Читать книгу His Bid For A Bride - Кэрол Мортимер, Carole Mortimer - Страница 8

‘I WOULD suggest you have an early night, Skye,’ Falkner murmured after dinner. ‘You’ve had a very busy day,’ he added gently as she looked up at him dazedly.

Yes, she accepted it had been busy after her recent days of inertia, she just wasn’t sure going to bed early was such a good idea. It would give her longer to lay awake. Thinking.

Besides, she wasn’t in the least tired, still had far too many questions left unanswered to possibly be able to sleep. But Falkner had been more than usually uncommunicative as the two of them had eaten dinner together—a dinner neither of them had done justice to—and Skye could appreciate that Falkner probably had things of his own he wanted to deal with now. Maybe friends—or a particular friend—he would like to call…?

‘I’m sure you must have lots of things to do, Falkner. Please don’t let me keep you from them,’ Skye assured him. ‘I’m just not tired yet.’ After all, it was only nine-thirty. ‘Please don’t worry about me,’ she dismissed lightly as he continued to frown.

‘But I do worry about you, Skye,’ he drawled.

She shook her head. ‘There really is no need, and it’s far too early for me to go to bed yet.’ And actually stand any chance of sleeping.

‘In that case…do you play chess?’ He raised dark brows.

Her eyes narrowed. ‘Badly.’

‘Hmm.’ He grimaced. ‘Then how about—?’

‘Falkner, I am not a child in need of entertainment,’ she assured him impatiently as she stood up, ignoring the painful twinges in her side as she did so; whatever the pain, she had really had enough of Falkner towering over her in this way.

His expression darkened. ‘Maybe all this would be easier if you were still a child!’ he snapped harshly.

Skye frowned her puzzlement at his harshness. ‘I don’t know what you mean…?’

‘No,’ he sighed, ‘I don’t suppose you do.’ He shook his head. ‘Skye, I’m doing my best, in very unusual circumstances, so maybe you could just cut me a little slack, okay?’ His eyes glittered challengingly.

Considering the man she had briefly known six years ago, Skye knew that he was more than doing his best where she was concerned. And she accepted they were unusual circumstances. It was just—Skye felt so angry. With herself. With Falkner. With Uncle Seamus. With—of all people—her father. How could she possibly feel angry with her beloved father? It wasn’t his fault that he—that he—

She pushed that thought very firmly from her mind, her face pale with the effort. ‘Falkner, why did you bother going to the trouble of bringing Storm over here?’ He had neatly avoided answering that question when they had left the stables earlier, lingering to have a lengthy conversation with one of the gardeners, and there had been little chance to introduce the subject again since that time. Well, blow politeness. She wanted an answer. And she wanted it now.

He thrust his hands into the pockets of his tailored trousers, having changed before they had dinner. ‘I thought you would like him to be here when you came out of hospital. A friendly face, so to speak,’ he added ruefully.

Skye’s mouth quirked humourlessly. ‘You didn’t think yours would be enough on its own?’

Falkner looked a little less grim as he grimaced derisively. ‘I haven’t had that impression so far in our acquaintance, no!’ he returned dryly.

Skye’s eyes widened incredulously. Did he really not know—? Could he not see—?

Obviously not, she realized with relief; everything was awful enough already, without having Falkner feeling sorry for her because she’d had the misfortune to fall in love with him six years ago—and remained that way.

She drew in a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve given the impression I’m less than grateful for what you’re doing.’

Falkner laughed softly. ‘Skye, I can assure you I never expected you to run joyfully into my arms.’

He would never know the temptation she had had to do exactly that when he’d arrived in her hospital room earlier today. If her painful ribs hadn’t prevented it. If her own pride hadn’t forbidden it. If she hadn’t lain in that bed willing herself not to show him exactly how pleased she was to see him.

Falkner was both the first—and last—person she needed to be kind to her just now.

She shook her head. ‘I doubt I could run anywhere at this moment,’ she avoided. ‘Falkner, I—I’m very appreciative of all you’ve done for me—’