Page 64 of Almost A Scoundrel

“But not young enough to fall into the first category.”

“Fine,” those sharp eyes delved into hers, “then I propose you add another category.”

“Call me intrigued, Deerhurst.”

He smirked. “The man that gets married when he meets therightwoman.”

Phaedra arched a brow. “Then you don’t mind being leg shackled as long as it’s with the right woman?”

“Perhaps.”

“Well, you must let me know when you find her. I should love to meet this paragon of a woman who catches your heart,” Phaedra teased.

His gaze never left hers as he said, “You shall be the first to know, then.”

“How accommodating of you, Deerhurst.” She paused, testing the temperature of her coffee on another sip. Much more tolerable than before. “Thank you for tonight.”

“Don’t thank me.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “It was an utter disaster.”

“Every part?” Phaedra asked. Surely not every single part. Yes, the night could have gone better, yet despite what happened, it still ended quite nicely, she thought.

A short pause, then, “Not every part, no.”

Phaedra grinned. Perhaps it was the effects of the wine, but Deerhurst had taken on a new degree of handsomeness. He had moved beyond the title of protector or knight.

He was a hero.

The kind that makes a woman want to toss her bonnet into the wind and leap into the unknown. A feeling of giddiness spread through Phaedra. How had she lived next door to the earl all these years without paying attention to his existence? In any event, she was making up for that now. He seemed to have quite completely taken over her mind.

She took another sip of coffee, finding the temperature had lowered to where she could finish the cup. She pulled a face. Truly ghastly stuff. She preferred the subtle, sweet taste of tea.

“All done.”

Deerhurst nodded and took the cup from her hand, placing it on the floor of the carriage. He then reached for her slippers and slid them carefully onto her feet. His gaze raked over her cloak. He nodded once more in satisfaction and reached for the door. “Let’s go.”

Phaedra waited for him to inspect the area before shifting to follow him out. He did not offer his hand as expected. Instead, he leaned into the carriage and scooped her up into his arms.

“What are you doing?” she said with a gasp.

“I’m not taking the chance of you stumbling about the street like a foxed wench.”

She snorted, half amused, half offended. “Admit it, Deerhurst. You just want to hold me.”

He snorted back. “Your wild musings never fail to entertain me, love.”

“Likewise, Deerhurst.”

He hurried her across the street, his hold steady—safe—slowing as they reached the big, arching windows of their purple drawing room.

Phaedra shot a sideways glance at Deerhurst. “This shall be the first time you pass on the street without witnessing anything in our drawing room.” To prove her point, she craned her neck to peer through the windows. The drapes had been drawn shut. Not the slightest crack—

Phaedra’s eyes widened, and she placed a hand over her mouth as she gasped.

“What?” Deerhurst instantly went on alert. “What is it? Are you unwell?”

“Deerhurst...” Phaedra, still in a state of shock, couldn’t quite explain what she caught a glimpse of because therewasa crack in the drapes. Very slight, but there.

“What is it? Did something scare you?”