The Billionaire's Runaway Nurse

Dr. Osbourne examined both Mrs. Frawley and the girl

Adopting the same regal bearing, Splendor began to follow him, but stopped before the reverend. “I am here to give him joy,” she informed the man. “Pleasure beyond anything he has ever known.” With that, she continued toward the door and smiled brightly when Delicious—in the form of the black and white spotted hog—plodded up the steps beside her.

Reverend Shrewsbury stayed just long enough to watch the disheveled duke of Evermore, the nearly naked girl, and the snorting hog enter the mansion before scurrying toward his carriage. As he drove away, he deliberated intently on the scene he’d just witnessed and soon came to the delightful conclusion that keeping such a tale to himself would be a grave offense in the eyes of the Almighty. After all, withholding the truth was essentially the same as lying.

And as a man of God he was forbidden to indulge in the grave sin of deceit.

Absolutely forbidden.

Ulmstead had never seen the duke with as much as a hair out of place, but he uttered not a word about His Grace’s soiled and disordered appearance. Nor did he comment on the girl who accompanied Lord Amberville into the manor, a girl whose bare legs were the exact shade of the white marble flooring in the entryway.

But the Evermore butler took extreme and immediate exception to the oinking hog that trailed behind the lass. The crude barnyard animal would surely upset Pharaoh’s delicate sensibilities, which was something every Evermore servant struggled to prevent.

Leaving the door open, he bent and tried to swat the hairy creature outside. “Go on with you now, you waddling ton of sausage! Out I say!”

The man’s assault on her pet so horrified Splendor, that with a quick handful of stars she caused Faolanto vanish.

Jourdian turned around in time to see his butler swatting at thin air. The sight bewildered him, for Ulmstead was a man who would prefer being pitched into boiling oil than to allow his utterly proper demeanor to slip. “Ulmstead, might I ask what you are doing?”

Ulmstead dropped his arms to his sides and stared at the spot on the floor where the hog had stood. Nothing existed there now but a spot of mud.

And one tiny twinkle of light, which vanished as soon as he saw it.

The butler leaned against the wall for support and raised his hand to his shiny bald head. “Sausage,” he whispered. “One second here, one second gone. Where—where did it go?”

“Sausage?” Jourdian asked.

“’Twould seem that your friend, Ulmstead, is under a bit of strain, My Grace,” Splendor tried to explain, feeling bad that her magic had caused the poor man such distress. To make amends, she decided to do something kind for him.

Perhaps she would give him some hair. That would be a kind gesture. As soon as she was settled, she would gift the bald man with hair so thick that he would dance with joy over his dream come true.

Of course, she would first have to find someone deserving of Ulmstead’s baldness, for she couldn’t take away a human affliction without knowing where to transfer it.

Smiling, she reached out and patted Ulmstead’s shoulder.

Her touch sent a stream of warmth through the butler’s bony frame. He turned and looked into lavender eyes so incredibly beautiful that he forgot all about the disappearance of the hog. “Please forgive my lack of solicitude, miss,” he said, returning her shining smile. “May I take your coat?”

“No!” Jourdian thundered. “She’s wearing naught but the coat!”

“Oh!” The butler jerked his arms back to his sides. “Oh, yes! Oh, forgive me, miss! Oh, my!”

All the shouting brought the housekeeper, Mrs. Frawley, scurrying into the entryway. The rotund woman took one look at the deeply flustered butler, the unkempt duke, and the barely clad girl, and gasped so deeply that a button popped off the front of her stiffly starched gown.

The button skimmed across the marble floor and stopped in front of Splendor’s foot. Without looking down, she opened her hand, wished the button into her palm, and then closed her fingers around it.

“Mrs. Frawley,” Jourdian said to the astonished housekeeper, “you will calm yourself this instant and escort this young woman to the yellow chambers. Find clothing for her and see to it that she’s fed. And as for you, Ulmstead, summon Dr. Osbourne.” With that, he turned and started for the long and winding staircase.

Splendor watched him climb the steps. “I do not wish to go to the yellow chambers, My Grace. I prefer to go with you.”

Jourdian stopped halfway up the staircase. Had he heard her correctly? “What—did—you—say?” he asked, emphasizing each of his words.

Staring up at him, Splendor knew in her heart that his terrible scowl could turn a hot sunbeam into an icicle. She couldn’t fathom what she’d done to earn such a frown, and it was only with the greatest of effort that she managed not to escape into her misty sanctuary. “I said I prefer to go with you.”

There it was again, Jourdian mused. Her air of authority. He’d noticed it in the meadow, and he was seeing it again now.

He didn’t like it in the least. “While you remain in my house you will concern yourself with my preferences, not your own. And I prefer that you cooperate with my servants, who follow my instructions in a manner that you would do well to imitate.”

Before Splendor could argue further, he vanished up the stairs. It seemed to her that he disappeared faster than Faolanhad.

Delicious. Now where had she put that animal? Sweet everlasting, she’d been so frantic over protecting him from Ulmstead’s swatting hands that she couldn’t remember where she’d sent him!

“There now, my dear,” Mrs. Frawley clucked upon seeing the lass’s distressed expression. She moved toward the girl, her shock having given way to pity over the poor lass’s lack of clothing and gaunt appearance. Obviously the copper-haired waif had met with some unfortunate occurrence, and the fact that the duke had brought her into his home indicated that his lordship felt an obligation to assist her.

Lord Amberville concerning himself with the needs of a female! Imagine that!

“Delicious,” Splendor murmured when the plump woman arrived at her side.

“Delicious? Yes, yes, you’ll have a Faolanmeal in just a bit. Mrs. Kearney is the Evermore cook, and a wonderful cook she is, too.”

Splendor saw that the woman’s warm brown eyes sparkled with kindness, and felt sure that the lady would help her. “Take me to My Grace at once. ’Tis supremely important that I speak to him.”

Mrs. Frawley clasped her hands together in front of her ample bosom. The girl was certainly stubborn, she thought. After having received express orders from Lord Amberville to follow his instructions, she remained adamant over following her own wishes.

Oh, but wasn’t this a delightful bit of excitement!

“You might see his lordship later, my dear.”

“His lordship?”

“His Grace, the duke.”

Splendor couldn’t understand. “His Grace? But I thought he was My Grace. Is he Our Grace?”

“When speaking to him, he’s Your Grace. When speaking of him, he’s… Oh, we’ll talk about that later. I am Mrs. Edna Frawley. Come with me, and we’ll have you clothed, tucked into bed, and fed that Faolanmeal straightaway. Goodness me, poppet, you’re nothing but skin and bones! Follow me, there’s a pretty girl, now.” Holding her hand over the gaping hole on the front of her gown, she started for the staircase.

Splendor followed, deciding the plump woman’s thoughtfulness deserved to be repaid. She looked down at the button she still held in her palm.

And moments later, when Mrs. Frawley reached the upper landing of the staircase and noticed the neatly replaced button on the bodice of her dress, she fainted dead away.