Rescued By a Lady's Love (Lords of Honor, #3) by Christi Caldwell Page A

Davies should have his salary tripled for the unenviable task he had of finding servants and nursemaids or governesses or whoever it was that attended smallish children.
    Derek turned, deliberately presenting the other man with his scarred profile. “I am not to be bothered with matters pertaining to the girl,” he said with icy disdain. “Is that clear?”
    The man gulped audibly and, for an instant, Derek thought he intended to issue a rebuke for his dismissive handling of Edeline’s daughter. “Indeed, Your Grace.”
    He might be missing an eye, but his hearing was, at the very least, intact and he’d have to be deaf to not hear the frosty disapproval there. The butler’s clipped tones were the impressive type his austere, now dead, parents would have applauded.
    Harris lingered; shifting forward on the balls of his feet.
    “Why are you still here?” Derek demanded on a seething whisper.
    The remaining color leeched out of the man’s cheeks and he turned to go.
    “Harrison?” he said, deliberately using the wrong name.
    “Yes, Your Grace?”
    “I do not care if the dead Queen Charlotte rises from the grave and comes to call. I am not to be bothered again. Is that clear?”
    The butler gave a jerky nod and tripped over himself in his haste to back out of the room. The door closed behind him with a soft click. Bothersome servant now gone, Derek settled into the folds of his familiar chair and let fly a long, colorful curse and massaged the aching muscles of his left thigh.
    Determined to set aside the reasons for Harris’ interruptions, he took a long swallow of brandy. His lips pulled back in an involuntary grimace at the fiery trail it blazed down his throat. With a sigh, he set his glass down with a hard thunk on the side table. His efforts proved futile. With Harris’ reminder of the girl’s presence, he’d merely served to remind Derek that his sister, Edeline, the last good soul in the world, had been dealt a watery grave for that goodness. His lips quirked up in a rusty, pained grin. That goodness had been what had driven his sister to visit, regardless of being turned away at the front door. For all the betrayals he had known at the hands of his mother and the whole of Society, Edeline had loved him with a devotion he’d never deserved. Fate had realized as much and repaid that folly with death.
    The loud, whining creak of the door filled the office and he spun. “Who is there?” he thundered. Silence served as his only answer. He forced himself to his feet, damning the slow awkwardness of his movements. “I said I am not to be bothered, Harrison,” Derek boomed. He yanked the door fully open.
    Empty .
    Furrowing his brow, he stuck his head out of the room and peered into the hall. From the corner of his only eye, the flash of white skirts caught his notice and he swung his head about. White skirts fluttered at the end of the hall as a small creature disappeared around the corner.
    Derek frowned. With a deliberate show for the girl who, no doubt, lingered at the edge of the corridor, he slammed the door with such force, it rattled in its foundation. This had not been the first time she’d crept into his sanctuary. Eventually, she always fled, which was good. He didn’t have use or need of the child his sister had saddled him with.
    Then, what manner of girl was she that she did not have a suitable fear and horror?
    He lurched across the room but paused to swipe another note left by Harris. This from St. Cyr. The familiar inked scrawl stared back at him. Good God, why did the man persist? Had Derek not suitably severed that lifelong friendship recently? With uneven movements, he limped over to the hearth. He stood, transfixed by the crimson and orange fire. It possessed that same, powerful hold upon him that it always did. Do not turn yourself over to that fear. Do not. Do not... As the heat touched his skin, his mouth went dry. A rapidly growing disquiet stirred within him, ushering in a