Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord
Page 40
After a long moment, the tension between them became too much and she turned her head slightly, the light spilling from the library catching the angle of her jaw, the line of her neck, and Nick was mesmerized by the alabaster skin there.
She spun back, and the scent of orange blossoms surrounded him. He ignored the snake of pleasure that wound through him at the surprise in her wide eyes, the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
He relaxed into the door frame and spoke. “Lady Isabel. Was there something you needed? ”
It was her library, for heaven’s sake. And her hallway. Well, James’s library and hallway, more accurately, but the point was, it wasn’t Lord Nicholas’s library.
And so there was absolutely no reason for Isabel to feel as though she were an errant child, caught skulking about. She had a viable claim to the space.
She could skulk if she liked.
Except … the way he was leaning lazily against the doorway, as if he had nothing better in the world to do but watch her … and smirk at her … made her feel as though he knew that she had been standing outside the door to the library for nearly a quarter of an hour, trying to gather the courage to enter the room.
She had decided to visit them in the hope that she could distract them from sharing their information. It had taken the combined efforts of Gwen and Lara to get her here, once the decision was made.
Every moment she had stood staring at the immense door, she had told herself, was a moment during which Rock could be regaling his friend with tales of his discovery in the stables. Or a moment during which Lord Nicholas could be regaling his friend with tales of his rooftop adventure earlier in the day.
She had been about to knock.
She really had.
Until she had decided that she really should make certain that he received a proper breakfast in the morning. And she had headed for the kitchens.
He had chosen that exact moment to open the door.
And he’d been so casual about it! Infuriating man.
Well. She, too, could sound casual.
“Lord Nicholas! Just who I was hoping to find!”
Hm. That did not sound at all casual. Rather, that sounded like a startled piglet.
Isabel quashed the little voice in her head.
“I am glad that I could accommodate your wishes,” he drawled.
He was backlit by the light from the library, the flickering candlelight from the dark, dim hallway barely enough to illuminate his strong features, but she could see the small smile play across his lips.
“You are teasing me.”
“Only a little,” he acknowledged, holding the door wide to allow her entrance.
She stepped inside, just barely over the threshold, and he closed the door, trapping her.
Isabel paused, a foreign pang twisting in her gut as she considered the warm room, taking in the papers scattered across the unused writing desk on one side of the space. Regina had checked in after she had seen them safely ensconced; it appeared that they had made quick work of making themselves comfortable once the footman had left.
In one corner of the room, Rock was closing a window. He turned when he heard the door and offered Isabel a friendly smile and a short bow. “Lady Isabel,” he said, “I was just checking the force of the rain.”
“It has started to abate,” Isabel said, eager for the safety of the topic. “I should think the roads will be passable tomorrow.”
“How frequently do you find yourself without access to town?” Nick asked.
“It is not uncommon. Part of Townsend Park’s charm is its seclusion from the outside world. There are worse things than being flooded—or snowed—in.” At his noncommittal grunt, she added, “Of course, our belongings are not in town. I am sorry that you are so very inconvenienced.”
He watched her closely for a long minute, and Isabel resisted the urge to reach up and check the state of her hair. Instead, she willed herself to meet his gaze and remain as calm as he seemed. The silence stretched between them, and she took in his wet hair, the lone drop of rainwater making its way down his nose. Had he been outside?
The thought had barely formed before Nick took a small step toward her. When he spoke, the words were low and liquid, setting her nerves instantly on edge. “Was there something you needed from us?”
Why was she there?
To keep him from discovering their secrets. And ruining everything.
Well. That was not an appropriate response.
For a brief moment, she was paralyzed, clutching the bottle she held tightly in her hands. Finally, the amusement flaring in his blue eyes propelled her into speech.
“I brought you drink,” she announced a touch too loudly, holding the dusty bottle aloft. At the blank stares of the men, she pressed on, the words coming altogether too fast. “I haven’t any idea what it is—we’ve a crate of it downstairs—in the cellars—there are other things down there, too—but this seemed most useful at this moment.” She paused, then dug herself deeper. “Well, not for me—I certainly don’t need to drink—but I understand that men—like you—well, perhaps you’d like it.” She stopped then, taking in their surprise, their raised brows, their utter stillness in the face of her flood of words. Shut up, Isabel.
She flattened her lips into a thin, tight line and held the bottle out toward Nick, a peace offering of sorts.
He took it, his cool blue gaze focused on her. “Thank you.”
The words, low and quiet, shot straight to the core of her, turning something there to liquid. A blush rose on her cheeks, unbidden and without cause. She looked away from him, to Rock—larger, darker, and, somehow, infinitely safer. She took a steadying breath. “You are welcome.”
