Anne's Perfect Husband

“Foolish,” Ian said, surprised to find how much effort was required to form that one-word answer.

“As you bloody well should. Whatever made you think you could go tearing off across the country—”

Ian raised his hand, its palm toward the earl, putting an end to that pointless castigation. After a moment, he let it fall to the counterpane, but his eyes held on Dare’s, which, below the outrage, were filled with concern.

“No lectures, I beg you,” Ian said.

“I’m to let you kill yourself at your leisure, I suppose.”

“Hardy a fitting argument coming from you.”

“The risks I took were always for a good cause,” Dare said. “This, however…” The earl shook his head, his expression rich with disgust.

“I trust you will at least admit I had no reason to expect a broken axle or an attack by highwaymen,” Ian said.

“It’s your sanity in undertaking the journey I question. As well as your sanity in undertaking this so-called guardianship.”

“I see Williams has been talking.”

“Everyone from the groom up has been talking, mostly about your gallant and heroic rescue of your new ward.”

The final word was full of sarcasm, and given what he had felt that night, Ian wasn’t sure it was misplaced. He ignored Dare’s tone, however, choosing to reply only to the rest of his brother’s statement.

“I fell out of the coach on top of the bastard. Hardly a gallant rescue.”

“Your admirers disagree. As I’m sure will your dear charge.”

“My dear charge, as you call her, knocked her attacker out with a well-aimed blow to the head. If anyone deserves accolades for that fiasco, it is she.”

“A well-aimed blow to the head? How charming,” the earl said sarcastically.

“She is charming. Have you met her?” Ian asked.

“Darlington’s brat.” Dare fairly spat the words. “For that coward to have foisted his daughter on you is beyond enough. He must be laughing his head off in Hell. What I can’t understand is why in the world you accepted the responsibility?”

“Those were the terms of his will. What would you have done?”

“I should have paid her fees for the next thirty years and left her in that school where Darlington had her safely hidden away.”

“She’s nineteen, Val. Nearly twenty. And she’s been in that school almost her entire life.”

“And what is that to you?”

“Nothing, I suppose,” Ian said, almost too tired to deal with his brother’s caustic tongue, even though he understood Dare had only his best interests at heart.

“You are too noble for your own good,” the earl said.

“Noble?” Ian repeated, surprised into laughter, which resulted in a prolonged fit of coughing.

After a moment, Dare got up from his chair and poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the table beside the bed. Then he sat down on the edge of the mattress and lifted his brother’s shoulders to place the rim of the tumbler against his lips. Ian drank the water gratefully and finally the coughing subsided, leaving only a burning ache in his chest to remind him of the danger of responding to his brother’s compliments in the manner he usually employed.

“You could have told the solicitor no,” Dare said, lowering him to rest again against the pillows.

“I thought she was a child. I was imagining a lonely little girl, forced to spend Christmas in a deserted boarding school.”

“And when you saw her?”

A more difficult question, Ian admitted. With a more complicated answer—especially after the events of that journey. He might admit the answer to his own conscience, but he would certainly not offer it for his brother’s consideration.

“Her headmistress suggested that it’s my responsibility to find her a suitable husband,” he said instead.

Dare’s lips pursed, and then he stood, putting the glass back on the table before he looked down on his brother again. “And how do you intend to go about that? Anyone who served with you knows what Darlington did. None of your friends will even be civil to the girl.”

“Including you?” Ian asked. “Rather Old Testament, Val.”

“Good God, you don’t anticipate that I should have to meet her, do you?”

“Like it or not, she is my ward,” Ian said simply. “You are my brother, and the head of this family. I don’t see how you should avoid meeting her.”

“I shall avoid it by the simple expedient of refusing to meet the daughter of the coward who almost cost my brother his life.”

“She doesn’t know any of that,” Ian said.

“And you don’t intend to tell her,” Dare guessed.

“Would you?”

The silence stretched a moment, and finally, Dare turned away from the bed and seated himself again in the chair. “Then what do you intend to do?” he asked. Both the sarcasm and the anger had been wiped from his voice.

“I intend to find her a suitable husband.”

“Does she have any assets that make her marriageable?”

Ian thought about the girl he had brought back from the north, picturing her in his mind’s eye. And as he did so, he attempted to divorce his unexpected and highly improper physical response from his judgment.

There was no doubt she was lovely and unspoiled. Unsophisticated as well, he acknowledged. And courageous beyond any woman he had ever known, with the possible exception of Dare’s Elizabeth. Having avoided London society for the last few years, Ian wasn’t sure, however, if any of those qualities, other than the first, would be considered an advantage there.

“Ian?” Dare prompted.

“Money, do you mean? Very little, I would imagine. The solicitor is still investigating the estate, but whatever Darlington had he usually gambled away.”

“Looks?”

“She’s…pleasant enough, I suppose,” Ian said carefully, remembering that pale face in the moonlight, framed by strands of bedraggled hair. He had thought her incredibly beautiful at that moment, but then she had just saved his life, so he supposed he could not be considered entirely unbiased. “I’m not sure what type of beauty is currently in vogue.”

“And what type does she possess?” Dare asked, his voice for the first time holding the familiar amusement with which he normally confronted the vagaries of life.

“She’s tall. And rather slender. Her hair is…auburn.” At the last second, Ian had avoided his original choice of words. As out of touch with the beau monde as he might be, even he knew that redheads had not managed to take the town by storm in his absence.