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“She sounds like an excellent older sister.”

“She really is.” Angel’s smile grew slightly wistful. “I did not think I would miss her, especially after a mere few days but—” A book slipped from her fingers and landed directly on her slippered foot. “Ow!”

Reuben slid down the ladder and took her hand as she hobbled on one foot. “Are you well?” He looked at the offending book, which was a hefty, leather-bound thing.

She bit down on her bottom lip. “I think so.” She tried to pry off her thin slipper that had likely done little to protect her foot from the force of the book. Her grip tightened on his hand as she struggled and nearly toppled over.

“Here.” He looped an arm around her waist and led her over to the leather armchair that sat by the windows. It was only after he’d set her down did he consider how inappropriate his actions had been.

And how damned perfect she’d felt under his hands. The touch of the boning of her stays and the delicate feel of her rib cage lingered on his palms. He balled up his fist and released it. This was not the time to be indulging whatever foolishness this was. She could have a broken toe for all he knew.

Kneeling in front of her, he slipped off her shoe and eyed the curve of her stockinged foot. “May I?” He glanced up at her.

Still biting down on her lip, she nodded. “Bloody book was heavy. Who writes such long books anyway?”

If their situation had not been so intimate, he might have been taken aback by her curse, but he did not have the time to dwell on it, not when he needed to concentrate carefully on drawing breaths that were weighted with…whatever this was.

He took her foot in his hand and carefully pressed along it, urging her to flex her toes and the arc of her foot. Her skin was warm in his palm. “I do not think anything is broken.”

She nodded, opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. Her eyes grew suddenly dark, and he could not bring himself to look away.

He cursed himself inwardly and released her foot. There was no denying it. He knew very well what this was. As much as he wanted to convince himself otherwise, this was desire. Hot, foolish, insanity-inducing desire.

For an entirely inappropriate woman.

Chapter Seven

Lingering outside of doorways really did not become her. But nor did spending time with the atrocious Mr. Cartwright. Angel’s first impression of that man had yet to be dispelled by his latest visit, and she did not expect that to change. The way he looked at her as though she were a mere piece of meat ready to be devoured sent a chill down her spine. He thought himself handsome and charming—it was obvious in the way he carried himself and how he anticipated her responses, as though she might fall into his arms at any second. However, she had been around many truly charming men, and he fell a long way short of them. Apparently Berkshire was sincerely lacking good men or else no one would give this man a second of their time.

Apart from Mrs. Stone.

Angel gnawed on the end of a thumbnail and peered through the gap into the drawing room. Mrs. Stone seemed to find him amusing, if the laughter emanating from the room had anything to do with it. She had half-hoped Mrs. Stone would send the man on his way, especially after Angel had muttered something about not finding him all that pleasant, but it seemed her charge would not be persuaded. The man would be invited in and entertained to the best of their ability, commanded Mrs. Stone.

Still chewing on her nail, she eyed Mr. Cartwright through the gap. He sat opposite Mrs. Stone so that Angel could view his side profile. The words between them were muted, but she heardthe occasional sentence. Of course, she could go and sit with them. After all, she was a lady’s companion, not a servant. There was no reason to be lingering in doorways.

The thought of his gaze crawling over her made her shudder, though.

Angel stiffened as she latched onto the conversation.

“Investment.”

She drew in a breath. She just knew it. Mr. Cartwright was up to no good. He intended to take money from Mrs. Stone, she was certain of it.

Controlling her breaths, she tried to listen to the rest of the conversation. Though muffled, what she heard confirmed her instinct. Mr. Cartwright wished Mrs. Stone to invest in something with him. Angel snorted to herself. No doubt this investment would come to nothing. She had seen Theo throw out men just like this, men who offered the world for a small sum and who would never be seen again. They gathered up as many investors as they could and then fled.

Well, she would not stand for this. Mrs. Stone had such a kind heart and was far too trusting. No doubt she would give the man the money if she got the chance.

Angel entered the drawing room and a hint of frustration flitted across Mr. Cartwright’s face before his expression shuttered and that faux-charming smile was pasted in place. She responded with one of her own.

She scanned the room. Bright sunlight flooded the room, spilling onto luxurious but aged furnishings. None of them gave her any idea as to how she would get rid of the man, though.

“Ah, I was wondering where you were, Angel.” Mrs. Stone gave a broad smile. “Mr. Cartwright has come to visit. He’s so generous with his time.”

“Yes, I see,” Angel said tightly.

“Well, it is no hardship visiting with you, Mrs. Stone.” His tone made Angel want to retch. London was not without its beastly men, but the way his gaze traced hungrily over everything in the room, including her, put a bitter taste in her mouth.

Angel’s gaze fell on the wooden coffee table, set with a tray, pot of tea, and several cups. The one clasped in Mr. Cartwright’s hand was empty. She forced her expression to remain neutral.