She spun back, and the scent of orange blossoms surrounded him. He ignored the snake of pleasure that wound through him at the surprise in her wide eyes, the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
He relaxed into the door frame and spoke. “Lady Isabel. Was there something you needed? ”
It was her library, for heaven’s sake. And her hallway. Well, James’s library and hallway, more accurately, but the point was, it wasn’t Lord Nicholas’s library.
And so there was absolutely no reason for Isabel to feel as though she were an errant child, caught skulking about. She had a viable claim to the space.
She could skulk if she liked.
Except … the way he was leaning lazily against the doorway, as if he had nothing better in the world to do but watch her … and smirk at her … made her feel as though he knew that she had been standing outside the door to the library for nearly a quarter of an hour, trying to gather the courage to enter the room.
She had decided to visit them in the hope that she could distract them from sharing their information. It had taken the combined efforts of Gwen and Lara to get her here, once the decision was made.
Every moment she had stood staring at the immense door, she had told herself, was a moment during which Rock could be regaling his friend with tales of his discovery in the stables. Or a moment during which Lord Nicholas could be regaling his friend with tales of his rooftop adventure earlier in the day.
She had been about to knock.
She really had.
Until she had decided that she really should make certain that he received a proper breakfast in the morning. And she had headed for the kitchens.
He had chosen that exact moment to open the door.
And he’d been so casual about it! Infuriating man.
Well. She, too, could sound casual.
“Lord Nicholas! Just who I was hoping to find!”
Hm. That did not sound at all casual. Rather, that sounded like a startled piglet.
Isabel quashed the little voice in her head.
“I am glad that I could accommodate your wishes,” he drawled.
He was backlit by the light from the library, the flickering candlelight from the dark, dim hallway barely enough to illuminate his strong features, but she could see the small smile play across his lips.
“You are teasing me.”
“Only a little,” he acknowledged, holding the door wide to allow her entrance.
She stepped inside, just barely over the threshold, and he closed the door, trapping her.
Isabel paused, a foreign pang twisting in her gut as she considered the warm room, taking in the papers scattered across the unused writing desk on one side of the space. Regina had checked in after she had seen them safely ensconced; it appeared that they had made quick work of making themselves comfortable once the footman had left.
In one corner of the room, Rock was closing a window. He turned when he heard the door and offered Isabel a friendly smile and a short bow. “Lady Isabel,” he said, “I was just checking the force of the rain.”
“It has started to abate,” Isabel said, eager for the safety of the topic. “I should think the roads will be passable tomorrow.”
“How frequently do you find yourself without access to town?” Nick asked.
“It is not uncommon. Part of Townsend Park’s charm is its seclusion from the outside world. There are worse things than being flooded—or snowed—in.” At his noncommittal grunt, she added, “Of course, our belongings are not in town. I am sorry that you are so very inconvenienced.”
He watched her closely for a long minute, and Isabel resisted the urge to reach up and check the state of her hair. Instead, she willed herself to meet his gaze and remain as calm as he seemed. The silence stretched between them, and she took in his wet hair, the lone drop of rainwater making its way down his nose. Had he been outside?
The thought had barely formed before Nick took a small step toward her. When he spoke, the words were low and liquid, setting her nerves instantly on edge. “Was there something you needed from us?”
Why was she there?
To keep him from discovering their secrets. And ruining everything.
Well. That was not an appropriate response.
For a brief moment, she was paralyzed, clutching the bottle she held tightly in her hands. Finally, the amusement flaring in his blue eyes propelled her into speech.
“I brought you drink,” she announced a touch too loudly, holding the dusty bottle aloft. At the blank stares of the men, she pressed on, the words coming altogether too fast. “I haven’t any idea what it is—we’ve a crate of it downstairs—in the cellars—there are other things down there, too—but this seemed most useful at this moment.” She paused, then dug herself deeper. “Well, not for me—I certainly don’t need to drink—but I understand that men—like you—well, perhaps you’d like it.” She stopped then, taking in their surprise, their raised brows, their utter stillness in the face of her flood of words. Shut up, Isabel.
She flattened her lips into a thin, tight line and held the bottle out toward Nick, a peace offering of sorts.
He took it, his cool blue gaze focused on her. “Thank you.”
The words, low and quiet, shot straight to the core of her, turning something there to liquid. A blush rose on her cheeks, unbidden and without cause. She looked away from him, to Rock—larger, darker, and, somehow, infinitely safer. She took a steadying breath. “You are welcome.”
