against
the inky darkness around her. She was down on the ground, just
beside a hedgerow. Of course she was. Surely she’d tripped and
fallen over a root sticking up out of the ground, or her skirts had
become trapped in the brambles, or the toes of her slippers had
found a hole in the terrain. This was Miss Hathaway, of course, a
woman who had never been known for her grace.

Aidan moved closer, preparing to
deliver her a talking to that she would remember for quite some
time when the odd noise reached him again. Louder this time. More
insistent.

Was it Miss Hathaway crying in
pain?

No, it couldn’t be. He’d heard a fair
bit from her tongue, and she’d never sounded so tiny and fragile.
It wasn’t her. But it was coming from where she sat upon the
ground.

He took a few more steps in her
direction, and the sounds came more frequently, and then he
knew.

A kitten.

It was a kitten. A tiny one, by the
sound of its cries.

As he drew closer still, the soft,
calming tone of Miss Hathaway’s voice carried over the night air,
though he could not make out her words. Then more cries met him,
one on top of another, until there could be no doubt that there was
more than one kitten. Finally, he distinguished a panting
sound.

Good God, a cat must be birthing at
that very moment. What did she think she was doing? And how on
earth did she always find these people and animals in
need?

He ought to leave Miss
Hathaway to her task. Her talent for attracting broken and helpless
things to her seemed to know no bounds, and he was no use in such
situations. Amidst the crying mewls and pants of the mother cat,
and Miss Hathaway’s gentle murmurs, Aidan backed with the good
intention of returning to the manor house without looking back.
None of this was any of his concern.
Emma
Hathaway
was none of his
concern.

Until his plodding foot snapped a twig
beneath him.

Her head shot up at once, and she met
his eyes. In the moonlight, hers were dark, almost black, and
shining with excitement. They locked onto him, rooting him to the
ground.

He should go. He should turn around
and return to the house, and forget that he’d ever come after her
in the first place. That would be the intelligent thing to do—the
rational thing.

Instead, he closed the distance
between them. “You just can’t seem to help yourself, can you?” God
only knew when he’d learn to act rationally again—not so long as
Miss Hathaway was in the world.

Just can’t help
myself.
Emma tamped down upon her anger,
firming her resolve not to allow Mr. Cardiff to have such control
over her emotions. How did he so easily incite her
anger?

What was he doing out here? Could she
not escape his interference no matter what she did or where she
went? It seemed, no matter how little encouragement she gave
him—and for that matter, no matter how frequently he sent
indecipherable looks in her direction—he turned up in her general
vicinity every time she batted an eye.

It was infuriating, even if it was a
little bit thrilling.

And here, of all places? The thought
that he could possibly hold an interest in birthing kittens was
ludicrous, so what other excuse might he have for his sudden
appearance?

Emma forced a calm expression upon her
face—or at least she hoped she was successful in doing so—before
she turned to face Mr. Cardiff. “I suppose you can’t help yourself,
either. Or else how would you explain your penchant for following
me, when you can never bear to be in my presence?”

She winced slightly at the coldness of
her words, the crass bite pouring from her tongue. So often, he
brought out the absolute worst in her. It perturbed her to no end
how she became an icy, cantankerous miss every time he opened his
mouth in her general vicinity. That reaction was easier than
letting herself give in to the intoxicating flutters and
breathtaking heat he inspired.

His shoulders jerked back, and even
without the aid of a lantern, his scowl was visible across the
brief span between them. “You shouldn’t be out here
alone.”

She shouldn’t, but that was beside the
point. And it was none of his business whether she was out alone or
not. He ought to be looking after Morgan, not worrying about
anything Emma was doing. Oh, heavens. What if he’d finally decided
to leave Morgan to do as she would, and now intended to repeat the
coddling process with Emma?