Never Judge a Lady by Her Cover
Page 41
But, it occurred to her, he would seem larger than life anyway. Something about the way he moved, with such sureness, as though he had never in his life made a misstep. As though the world simply bent to his whim.
She’d been born the daughter and sister to the most powerful dukes in Britain, and this man, not an aristocrat – not even a gentleman – seemed equal to them in power. More so.
Which was the reason she was so drawn to him, surely.
Not that power should be of interest to her. She had plenty of it herself.
And still, her heart pounded. To cover the noise, which she was certain all assembled could hear, she said brightly, “Mr. West!”
Caroline gave her a strange look. Perhaps she’d spoken too brightly.
She ignored her daughter, instead looking to the woman at West’s elbow. Miss Cynthia West, his sister, younger by ten years, and widely believed to be a charming eccentric, spoiled by her brother.
“Lady Georgiana,” West said, executing an impressive bow in Caroline’s direction. “And Miss Pearson, I presume?”
Caroline giggled. “You presume correctly, sir.”
He winked at the girl and righted himself. “May I present my sister? Miss West.”
Miss West dropped into a curtsy. “My lady.”
“Please,” Georgiana said, “there’s no need to stand on ceremony.”
“But you are the daughter of a duke, no?”
“I am,” Georgiana replied, “but —”
“She rarely uses the privilege,” Caroline interjected.
Georgiana looked to the Wests. “One should always travel with a nine-year-old to complete one’s thoughts.”
Cynthia replied, all seriousness, “I so agree. In fact, I was thinking of finding one for myself.”
“I’m certain my mother would happily lease me.” Caroline’s jest drew laughter from the group, and Georgiana was supremely grateful for the girl’s quick wit, as she did not know quite what to say to Duncan West, considering their last interaction ended with her bodice around her waist.
The thought made her blush, and she pressed gloved fingers to her cheek as the heat rushed up her face. She looked to West, hoping that he hadn’t noticed.
His warm brown gaze lingered where she touched her cheek.
She pulled her fingers away. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” The words came out harsher than she expected. More shrill. His sister’s eyes widened, as did Caroline’s.
He ignored the tone, instead saying, “We were riding and saw you here. I thought that was a much better idea than creeping along Rotten Row for another hour.”
“I would have thought that you liked creeping along Rotten Row. Does it not provide food for your work?”
“Ha!” Cynthia interjected. “As though Duncan cares a bit for gossip.”
“You don’t?” Caroline asked pointedly. “Then why publish it?”
“Caroline,” Georgiana said, maternal scolding in her tone. “How did you even know that Mr. West is a newspaper publisher?”
Caroline beamed. “Ladies worth their salt read the newspaper. I always assume that included the bit where they list the staff.” She looked at West. “You are Duncan West.”
“I am.”
She considered him for a long moment. “You’re not as old as I would have imagined.”
“Caroline!” Georgiana interjected. “That’s inappropriate.”
“Why?”
“It’s not at all inappropriate.” He smiled at her daughter, and Georgiana did not like the way it made her feel. In fact, it made her feel somewhat queasy. “I shall take it as a compliment.”
“Oh, you should,” Caroline said. “I would have thought you quite old. Considering you’ve so many different papers. How did you manage that? Did you have a brother who is titled?”
Warning bells rang, as Caroline knew that part of the reason why The Fallen Angel existed at all was because of her uncle Simon. There was no need for West to grow curious about the reason for her questioning. “Caroline, that’s quite enough.”
Cynthia interjected, “If only we had a brother who was titled. Everything would have been much easier.”
Don’t be so certain, Georgiana wanted to say, but she bit her tongue.
“Well, if I can’t ask him that, then can I at least ask why he publishes gossip if he doesn’t care for it?”
“No,” Georgiana said. “We do not ask probing questions.”
“Well, he does, doesn’t he? He’s a reporter.”
Lord deliver her from nine-year-old girls wise beyond their years.
“She has a point, Lady Georgiana, I am a reporter,” West said.
And from thirty-three-year-old men too handsome for their own good.
“There, you see?” Caroline said.
“He’s being polite,” Georgiana replied.
“I wasn’t, really,” he interjected.
“You were being polite,” Georgiana insisted firmly, wishing she’d stayed inside today. She turned to her daughter. “Which you might try sometime. What did we discuss relating to Society events?”
“This is not exactly an event,” Caroline argued.
“It’s close enough. What did we say?”
Caroline’s brow furrowed. “Not to bring up skull drinking?”
Shocked silence fell, broken almost instantly by West’s and Cynthia’s laughter. Finally, the lady said, “Oh, Miss Pearson. You are great fun!”
