Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord
Page 31
“You can and you will!” He said.
She looked over her shoulder at the demand, eyes flashing. “You are not my keeper, my lord.”
She did not check her footing as she continued on her path.
Which was a mistake.
Her slipper dislodged a loose clay tile, sending it skidding down the pitched roof and over the edge, the movement knocking Isabel off balance. He registered the fear in her eyes as she began to fall, and he was already moving toward her.
She reached out to catch herself, the force of the impact dislodging more tiles and sending them crashing to the ground far below. She scrambled then, fear making her desperate, the movement only serving to increase her instability.
He was there, capturing her hand in a firm grasp, staying her movement. He said nothing when their eyes met, the anger in his gaze chasing away the desperation in hers.
He said nothing as she steadied herself and regained her footing, allowing him to help her up and hold her steady, as she took deep, calming breaths to settle her racing pulse.
He said nothing as he lifted her into his arms and carried her the several feet to the attic window.
Only when he set her down at the open entrance did he speak. “I may not be your keeper, Isabel, but if you cannot take responsibility for your own safety, someone must do it for you.” He pointed to the attic window. “Inside. Now.”
Whether because of his tone or the rain or some innate sense of self-preservation, she did as she was told. Miraculously.
Nick watched as she climbed into the attic, ensured that she was safely inside, and went back to fetch the damned roof paste she so valued.
Pail in hand, he looked out across the lands to the stables, where the boy he’d met earlier in the day was closing the door to the stables, using his entire weight to do so. He ran toward the manor house then, wind and rain pelting his young face. The boy put his head down, protecting his face from the wind, and the movement took the cap from his head, releasing his hair to the elements.
His very long hair.
Nick stiffened, watching as the stable boy turned to fetch the cap as it rolled over the ground, spun on the invisible fingers of the Yorkshire wind. His hair flew out behind him in long red ribbons, immediately soaked with rain. And when the boy turned back, facing the house once more, there was no question of what the secret of Townsend Park was.
He played over the servants in his mind: the stable boy; the effeminate butler; the motley collection of diminutive, unmatched footmen.
She had a houseful of women.
That was why she was on the roof, nearly killing herself.
Because there was no one else to do it for her.
He swore harshly at the thought, the word lost in the howl of the wind whipping over the edge of the roof. Houseful of women or no, there was no excuse for her complete and utter carelessness. She should be locked in a room for sanity’s sake. His sanity.
Thunder cracked high above him, sending him back to the entrance to the attic, where she peered out at him, rivulets of water coursing down her face. He thrust the pail of muck at her.
She took it and backed away from the window as he followed her inside.
He took a long moment to close the window behind him, latching it tight against the sheets of rain that pounded the glass before he turned back to her, soaked to the bone and not at all happy.
Setting the pail down carefully, she hesitated, then spoke in an agitated whisper. “I would have been perfectly fine—”
He thrust both his hands through his wet hair in frustration, and the movement stayed her words. Thank God. Because he might well have strangled her if she had continued.
She was the single most infuriating female he had ever met. She was a danger to herself and others. She could have gotten them both killed, for heaven’s sake.
He’d had enough.
“You are not to go on the roof again.” His words were quiet, but spoken in a tone that had stopped killers in their tracks.
And seemed only to incense Isabel. “I beg your pardon? ”
“Evidently, years of being trapped in Yorkshire with the run of the estate failed to teach you an ounce of sense. You will stay off the roof from now on.”
“Of all the imperious, condescending, arrogant things—”
“You may call it whatever you like. I call it ensuring your safety. And the safety of those around you.” He paused briefly, tamping down the urge to shake her. “Did it even cross your mind that I might have been killed right along with you? ”
“I didn’t ask to be rescued, Lord Nicholas,” she said, her voice rising.
“Yes, well, considering I have saved your life twice in the two days that I have known you, I might suggest that next time, you do ask.”
She pulled herself up to her full height and let loose, apparently unconcerned with the fact that anyone near the entrance to the attic might hear them. “I was perfectly safe on the roof until you arrived! And did you even consider the idea that I was only on the roof because I was hiding from you? ”
The confession was out before she could stop it, surprising them both. “Hiding from me? ”
She did not reply, deliberately looking away from him with a huff. “You invited me here!”
“Well, suffice to say that I am beginning to regret it,” she muttered.
“Why were you hiding from me?”
“I should think that would be rather clear.” When he did not respond, she continued, eager to fill the silence. “I was surprised by our … moment … in the statuary. I had not expected …”
He tracked the nervous movements of her hands, smoothing over her breeches before she crossed her arms, and the white cambric of her shirt pulled tightly across her br**sts, torturing him with their weight—with their lovely, shadowed peaks. He was suddenly aware of their location, in the darkened attic of her home, the rain outside muffling all sounds, the warm, small space closing in around them. It was the perfect place for a clandestine tryst.
