Page 11 of Ruby in the Rough (Heiress #4)

Chapter

Eleven

C ordelia strolled along Piccadilly, her reticule lightened by a morning of shopping with Rosalind, who had since returned home and left her in the company of her maid. The weather was fine, the sun growing low in the sky, but bright enough to tell her she could be out an hour or so yet.

Cordelia paused to admire the display of the latest books in Hatchard’s front window. She leaned in to read the titles, wondering if any would interest her and that is when she heard it. A sound that sent annoyance and despair to crawl over her skin in equal measure.

“Lady Cordelia!”

The voice rang out from across the street, unmistakably male and familiar. Her heart stopped and as she turned slowly about, sure enough, there was Lord Basing—waving at her with entirely too much enthusiasm from across the street, as if they were old friends instead of recent adversaries.

Panic rose in her chest. Not now. Not here. Not when she no longer had her sister to save her from his lordship.

Without a second thought, she fled into Hatchard’s and pretended as if she had not heard him. “Come,” she said quickly to her maid, as they slipped into the bookshop. “You remain here, if his lordship does indeed follow me, mayhap he’ll grow confused and give up if he does not see me with you.”

“Of course, my lady.”

Cool, quiet air greeted her, along with the faint scent of leather bindings and pressed paper.

She nodded politely to the older gentleman behind the counter, who barely looked up from the books he was inspecting, and moved deeper into the shop.

Her slippers barely made a sound as she wove through the maze of shelves, heading instinctively toward the back, away from the front windows, hoping to get lost in the magnificent store.

She glanced over her shoulder, ensuring they were still alone. Had Lord Basing seen her enter? Would he follow?

Unwilling to linger in any one location for too long, she found herself standing in a section devoted to geography—a subject she did not particularly favor—and stared blankly at a shelf of atlases and maps.

“Lady Cordelia.”

She spun around, heart in her throat.

But it was not Lord Basing.

It was the Duke of Walpole.

“Your Grace,” she breathed, dipping into a quick curtsy, more from shock than formality. “I—I did not see you there.”

“Nor I, you,” he said smoothly. But his gaze lingered, not on her face, but scandalously on her mouth.

Her lips tingled at the memory of their kiss.

A kiss she’d instigated to irritate him since he was so easily able to get under her skin.

That kiss. That brief, infuriating, utterly confusing kiss in the carriage.

She had thought of little else since. Not that she'd had the opportunity to revisit what they had done, he had all but disappeared since Greenwich, avoiding her at every turn.

She swallowed, glancing around the shop and noting no one nearby, she took a quiet breath and said, “I… I wished to apologize again. For Greenwich. Jane and I both. We were foolish and should not have put our reputations at risk. I do hope we may be civil going forward.”

His gaze sharpened, but he did not speak.

Her heart pounded, breaking the silence, in her mind at least. There was something about Walpole—something intense and controlled and maddening—that made her feel entirely unmoored.

Her pulse raced, her skin prickled beneath her gloves, and she grew painfully aware of every inch of herself.

Why? Why was it the duke who stirred her so?

He was far from charming. He was aloof, often curt, and maddeningly proper. He gave no flattery, no easy smiles. He could be downright rude. And yet… She could not stop thinking of him.

She glanced again toward the door, a flicker of unease returning.

“Forgive me, I was shopping with Rosalind, but I was forced to stop here before returning home. Unfortunately, Lord Basing saw me in the street and tried to catch my attention. I…I did not want to see his lordship.” She glanced away, shame filling her to admit she had run away from a man like a woman who feared her own shadow.

The duke’s expression turned grim. “I take it he followed you?”

“I do not believe so,” she said quickly. “At least, I have not seen him in here yet. I was hoping to outsmart him.”

Walpole scanned the bookstore with a sharp, practiced eye, then frowned. “He’s a damned menace. He doesn’t understand the word no, nor the etiquette of a gentleman.”

“No, he does not,” she agreed, unable to understand why Basing refused to understand a woman’s right.

He stepped closer. “You will tell me if he contacts you again. If he attempts to corner you, dance with you, speak to you. Will you not?”

“Of course.” Her voice came out softer than she intended and she could only put it down to the fact he was so very near.

He towered over her, all muscular godness and she could smell lavender soap.

The thought of him bathing, of his nakedness in warm, soapy water bombarded her mind and her mouth dried.

She started when he reached out and clasped her hand.

Her breath caught.

His gloveless fingers closed gently around hers, warm and steady and she could feel the strength of his grip. The touch was not improper. And yet it felt…intimate.

“You are my sister’s friend.” His voice, a low timbre, rumbled through her. “And the sister-in-law of my closest acquaintance. I will ensure Lord Basing understands he is not to come near you again.”

She nodded, unable to speak. Her fingers tingled where he touched, and she became achingly aware of how very alone they were in the geography section of the store. Not an echo of footsteps about them. No whisperings of conversations.

Nothing.

As if sensing the shift of emotions between them, he released her hand and shuffled his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. Was he as uncertain and heightened as she was?

“Are you…interested in geography?” he asked.

She gave a nervous laugh, welcoming the change of subject. “Not particularly. It’s just where I ended up while trying to hide.”

“Ah.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips. Lips that were soft and had made her feel things she’d not known before. Even now she could not get out of her mind how her stomach had tumbled deliciously, and she longed for that connection again.

“Not an avid map reader, then?”

“I prefer gothic novels,” she admitted. “Dark castles, stormy nights, unrestrained declarations.”

His smile deepened. “And here I thought you were a sensible girl.”

She laughed, knowing that for the lie it was. “Are you making a joke, Your Grace?” She smiled. “If I had not heard it myself I would have said that was an impossibility up until five seconds ago.”

He chuckled and her heart did something utterly absurd in her chest.

“I’m more of a geography man myself.” He paused, looking over the many books. “I’ve always loved maps. I was hoping to find a new volume on recent expeditions across Prussia. There’s always something new being discovered, even now.”

“Too true,” she murmured. “The world is forever changing, growing with the times. I do wonder what the future holds for us all.”

He looked at her, and their gazes locked, held. “I often wonder the same,” he admitted.

And she realized, quite suddenly, that the silence between them was not awkward. It was…charged. Comfortable, and not familiar, but new.

And she had no idea what to do with it.