Page 55 of Why Do Rogues Fall in Love?

The dog’s nostrils flared.

Several more moments passed. Then his tail gave a single, tentative thump against the ground. At last, the bullmastiff stepped forward, every movement slow and cautious. He snatched the ham before retreating a pace, devouring it with such desperate speed that George’s chest tightened.

“Easy,” George murmured. “There is more.”

He produced another piece of ham and placed it upon the ground in the same manner before withdrawing once more. This time, the dog remained closer. When George finally extended his hand, he held it low and palm downward, offering his scent rather than attempting to touch him. The dog leaned forward and sniffed cautiously. Then, for the briefest moment, he pressed his great head into George’s fingers, an instinctive gesture of longing swiftly corrected when he stepped back again.

Trust, George knew, came in fragments. He reached slowly for the tether, unfastened it, and rose. Without looking back, he began walking toward the waiting carriage. Alfie followed cautiously. The dog’s gaze darted toward the carriage, his muscles tensing at the prospect of confinement. George observed the reaction, then handed the reins to his coachman and motioned him away.

“We shall walk,” he said. “Take my stallion with you.”

At first, the bullmastiff followed at a distance, limping slightly and favoring one leg. George matched his pace without comment, shortening his stride and keeping his movements calm and predictable. By the time they reached George’s townhouse, Alfie walked beside him. Once inside, George guided him not toward the principal rooms but to the scullery. A footman filled a basin with warm water and carefully tested the temperature.

George crouched before the animal.

“I shall not rush you,” he said, as though Alfie might understand the promise. “You decide.”

The bullmastiff hesitated, then stepped forward of his own accord. George worked slowly, speaking in a low, steady voice as he washed the filth from the dog’s coat, his hands firm but gentle. Alfie flinched when the water touched a tender place, then gradually stilled as George adjusted his movements to avoid causing further pain. By the time the bath was finished, the animal sagged with exhaustion, leaning his considerable weight against George’s leg.

George dried him with towel after towel, then placed a bowl of warm broth and softened meat upon the floor. He watched carefully as Alfie ate, ravenously at first, then with increasing slowness as his hunger eased. When the bowl was empty, the bullmastiff lowered himself at George’s feet, his head resting heavily upon his paws.

George released a slow breath. He fetched a blanket and laid it nearby rather than placing it over the dog, leaving the choice to him. Alfie nudged it closer with his muzzle and settled upon it with a gruff sound of satisfaction.

George sat back on his heels and studied him. “You survived,” he said quietly. “That is no small thing.”

The dog’s eyes drifted shut, his great body finally surrendering to rest. He smiled faintly at the sight. When he rose to leave, Alfie immediately struggled to his feet, as though the distance between them had already become intolerable.

George paused. “Follow me, then, if that is your wish.”

He withdrew to his bedchamber, and Alfie followed without hesitation. The dog crossed the threshold, circled once, and settled upon the carpet at the foot of the bed with a low, contented sigh before slipping swiftly back into sleep. It was still early, yet exhaustion weighed heavily upon George. He crossed to the writing desk, drew a sheet of paper from the drawer, and pulled the inkwell closer. Dipping the pen into the ink, he penned a brief note to his sister.

George knew Jane well. By now, she would be pacing her bedchamber, wondering whether she had done enough, praying the poor animal she had witnessed being mistreated was safe. He smiled, warmth spreading through him. Jane had always known she could rely upon him. He was profoundly grateful he had never given her reason to doubt that trust.

Jane,

I have rescued Alfie from that fool. He is safe. I shall bring him to meet you soon.

George.

He sanded the ink, folded the note, and rang the bell. When a footman answered a moment later, George handed him the folded letter. “See that this is delivered to Lady Jane immediately.”

“At once, my lord.”

When the servant had withdrawn, George let himself fall back onto the bed, a long sigh escaping him. He reclined against the pillows and closed his eyes, the events of the day dissolving into slow, disjointed fragments.

Cori slipped into his thoughts with her usual infuriating ease. He recalled the warmth of her body as they danced, the delicate flush upon her cheeks, and the delight shining in those remarkable brown eyes. He wondered whether she still thought of him, and found himself lingering over the little things he had come to cherish: her ready smile, the attentive tilt of her head when he spoke, and the unconscious way she nibbled her full lower lip whenever she was deep in thought.

His mouth curved at the memory, and before sleep finally claimed him, he found himself wishing he might see her again. That night, Miss Cordelia Maubry followed him into his dreams.

CHAPTER 14

Cordelia slept late, having finally succumbed to exhaustion near dawn after another restless night. She stretched languidly, the bright sunlight spilling across her bedchamber telling her it was well past noon. A small smile curved her lips as she silently thanked her mother for allowing her to sleep undisturbed. Ordinarily, the family observed a cherished tradition of breaking their fast together, but with no society engagements the previous evening, her mother had evidently made an exception.

Her smile faded as her thoughts turned to the cause of her sleeplessness. Though her resolve remained firm, she could not shake the melancholy that had settled over her. A full week had passed since she had torn up the viscount’s letter, and there had been no further flowers or notes.

Sir Charles continued to slip away whenever the opportunity presented itself, but Cordelia no longer went in search of him. She trusted that the viscount would treat her beloved cat kindly, and even when Sir Charles remained away overnight, he invariably found his way home.

The door to her bedchamber flew open without warning.