Page 6 of Ruby in the Rough (Heiress #4)

Chapter

Six

C hristian sat at his desk the following afternoon, the pale winter light filtering through the library’s tall windows.

Before him lay his silver salver, heaped with invitations—so many that it appeared the entire ton was conspiring to keep him and his sister occupied for the remainder of the Season.

He sifted through the first ten, scanning the familiar looping hand of various hostesses, and then paused when he spotted a note scribbled in his sister’s script on a loose scrap of parchment.

Jane’s neat, somewhat hurried hand declared she was out with Lady Cordelia for the afternoon—a shopping excursion on Bond Street—but was due back by two.

Christian’s gaze drifted to the clock on the mantel.

It was well past the hour she mentioned to return.

No doubt the hours of fawning over ribbons and gloves had waylaid them.

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand along his jaw as if the simple action might dispel the thoughts forming in his mind.

Why, of all women, was Lady Cordelia taking up so much of his mental space?

The reasonable part of him argued that it was mere proximity. Cordelia was often with his sister. They had become fast friends, and naturally, her presence lingered in his mind. That was all.

But another part of him—foolish, unwelcome—recalled the dream he had the night before.

It had been vivid. Startlingly so. He’d dreamt of her stepping out from the masked ball into the cool night air, the glow of lanterns turning her hair to molten gold.

She’d laughed softly, and he had whisked her away to the gardens, claiming a kiss that had jolted him awake.

His pulse had been erratic, his body uncomfortably warm, not to mention hard, and he’d tossed aside his damp shift, finishing the night sprawled naked under the sheets, trying and failing to cool himself down.

He was not a man prone to dreams. Certainly not dreams of young debutantes with wide blue eyes and tempting lips.

He frowned, leaning forward with his elbows braced on the desk. He had no interest in acquiring a wife. Marriage was a complication, and a young lady like Cordelia—a duke’s daughter, new to society—was not someone he could or should consider.

And yet…

He shook his head, willing the thought away. She was two-and-twenty, certainly not fresh from the schoolroom, but still too young and too unguarded. A man like him—seasoned by life, by responsibility—had no business entertaining such notions.

The slam of the front door cut through his thoughts, followed by the high, merry sound of feminine laughter. His quill stilled.

Moments later, a knock sounded at his library door. Jane swept in with her usual whirlwind energy, Lady Cordelia gliding close behind.

“Brother, you’ll never guess what I bought today!” Jane announced, a wide grin lighting her sweet features. “The most delightful hat at Madame Leroy’s shop. You must see it!”

Christian did not look up from his desk. “Of course I shall in due course, but at present, I am rather busy.”

She laughed, unoffended at his attempt to be rid of them both. “Well, it is darling—positively darling—and I think you’ll love it as much as I do. Oh! And I’ve invited Cordelia to have a light repast with me. We shall have it in the back parlor. That’s all right, isn’t it?”

“That’s perfectly fine.”

Jane turned to Cordelia, a conspiratorial grin on his sister’s lips. “Let me show you to the room, dearest. I’ll just quickly go up and change, unless you’d like to return home instead?”

“Oh, no, that is not necessary,” Lady Cordelia said quickly. She looked between Walpole and Jane with faint unease, as though unsure how much to intrude in his household.

“Well, come along then,” Jane said. And before Christian could offer any polite farewell, his sister swept out again with Cordelia in tow, her skirts rustling like impatient leaves.

He listened to their voices drifting down the hall, the murmur of their conversation fading as they approached the parlor.

For all her unladylike bursts of enthusiasm, Jane was dear to him.

The thought of her one day leaving—married, settled in some distant estate—left a hollow ache in his chest. It had been the two of them for so long, navigating the world side by side.

But she would be happy in her new life, that he would make certain.

No sooner had the parlor door closed than Jane’s quick footsteps pattered up the staircase—all but abandoning her guest. Christian sighed and pushed back his chair. It would not do to leave Lady Cordelia alone. Courtesy demanded he at least kept her company until his sister returned.

He found her standing near the wide windows of the back parlor, looking out over the gardens. A soft afternoon light fell across her face, catching on the pale curve of her cheek.

She was biting her lower lip, lost in thought—and something hot and wholly inappropriate jolted through him at the sight. His dream slammed back into focus, vivid as if it had truly happened, and he had to take a steadying breath before speaking.

“Lady Cordelia,” he said, his voice deeper than he intended, “do sit down. I shall ring for the repast my sister promised you.”

She startled, spinning around, her large blue eyes locking with his. Good God, her eyes. Almond-shaped, fringed with lashes so dark they could have been drawn with ink.

Her hair was arranged half-up, the rest cascading over her shoulders in soft, golden curls.

He imagined—just for a heartbeat—sliding his fingers into those curls, fisting them, drawing her near.

The thought unsettled him, and he cleared his throat sharply, grateful when the footman entered to break the moment.

“You called, Your Grace?”

“Yes. Please have Cook send up tea and some sandwiches—a light lunch for Lady Cordelia and Lady Jane.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Christian gestured to the settee, and Cordelia obeyed with quiet grace.

She was, he noted, every inch the daughter of a duke—poised and perfectly mannered.

Unlike Jane, who could turn a parlor into a battlefield with her energy.

Perhaps Lady Cordelia’s presence would be a good influence on his sister.

“I did not expect to see you again so soon, Lady Cordelia. Did you enjoy your shopping trip?”

She nodded, a soft blush warming her cheeks. He hoped he had not sounded curt. His manner often veered too close to bluntness. It was an unfortunate habit.

“We did, Your Grace,” she replied. “And I hope you do not mind that I’ve come back with Lady Cordelia. I missed lunch at home, and she so kindly offered some light repast.”

“It is perfectly fine. You are always welcome here.”

She smiled but glanced around the room, clearly unsure of what to say next.

Christian cleared his throat. “Did my second cousin accompany you and Jane to Bond Street? I did not see her return with you.”

“Your aunt?” she asked, a frown forming between her brows.

“Mrs. Smith.” At her continued look of confusion Christian realized Lady Cordelia possibly had no idea what he was talking about. “My second cousin, a widow acts as Lady Jane’s companion, Lady Cordelia.”

“Oh,” she said, understanding dawning in her eyes. “She did not accompany us this morning.”

He’d come to the same conclusion unfortunately. “She is not fond of mornings,” he said, making up an excuse. “But I will have a discussion with her to ensure she joins Jane in future. If anyone asks, however, it is best to say Mrs Smith was with you. Appearances are…important.”

Cordelia stared at him, and he wondered what she was thinking in that pretty head of hers. “But she did not, Your Grace. That would be a falsehood.”

“I understand, but to ensure no gossip is started regarding you and my sister it is best that you say that she did,” he fumbled, suddenly aware of how clumsy he sounded.

Blast it, why did she unnerve him so? “Unfortunately Mrs Smith has fallen on difficult times. We do what we can to support her, but unfortunately her duties can sometimes be…lacking.”

Cordelia tilted her head, regarding him with quiet curiosity, but did not reply.

“If you wish to continue shopping with Jane,” he continued, “you must tell anyone who asks that Mrs Smith was always with you. Do you understand, my lady?”

Her eyes narrowed, and if he were a betting man, he would have laid money that she disliked the command. Still, she relented at length.

“Of course, Your Grace.” Her tone dripped with polite venom.

Christian’s mouth twitched, betraying a smile. “Very good.”

“Very good indeed,” she echoed, arching a brow.

And in that moment, Christian realized she was not a woman easily cowed—and God help him, he liked that more than he ought.