Rogue in Red Velvet (3 page)

“Somewhat.” She shot him a brief glance, not wishing to prolong the moment and receive another of his penetrating gazes. “I shouldn’t say that, should I? My aunt has it that men don’t like women with too many opinions.”

He laughed. “I’ve just managed to escape a group of women who think that.”

Before he laughed again, she put her foot on the bottom rung of the ladder. “If I could pass you the books I want, would that work? I don’t think it would do the other way about.”

“No indeed. If I dropped them they might squash you.”

Now it was her turn to laugh. “I’m not that fragile.”

She levered out the first book with a great deal of care and even more dust. Without looking down, she called out, “I fear I’ll make an enemy of your valet. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize these had been here quite so long.”

He coughed. “It’s of no matter. I’m here and waiting.”

With the book balanced on the top of the ladder, she glanced down. He’d stood where he couldn’t see up her skirts. That alone warmed her to him, since another man might have taken advantage, although she had foregone her hoop today in favor of a quilted petticoat, so the task wouldn’t have been so easy. Neither would climbing ladders. “Thank you sir.”

Comprehension lit his eyes. “Think nothing of it. I don’t steal.”

It came as a shock to realize he’d known what she meant. Peeking would have been just that. She hadn’t given him any sign that she wanted him to, or shown any sign of not caring. So yes, it would have been stealing something from her. Her feelings for him shifted a tiny bit and she added respect for liking. Desire she must set aside. Not for her.

She concentrated on getting the book down the ladder. He took it from her when she’d gone down three rungs and he lifted it without seeming effort. It had taken a lot of work to get the book down even those three rungs. Without him, the task would have exhausted her.

There were four tomes in all. Each had collected its load of dust and she could do very little when she tipped the book and another tranche of the heavy, feathery stuff slid off the top.

A bout of coughing erupted from below. He had suffered worse than she. An old cobweb dangled from his wig at the back and grime streaked his face. Now he looked human, normal. “There,” he said. “Now we’re equal.”

Hardly, but she’d let that pass. “The others aren’t as bad. That one was the worst.”

He lifted his strong, capable hands and she let go of the second tome. Without a tremor, he hefted the sizable, heavy volume and laid it gently on the table.

The next book proved easier to shift. It slid off the stack without dislodging more than a cloud of dust and a dead spider, probably the previous inhabitant of the web now decorating Alex’s wig. Again he took it and laid it aside as if it weighed no more than a modern novel.

The fourth book held an unexpected treasure; another thick wedge of dust that had formed on the exposed corner of the tome. It landed on him, but apart from coughing until his eyes watered, he made no protest. “Please don’t concern yourself, ma’am,” he said, smiling. “I find this experience much more to my taste than making polite conversation with the other guests.”

Shamefacedly, because she should really not keep the guest of honor here for herself, she headed for the door. She’d left a table on wheels there with a duster that was completely inadequate for the task. She passed the duster over the surfaces of the tomes, but they weren’t much better after she’d used it.

“I think,” he said gravely, “that we might use the tablecloth.”

“Oh you wonderful man!” she cried in delight.

From somewhere he’d produced a slightly grimy, plain linen cloth. “How do you know it’s a tablecloth?” she asked.

“It was in a small drawer at the end of the table.”

She couldn’t imagine why anyone would bother covering this cheap deal table but she was glad of it. She shook out the cloth and applied it to the books, managing to complete the task without raising more than one cloud of dust. When the books were reasonably clean, she wanted to peek inside them but her hands were filthy. She couldn’t risk it.

“If we take the books to the library, we can send a maid to finish the job and reconvene after we’ve washed and changed.” His cheeks were begrimed, his fashionable wig covered in a fine mist of grey and cobwebs hung from one sleeve.

“Oh Alex, you shouldn’t have helped me. Your beautiful clothes, I’m so sorry. I dressed in my oldest—”

He caught her hands and again a thrill of recognition went through her, a sensation she refused to give way to.

“You are a delightful sight, Connie.”

Her name had never sounded so good on anyone else’s lips.
Stupid
, she berated herself.

“Shall I tell you why? Because what I see is good, honest enthusiasm. No dissembling, no concern about how you look, how you might feel. It’s marvelous, especially after the artifice of London.” A shadow crossed his eyes.

“I’m unfamiliar with artifice. I can keep quiet, be tactful and polite but I never had much occasion to use it.”

“Did you not use it when your husband courted you?” His dimple returned, hinting at a smile.

She swallowed, pushing her memories back where they belonged. That was gone and done now. John was dead and she was here. “No. We’d known each other most of our lives. However, it turned out that I didn’t know him as well as I’d thought.” She snapped off her words and hastily passed on to a subject he couldn’t dispute, cutting off any possible questions about her last remark. She’d nearly betrayed something so intimate she’d never told anyone else. “He died from a fall from his horse. It was dark and he shouldn’t have been riding so fast. ”

“I see. When did that happen?” He didn’t say he was sorry, as convention required of him, but gave her a considered look.

Somehow that made it better, because John’s death hadn’t come as a tragedy to her. “Two years ago.”

“So you’re out of mourning and looking for love?”

“Out of mourning.” She smiled and pulled away, turning back to the books. “And to be truthful, the state of widowhood is far preferable to—to being single.” She’d nearly committed the unpardonable offence of admitting how difficult she’d found her marriage at the end. Despite Lord Ripley—Alex’s flattering comments about honesty, she couldn’t be that honest with him. With anyone, for that matter. “My arrangement with Jasper suits us both and my godparents, who have been extremely generous to me, wish it to happen. We will sign the settlement this visit and marry very soon.”

“It sounds eminently practical.” Turning away, he lifted the first book. “We should get this done and then we can make ourselves respectable once more.” He half turned with a smile. “Unless you think that cobwebs should come into fashion? It would be amusing to try.”

