At the Queen's Summons by Susan Wiggs Page B

of terror lingered. “It happens. Where am I?”
    â€œI’ve given you a private chamber in Lumley House.”
    Her eyes widened in amazement, then narrowed in suspicion. “Why?”
    â€œI am your patron. You’ll lodge where I put you.”
    She thrust up her chin. “And what do you require of me in exchange for living in the lap of luxury?”
    â€œWhy must I expect anything at all from you?”
    She regarded him for a long, measuring moment. No, the O Donoghue Mór was certainly not the sort of man who had to keep unwilling females at his beck and call. Any woman in her right mind would want him. Except, of course, Pippa herself. But that did not stop her from enjoying his strikingly splendid face and form, nor did it keep her from craving—against all good sense—his warmth and closeness.
    â€œI take it you don’t like storms,” he said.
    â€œNo, I…” It all seemed so silly now. London offered far greater perils than storms, and she had survived London for years. “Thank you, my lord. Thank you for coming after me. I should not have left in such haste.”
    â€œTrue,” he said gently.
    â€œIt is not every day a man makes me question my very reason for existing.”
    â€œPippa, I didn’t mean it that way. I should not have questioned the choices you’ve made.”
    She nodded. “People love to manage other people.” Frowning, she looked around the room, noting the wonderful bed, the crackling fire in the grate, the clear, rain-washed night air wafting through a small, open window. “I don’t remember much about the storm. Was it very bad?”
    He smiled. It was a soft, unguarded smile, as if he truly meant it. “You were in a bit of a state when I found you.”
    She blushed and dropped her gaze, then blushed even deeper when she discovered she wore only a shift. She clutched the bedclothes to her chest.
    â€œI hung your things to dry by the fire,” Aidan said. “I got the shift from Lady Lumley’s clothes press.”
    Pippa touched the sheer fabric of the sleeve. “I’ll hang for certain.”
    â€œNay. Lord and Lady Lumley are at their country estate in Wycherly. I’m to have full use of the house and all its contents.”
    She sighed dreamily. “How wonderful to be treated like such an important guest.”
    â€œOften I find it a burden, not a wonder.”
    She began to remember snatches of the storm, the lightning and thunder chasing her through the streets, the rain lashing her face. And then Aidan’s strong arms and broad chest, and the sensation of speed as he rushed her back to the house. His hands had tenderly divested her of clothes and placed her in the only real bed she had ever slept in.
    She had tucked her face into his strong shoulder and sobbed. Hard. He had stroked her hair, kissed it, and finally she had slept.
    She looked up at him. “You’re awfully kind for a father-murderer.”
    His smile wavered. “Sometimes I surprise myself.” Leaning across the bed, he touched her cheek, his fingers skimming over her blush-heated skin. “You make it easy, colleen. You make me better than I am.”
    She felt such a profusion of warmth that she wondered if she had a fever. “Now what?” she whispered.
    â€œNow, for once in your life, you’ll tell the truth, Pippa. Who are you, where did you come from and what in God’s name am I going to do with you?”

Diary of a Lady
    M y son Richard’s namesake is coming to London! The Reverend Richard Speed, of famous reputation, now the Bishop of Bath, will attend his nephew’s military commission. Naturally Speed will bring his wife, Natalya, who is Oliver’s dear sister and as beloved to me as blood kin.
    Oliver’s other siblings will come with husbands and wives. Belinda and Kit, Simon and Rosamund, whom I have not seen in two winters. Sebastian will come