Page 17 of Indecently Daring

“Or p’rhaps she’s too busy with a new beau,” Jeb said, his expression taut. “I ain’t seen her for a week or more.”

“I’m sorry, Jeb,” Harry said, wretched that he could not do more, could not make his mother love her son and take responsibility for him, to make her see the wonderful boy she was ignoring, for she was missing out on so much. By the time she realised her mistake, supposing she ever did, it would be too late.

Jeb shrugged. “I don’t care. I don’t need her, do I? Not with all this,” he flashed a grin, gesturing to the luxurious room and the fine bed, the fire in the grate.

Harry smiled as he was supposed to do, though his heart felt heavy as lead. He wished Jeb didn’t need her, but a boy needed a mother, needed someone. The idea of Jeb going back to the grim little home his mother kept for them all alone made his stomach twist.

“You’ll come and stay with me at the vicarage, once you’ve had a good night’s sleep.”

The words were out before he could think about them, but Harry realised he wouldn’t take them back.

The boy needed someone, and Harry was by himself, rattling about in the huge vicarage that had felt increasingly tomblike without his housekeeper. It would be good to have some company, and he’d sleep better knowing Jeb was safe and warm, that he’d eaten a good meal.

“I don’t need no charity!” Jeb bristled, pride squaring his scrawny shoulders, his narrow chin going up.

“Who said anything about charity, you ungrateful tyke?” Harry shot back, cursing himself for not having considered the boy’s pride. “I need help about the place, and it gets rather lonesome spending every night all by myself.”

“What sort of help?” Jeb asked suspiciously.

Harry racked his brain. “Well, er… collecting kindling for the fires and making sure they keep burning, cleaning my boots, making sure I don’t miss appointments. That sort of thing,” he said vaguely, hoping he’d not said anything too dire that would put the lad off.

“You need a wife, is what you need,” Jeb said frankly, folding his arms.

“Balderdash. A bachelor existence suits me very well,” Harry said firmly. “I need a housekeeper, that I’ll grant you, but Lady St Clair is finding me someone who’ll start any day now and, when she does, we’ll have to break her in gently and not scare her away. No toads indoors, do you hear me?”

“I s’pose,” Jeb replied grudgingly. “Still reckon you oughta marry. That Miss Cadogan is right pretty. She looks a fun sort too, not stuck up like some ladies.”

She looked like a deal of trouble, Harry thought, but he kept it to himself.

“No wife,” he said firmly, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Now, get some rest. I’ll be back for you in the morning.”

“Thank you, Rev,” Jeb said, yawning enthusiastically.

“You’re welcome, Jeb.”

Harry closed the door quietly behind him, making his way back down the corridor. His mind was occupied with the problem that was Jeb and what to do with him when a door cracked open.

“Reverend Martin?”

Harry stopped in his tracks and turned to the door to see Miss Cadogan peering through the narrow gap. She was in her nightgown, and her blonde hair tumbled about her shoulders in a mass of unruly curls. Aware of how inappropriate it was to see her in such dishabille, Harry dropped his gaze to the floor, which didn’t help when he noticed her bare feet against the polished wood. They were astonishingly dainty when viewed in the proximity of his own large black boots.

“Miss Cadogan!” he protested as an all too familiar excitable sensation thrummed through him. He stamped on it with irritation. “This is most—”

“Inappropriate, yes, I know,” she said impatiently. “And I beg your pardon, but were you with the little boy? Is he well?”

Harry’s frown softened at her obvious concern for the child, and he dared a glance back at her, struck by the worry in her lovely eyes. “He is, thanks to you, Miss Cadogan. You saved his life.”

She grew very pink at his words, opening the door wider. “I was scared to death,” she admitted, a catch in her voice. She looked very young, and very vulnerable, standing in the open doorway and something in his heart shifted, an oddly protective feeling growing inside him, no doubt a result of having hauled her out of the water.

“And yet you saved him. At considerable risk to your own safety, too. I can never thank you enough for that,” Harry said, meaning it, and trying hard not to notice how lovely she was, not to think about how soft her skin looked, how adorable she was all in virginal white, the lace ruffles at her throat and wrists making her look ridiculously angelic.

“And you saved me, Reverend Martin.” Her voice quavered.

“It was my pleasure,” he replied gently.

Miss Cadogan gave a little laugh, her lips trembling. She clamped them together, pressing her fingers against them, obviously holding onto her composure by a thread, and Harry knew a moment’s panic.

Oh, no. Don’t cry. Don’t cry, he begged her silently.