His Bid For A Bride. Carole Mortimer
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—’
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