She looked over her shoulder at the demand, eyes flashing. “You are not my keeper, my lord.”
She did not check her footing as she continued on her path.
Which was a mistake.
Her slipper dislodged a loose clay tile, sending it skidding down the pitched roof and over the edge, the movement knocking Isabel off balance. He registered the fear in her eyes as she began to fall, and he was already moving toward her.
She reached out to catch herself, the force of the impact dislodging more tiles and sending them crashing to the ground far below. She scrambled then, fear making her desperate, the movement only serving to increase her instability.
He was there, capturing her hand in a firm grasp, staying her movement. He said nothing when their eyes met, the anger in his gaze chasing away the desperation in hers.
He said nothing as she steadied herself and regained her footing, allowing him to help her up and hold her steady, as she took deep, calming breaths to settle her racing pulse.
He said nothing as he lifted her into his arms and carried her the several feet to the attic window.
Only when he set her down at the open entrance did he speak. “I may not be your keeper, Isabel, but if you cannot take responsibility for your own safety, someone must do it for you.” He pointed to the attic window. “Inside. Now.”
Whether because of his tone or the rain or some innate sense of self-preservation, she did as she was told. Miraculously.
Nick watched as she climbed into the attic, ensured that she was safely inside, and went back to fetch the damned roof paste she so valued.
Pail in hand, he looked out across the lands to the stables, where the boy he’d met earlier in the day was closing the door to the stables, using his entire weight to do so. He ran toward the manor house then, wind and rain pelting his young face. The boy put his head down, protecting his face from the wind, and the movement took the cap from his head, releasing his hair to the elements.
His very long hair.
Nick stiffened, watching as the stable boy turned to fetch the cap as it rolled over the ground, spun on the invisible fingers of the Yorkshire wind. His hair flew out behind him in long red ribbons, immediately soaked with rain. And when the boy turned back, facing the house once more, there was no question of what the secret of Townsend Park was.
He played over the servants in his mind: the stable boy; the effeminate butler; the motley collection of diminutive, unmatched footmen.
She had a houseful of women.
That was why she was on the roof, nearly killing herself.
Because there was no one else to do it for her.
He swore harshly at the thought, the word lost in the howl of the wind whipping over the edge of the roof. Houseful of women or no, there was no excuse for her complete and utter carelessness. She should be locked in a room for sanity’s sake. His sanity.
Thunder cracked high above him, sending him back to the entrance to the attic, where she peered out at him, rivulets of water coursing down her face. He thrust the pail of muck at her.
She took it and backed away from the window as he followed her inside.
He took a long moment to close the window behind him, latching it tight against the sheets of rain that pounded the glass before he turned back to her, soaked to the bone and not at all happy.
Setting the pail down carefully, she hesitated, then spoke in an agitated whisper. “I would have been perfectly fine—”
He thrust both his hands through his wet hair in frustration, and the movement stayed her words. Thank God. Because he might well have strangled her if she had continued.
She was the single most infuriating female he had ever met. She was a danger to herself and others. She could have gotten them both killed, for heaven’s sake.
He’d had enough.
“You are not to go on the roof again.” His words were quiet, but spoken in a tone that had stopped killers in their tracks.
And seemed only to incense Isabel. “I beg your pardon? ”
“Evidently, years of being trapped in Yorkshire with the run of the estate failed to teach you an ounce of sense. You will stay off the roof from now on.”
“Of all the imperious, condescending, arrogant things—”
“You may call it whatever you like. I call it ensuring your safety. And the safety of those around you.” He paused briefly, tamping down the urge to shake her. “Did it even cross your mind that I might have been killed right along with you? ”
“I didn’t ask to be rescued, Lord Nicholas,” she said, her voice rising.
“Yes, well, considering I have saved your life twice in the two days that I have known you, I might suggest that next time, you do ask.”
She pulled herself up to her full height and let loose, apparently unconcerned with the fact that anyone near the entrance to the attic might hear them. “I was perfectly safe on the roof until you arrived! And did you even consider the idea that I was only on the roof because I was hiding from you? ”
The confession was out before she could stop it, surprising them both. “Hiding from me? ”
She did not reply, deliberately looking away from him with a huff. “You invited me here!”
“Well, suffice to say that I am beginning to regret it,” she muttered.
“Why were you hiding from me?”
“I should think that would be rather clear.” When he did not respond, she continued, eager to fill the silence. “I was surprised by our … moment … in the statuary. I had not expected …”
He tracked the nervous movements of her hands, smoothing over her breeches before she crossed her arms, and the white cambric of her shirt pulled tightly across her br**sts, torturing him with their weight—with their lovely, shadowed peaks. He was suddenly aware of their location, in the darkened attic of her home, the rain outside muffling all sounds, the warm, small space closing in around them. It was the perfect place for a clandestine tryst.