Caroline beamed. “Thank you.”
She’d been born the daughter and sister to the most powerful dukes in Britain, and this man, not an aristocrat – not even a gentleman – seemed equal to them in power. More so.
Which was the reason she was so drawn to him, surely.
Not that power should be of interest to her. She had plenty of it herself.
And still, her heart pounded. To cover the noise, which she was certain all assembled could hear, she said brightly, “Mr. West!”
Caroline gave her a strange look. Perhaps she’d spoken too brightly.
She ignored her daughter, instead looking to the woman at West’s elbow. Miss Cynthia West, his sister, younger by ten years, and widely believed to be a charming eccentric, spoiled by her brother.
“Lady Georgiana,” West said, executing an impressive bow in Caroline’s direction. “And Miss Pearson, I presume?”
Caroline giggled. “You presume correctly, sir.”
He winked at the girl and righted himself. “May I present my sister? Miss West.”
Miss West dropped into a curtsy. “My lady.”
“Please,” Georgiana said, “there’s no need to stand on ceremony.”
“But you are the daughter of a duke, no?”
“I am,” Georgiana replied, “but —”
“She rarely uses the privilege,” Caroline interjected.
Georgiana looked to the Wests. “One should always travel with a nine-year-old to complete one’s thoughts.”
Cynthia replied, all seriousness, “I so agree. In fact, I was thinking of finding one for myself.”
“I’m certain my mother would happily lease me.” Caroline’s jest drew laughter from the group, and Georgiana was supremely grateful for the girl’s quick wit, as she did not know quite what to say to Duncan West, considering their last interaction ended with her bodice around her waist.
The thought made her blush, and she pressed gloved fingers to her cheek as the heat rushed up her face. She looked to West, hoping that he hadn’t noticed.
His warm brown gaze lingered where she touched her cheek.
She pulled her fingers away. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” The words came out harsher than she expected. More shrill. His sister’s eyes widened, as did Caroline’s.
He ignored the tone, instead saying, “We were riding and saw you here. I thought that was a much better idea than creeping along Rotten Row for another hour.”
“I would have thought that you liked creeping along Rotten Row. Does it not provide food for your work?”
“Ha!” Cynthia interjected. “As though Duncan cares a bit for gossip.”
“You don’t?” Caroline asked pointedly. “Then why publish it?”
“Caroline,” Georgiana said, maternal scolding in her tone. “How did you even know that Mr. West is a newspaper publisher?”
Caroline beamed. “Ladies worth their salt read the newspaper. I always assume that included the bit where they list the staff.” She looked at West. “You are Duncan West.”
“I am.”
She considered him for a long moment. “You’re not as old as I would have imagined.”
“Caroline!” Georgiana interjected. “That’s inappropriate.”
“Why?”
“It’s not at all inappropriate.” He smiled at her daughter, and Georgiana did not like the way it made her feel. In fact, it made her feel somewhat queasy. “I shall take it as a compliment.”
“Oh, you should,” Caroline said. “I would have thought you quite old. Considering you’ve so many different papers. How did you manage that? Did you have a brother who is titled?”
Warning bells rang, as Caroline knew that part of the reason why The Fallen Angel existed at all was because of her uncle Simon. There was no need for West to grow curious about the reason for her questioning. “Caroline, that’s quite enough.”
Cynthia interjected, “If only we had a brother who was titled. Everything would have been much easier.”
Don’t be so certain, Georgiana wanted to say, but she bit her tongue.
“Well, if I can’t ask him that, then can I at least ask why he publishes gossip if he doesn’t care for it?”
“No,” Georgiana said. “We do not ask probing questions.”
“Well, he does, doesn’t he? He’s a reporter.”
Lord deliver her from nine-year-old girls wise beyond their years.
“She has a point, Lady Georgiana, I am a reporter,” West said.
And from thirty-three-year-old men too handsome for their own good.
“There, you see?” Caroline said.
“He’s being polite,” Georgiana replied.
“I wasn’t, really,” he interjected.
“You were being polite,” Georgiana insisted firmly, wishing she’d stayed inside today. She turned to her daughter. “Which you might try sometime. What did we discuss relating to Society events?”
“This is not exactly an event,” Caroline argued.
“It’s close enough. What did we say?”
Caroline’s brow furrowed. “Not to bring up skull drinking?”
Shocked silence fell, broken almost instantly by West’s and Cynthia’s laughter. Finally, the lady said, “Oh, Miss Pearson. You are great fun!”
Caroline beamed. “Thank you.”
