Nicholas looked at the oak door, minutely examining the molding, the brass fittings, and the handle she’d turned. His fingers touched it as if she might have left some warm trace behind, and then his smile appeared, taunting him with his own foolishness.
The only thing she’d left behind was the faint aroma of wildflowers that seemed to waft from her person. A delicate scent that clung to her clothing and to the woman herself. A scent that haunted him in his dreams.
Perhaps he should go visit Patience. Allow her to put Lin out of his mind. It would take very little encouragement to have the woman in his arms. As angry as she might be, she would no doubt set aside her pique to get her greedy fingers on his assets.
He stalked to the window, brushing aside the lacy curtain to cast his gaze into the side yard. Amanda played on the grass, something held in her hands, and he frowned, leaning closer to the pane to better see what wiggled in her grasp.
A kitten. A tiny, black kitten, all four legs extended, claws at the ready, and Amanda looked around with a frantic cast on her features, as if she sought advice on how to release the scamp without injury to herself.
He lifted the window, leaning out to call her name. “Amanda, look here.”
She responded, half turning to face him. “I think he’s going to stick me with his fingernails,” she said, and then her teeth bit into her bottom lip as she approached the window.
Nicholas swallowed a laugh, and settled for a smile. “Those are claws, sweetheart,” he told her. “Bring him to me and I’ll help you get out of this pickle.”
Amanda walked carefully toward the window, the kitten still squirming as she reached her arms toward the man who seemed to be her only chance of rescue. Nicholas took the wiggling creature and, with quicksilver response, the tiny, needle-sharp claws set themselves into his hands.
“Well, da—” He stifled the curse and brought the kitten to his chest, allowing it to turn and settle its frightened self against his suit coat. The claws left speckles of blood behind and he sighed. Katie would have a fit, muttering to beat the band, he’d warrant, the whole time she worked at removing the blood from the wool fabric.
“Come on in, Amanda,” he told the child, “and we’ll find a bowl of milk for the kitty. Meet me in the kitchen.”
Amanda nodded and smiled, inspecting her own fingers for damage, then ran around the corner of the house toward the back door.
She was in the kitchen when he arrived. He pushed the door open before him. “Katie,” he called, looking down at the tiny, black creature who’d laid claim to his chest. “Do we have a bowl of milk for this scamp?”
Looking up from rolling out a pie crust, his housekeeper frowned. “What are you doing with a cat? I thought you didn’t like animals around the place.”
“It’s not a cat,” Amanda said quickly, hovering at his side. “It’s only a kitten. Just a baby, Katie.”
Katie looked down at the little girl, perhaps catching sight of the eagerness of her gaze as she reached out one small finger to touch the tiny, black head. “So it is,” she agreed. “And kittens need milk, don’t they, darlin’?” She wiped her hands on the enormous apron that covered her from breast to knees and sought out an odd bowl from the pantry. The icebox held a bottle of milk, and Katie poured the bowl half-full, setting it near the door.
“I think he’s from a litter born almost two months ago to the folks next door. They’ve been looking for homes for the lot of them,” she murmured as Nicholas deposited the animal beside the offering. “And just look at your hands, will you,” she said sternly. “You’ve allowed that creature to claw you to bits.”
“Not quite,” he said, disputing her words. “Just a little jab, here and there.”
“I’ll wash them out for you and put stuff on them,” Amanda offered. “Linnie has a box of salve and bottles of medicine in her room. I can fix you right up,” she said importantly, obviously quoting her nursemaid as she grasped his hand to lead him from the kitchen.
“Go on along with you,” Katie said, turning to the sink to wash her hands before she began work anew on the pie crust. “I’ll leave you in good hands, sir. Just do as the little miss tells you and you’ll be fine.” Her eyes crinkled as Amanda nodded agreeably.
“I’ll let you watch the kitty until I get back,” she told Katie.
And then he was led through the hallway to the foyer and up the stairs to the first door on the right. Lin’s room. Amanda’s small fist rapped smartly and, from within, he heard the woman’s reply.
“Amanda, is that you? Come in, dear.”
Before he could announce his presence, Amanda had turned the knob, and he was presented before Lin’s astonished eyes, his hands lifted for inspection as Amanda explained the happenings below stairs.
Amusement ran rife in her indulgent smile as special note was made of each small bit of damage. “I’d say this requires the use of iodine,” Lin mused, stepping to the doorway of her dressing room to retrieve a covered, flowered box from the shelf therein.
“Iodine burns.” His voice was firm as he issued the statement, attempting to pull his injuries from view.
“Amanda will blow while I apply, won’t you, sweetie?”
The child nodded solemnly. “We need to wash his hands first, Linnie. You always tell me that.”
“I didn’t think,” Linnie answered, nodding her head. “You’re absolutely right.” She turned back to smile sweetly at the patient. “Why don’t you sit on the chair over by the window?” And then she watched as Amanda used a bit of soap on a washcloth to scrub at the tiny wounds where the blood had already formed small scabs. Industriously, the girl worked at her task, and over her head, he met brown eyes that scanned him anxiously, perhaps apologetically, he thought.
“I’m not badly hurt,” he assured her with a grin.
“I know. I was just thinking that I was not kind, or even polite, now that I’ve spent a few moments considering it. Earlier, I mean.”
“You were more mannerly than I,” he admitted, wincing as Amanda’s scrubbing touched a particularly sore spot.
“I think that’s enough soap and water, Amanda.”
Lin, for he could no longer think of her as Carlinda once he’d spoken the affectionate shortening of her name, halted the child’s ministrations and reached for the box of medicinals. A bottle with skull and crossbones on the label appeared from the depths of the pretty little box, and he eyed it with trepidation.
“I really don’t think—” he began and was silenced by a sharp look.
“You don’t want to get infection,” she reminded him, daubing the iodine on his wounds. Amanda blew softly as he cringed, making a face, the better to impress her with his pain.
“It’ll be fine, Uncle Nicholas,” she said primly between puffs of air from her pursed lips. “You must be brave.”
He nodded, suppressing a smile as he looked down at the two bent heads, their owners tending to his injuries. “Uncle Nicholas?” he repeated softly, and was given the benefit of Amanda’s immediate attention.
“You’re my very own uncle. Linnie said so, and Katie told me I could call you Uncle Nicholas if I wanted to.” She took a deep breath, her statement having been a mouthful, and then looked up at him anxiously. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Nicholas cleared his throat, a thickening there causing him a problem as he spoke. “No, I don’t mind at all, sweetheart. I kind of like it. No one’s ever called me that before now.” These two females had come