She laughed, the recent tension broken. “If I attempted anything of the kind, people would only make fun and say something about my eccentricity.”

“I could do it.” He sighed. “My cousin Julius and I provoke a few reactions from time to time. Though I doubt I could describe him as completely respectable, either.”

She’d read about his cousin, the haughty and influential Earl of Winterton. She paused for a moment, remembering the eminence of this person helping her stack old books. He knew the greatest in the land, called a duke Grandfather, and here he was with her, doing this.

He put the books on the trolley, effectively preventing her from doing any of the heavy lifting by blocking her access with his body. So she gave up her attempts to snag a copy and instead stood ready to maneuver the vehicle out of the room. He opened the door for her and she pushed it out.

Steering proved harder when the trolley was burdened with the four heavy books and several smaller ones and she exerted considerable pressure to keep the wobbly wheels on course. Until, at the end of the first corridor, he stood in front of it. She was concentrating so hard on keeping it steady that she barely avoided crashing into him.

Determination in his eyes, he took the end of the table and shook his head. He wouldn’t allow her to go any further. “I’ll push. You lead the way.”

With an exasperated sigh, she straightened, ignoring her aching back. “Very well.”

They’d just reached the passage that led from the minor rooms where they’d come from to the larger, more stately apartments, when Miss Stobart appeared from nowhere and made them stop by the simple expedient of stepping in front of them.

“Dammit!” Connie exclaimed, before she could control her unruly tongue.

The woman turned a freezing eye onto her. “You may go.”

Connie put her hands on her hips. “I may?”

The woman ignored her as if she didn’t exist and addressed Alex. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”

Considering the frown on Alex’s face, that was a most unwise question.

“As you can see, Miss Stobart, Mrs. Rattigan and I have endured a dust storm. We cannot engage in idle chit-chat at this stage.”

He returned to his task.

The lady shot Connie a startled glance of recognition. Connie gave her a regal nod.

The exquisitely formed Miss Stobart emphasized her figure with tight lacing and a white flower-bedecked gown, matching shoes and pretty lace at elbows and neck. She made even more of her assets by the way she thrust her bosom forward. Or rather, up. The contrast with Connie’s practical clothes and disheveled appearance couldn’t have been more obvious.

“I have been walking in the gardens and I’m
quite
exhausted.” She fanned herself vigorously. “Could you not escort me to my room, my
dear
Lord Ripley?” Miss Stobart was a handsome woman but someone should tell her that some men preferred not to be pursued quite so vigorously.

Tired of being ignored, Connie took hold of the table and nudged his lordship aside. “I can see you have other obligations. Thank you very much for your help, my lord, but I can manage from here.”

Alex stood foursquare, as solid as a brick wall. He wouldn’t budge. “I wouldn’t dream of it, dear ma’am.” He nodded to the lady in white. “Good day, Miss Stobart. No doubt I’ll see you at dinner.”

When he eased the trolley forward, she moved aside. “Of course.”

Luckily, the library was empty. As Alex wheeled the trolley to the back of the spacious room, Connie checked all the window embrasures, just in case, because she suspected his lordship was in a temper and could well become indiscreet.

His cheekbones were tinged with red and his eyes spat fire. But she refused to become involved in a situation she knew little about. She should really make her excuses and leave. “I really am grateful for your help.”

“Yes.” He puffed out a deep breath and closed his eyes, before opening them again and meeting her gaze. He leaned against one of the wing armchairs then drew away and brushed his sleeves. “I apologize for Miss Stobart’s behavior. She had no right to make the assumptions she did.”

Connie laughed and ruefully regarded her grime-bedecked gown. She wasn’t even wearing lace, just linen sleeve protectors. No wonder Miss Stobart thought she was a maid. “It’s hardly surprising. I’m not exactly dressed like a guest and I was trying desperately to avoid her attention.”

“She shouldn’t make that kind of instant judgment.” Alex frowned. “She behaved poorly.”

“Perhaps she’s under some strain. Anyone can behave badly if they feel stressed.”

He raised a brow. “Miss Stobart was reared in the heart of society. She should control herself better. In any case, she should not be here.” He sighed and pushed his fingers into his hair, dislodging his wig. It fell to the floor with a
flump
.

What would his short, dark hair and well-shaped head feel like under her palm, if she curved her hand around it? She pushed her mind away from the unruly thought. She’d never know.

With an unnervingly sincere gaze, he took the three steps that separated them. “Allow me to explain. I won’t ask you to do anything that compromises you.”

“Like being in my godfather’s library alone with you and with the door closed?”

He gave a startled laugh and looked around as if noticing they were alone for the first time. “By God, yes. Should I open the door to assuage your sense of propriety?”

Connie couldn’t help it—she smiled. It could have infuriated him, a man boxed into a corner but instead he joined her and that was, perhaps, even more dangerous. Because he had the most attractive smile she’d ever seen. Sensuous with a touch of wicked humor and totally irresistible.

“I’m older, on the verge of thirty. Safe.” She smiled ruefully. “And sometimes lonely.” She swallowed, fighting back self-pity.

“But you’re not desperate.” He took her hand, his touch balm to her loneliness. “I can tell. There’s a scent, an air, or something.”

Rich, handsome, high-born, he was probably pursued as hard as any partridge in August. The foolish image forced a laugh out of her. “I was reared to think of the men as the chasers, the women as prey but it’s the other way about with you.”

“It is truly charming to meet someone so honest,” he said. “And I don’t mean that in any derogatory way. You should come to London. You’d be a sensation.”

She wouldn’t let him turn her head. That was foolish talk. “Lady Downholland spoke of holding a ball to celebrate my marriage to Jasper.” She was looking forward to expanding her experience, living a little.