She glanced sideways, and he recognized that he’d hit close to the mark. “That was your plan then?”
“Lady Keating said it wasn’t safe to return, and I’d only put myself and my father in danger.”
Hew knew it was her father that had mattered to her. Miss Howard didn’t seem to worry overly much about herself. “She sent a footman and told my father to stay out of sight. We’re hoping in all the confusion that your attackers didn’t see him leave with Mrs. Price.”
“Did Lady Keating think they tracked us here?”
“Possibly, but she said they can’t get to us here.”
“No, she’d have excellent security.” Hew tried to push away the feeling of disappointment that washed over him. Miss Howard obviously hadn’t stayed because she cared about him. He didn’t even know why he should want her to stay for that reason or why he should want her to care. “This is all the more reason for me to get back on my feet.”
She frowned at him. “I think I’ve just explained that we are very safe here.”
“Yes, but you won’t want to be trapped here. I need to find the men who attacked me, determine who hired them, and send him before a magistrate.” And he’d have to do it quietly too. No need for the whole country to ask questions about who Hew Arundel was and what sort of business he had that made him a target. Baron would not welcome journalists sniffing about for information on the Royal Saboteurs.
“It’s already past nine,” she said, looking at a clock. “Perhaps you should start fresh in the morning.”
He gave her a narrow look. He had the feeling she was humoring him because she thought him too weak to stand up much less track down attackers. He could prove her wrong, but he’d be cutting off his nose to spite his face. No doubt she was right that starting off in the dark of night with nothing but broth in his belly wouldn’t be the best strategy.
“Fine. I’ll go in the morning.”
Her brows lifted in surprise. “Fine. I’ll leave you to rest.”
Hew was suddenly aware that he didn’t want her to leave. “Stay,” he said. She turned back. “We—er, haven’t had our tea yet.”
“I can take mine in my chamber.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
She gave him a look that said where-is-the-fun-in-anything-to-do-with-you? He could hardly blame her. He’d come into her life and completely upended it. No doubt she’d be glad to see him go. He was not of the same mind. It was more than the fact that she was a beautiful woman, though that didn’t hurt. Hew had been born curious. There was much more to Isabelle Howard than he knew, and he wanted to unwrap some of those layers. He’d have to engage her, find a way to open her up.
The chamber door opened again, and the maid entered with the tea tray this time. Hew smiled. “Tell me about your love of tea. When did you realize you—how shall we say it—had a discerning palate?”
“I’m sure there are other things you’d rather discuss. Thank you, Mary.”
The maid bobbed a curtsy and left the room, closing the door with a knowing smile on her face. Hew supposed he wasn’t being very clever, but he wasn’t feeling quite himself either. And perhaps that’s why he said the next thing that came into his head. “I don’t care what we discuss. I just don’t want you to leave.”
Chapter Twelve
How was she supposed to react to a statement like that? It was bad enough that she hadn’t stopped thinking about the kiss they’d shared the other night. The kiss...not only the kiss but also the way he’d touched her. It was humiliating to think that she couldn’t seem to block that moment from her thoughts when Arundel probably had no memory of it. How his teasing now stung. Was she supposed to find it amusing when he pretended to have an interest in her?
“Yes, I’m sure you are fascinated by a spinster who works in a tea shop. Good night, Mr. Arundel.” She started for the door then realized she’d left her tea. She went back and lifted her cup and teapot from the tray.
“Belle.”
Her head snapped up at Arundel’s use of her family’s pet name.
“I do want you to stay. If you’d rather not talk about tea, we could speak of something else.”
Belle opened her mouth to tell him not to call her Belle. She would have told him a half dozen other things as well, but then she looked into his eyes. They were such a pretty shade of blue and filled with what truly looked like sincerity. Was it possible he was not merely pretending to have an interest? It was dangerous to allow herself to hope. She had walled off that part of herself—the warm, soft part that wanted a man to look at her like she was the most important thing in the world. Like her scars didn’t matter. Like he couldn’t live without her.
Belle knew that would never happen. She’d been teased and humiliated too many times. And yet...
She was a flesh and blood woman, and Arundel was an attractive man. She’d liked his touch and his kiss. She wanted more. That was all the more reason to toss him a sarcastic rejoinder and be on her way. But how was she supposed to walk away from a man who looked at her the way Arundel was looking at her now? Men had looked at her with lust before. Men had looked at her with curiosity. But no man save her father had looked at her with the sort of warm affection she saw in Arundel’s gaze.
She would be sorry if she stayed. She knew it. She already liked him far too much, and the more time she spent with him the more she would come to like him. But she set down her tea anyway, pulled the chair Mr. Not-Smith had been using earlier closer to the bed, and sat.
“Fine. I’ll stay.” And then because she felt awkward, she lifted his teapot. “Shall I pour your chamomile?”
He made a face. “Do you really think I will like chamomile?”
She couldn’t stop the smile. “No, but it will be good for you.” She poured him a cup and handed it to him. He looked at the cup as though it were filled with scorpions. Belle poured her own tea and held the warm china in her hands. She could appreciate fine china almost as much as fine tea.
“Won’t you even try your tea?” Belle raised her brows.
“If I drink it, do I receive something more than broth to eat?”
“I didn’t think to ask.”
“Then he didn’t forbid it. I’m starving.”
That had to be a good sign, Belle thought. His fever had broken, and his appetite returned. “Start with the tea,” she said.
With a sigh that indicated he felt he was long-suffering, Arundel drank the tea. He did not sip. He drank about half the cup down.
“Well?” she asked.
“Tolerable. It needs toast. With beans. And perhaps some mushrooms and tomatoes.”
“And eggs and sausage—yes, I know what is served with breakfast. With the staff abed, you’re unlikely to have all of that. I’m sure I can make some toast, though.”
His eyes widened with interest. “Let’s make a foray to the kitchens.”
“Oh, no. You cannot go anywhere.”
“I’m fine. Whatever that quack did, he did well. I feel a thousand times better. I’m tired of lying about.”