Page 28 of The Marquis, the Minx, and the Mistletoe
"A devious plan, Miss Everstead. I like it!" He scratched at his beard, a little darker by the day, staring off for a moment in thought. "I have some ideas for topics that might spark his fancy, but it is usually ladies who suggest games of going 'round the room, answering questions or telling tales."
"I can do that, certainly. Though I suppose I ought to come up with a good enough story from my own life to tell before opening that particular gate." She pursed her lips, trying to conjure some adventure from her own life that didnotinvolve fleeing her own wedding.
Sheldon was watching her with a curious expression, somewhere between interest and confusion. "But you must have endless stories," he said. "You had that grandmother of yours growing up, and all those sisters to get into trouble with. I imagine there was a fair amount of mischief from your days at that finishing school, too, especially alongside Glory and Heloise. I cannot tell you how much I envy someone who's had a childhood filled with so much memory making! My own felt like long stretches of nothing at all, 'least until Gideon came along."
"Nothing at all?" she repeated, skepticism clear in her voice as she studied the man across from her, practically radiating a fascinating countenance, brimming with history and experience. "You were a little lord in a medieval castle, with rooms upon floors upon halls to yourself, and if you wished, surrounded by people to do your bidding. Then, instead of learning to curtsey and embroider, you went to university and then off to war! I am certain you have more interesting stories to tell than I do!"
"A castle is a lonely place when you're the only child in it," he answered, leaning forward with his elbows balanced on his knees, those gentle brown eyes focused earnestly on her own. "My father was too old for play and my mother too young to find childish games appealing. I confess I likely developed a strong imagination out of necessity, and of course, a deep love for the abundant affection and playfulness of my father's hounds, but imagination is all in one's mind, and there isn't much of interest when recounting a lad's hundredth game of fetch in a chilly kennel."
"My sisters would have fought over the bone until no one could play fetch at all," Tia retorted, refusing to pity this man, of all people. "Until my father confiscated the bone away since we could not agree upon an orderly sharing system between us."
"A sensible sort, is he?" Lord Moorvale asked, seeming not at all offended by her lack of pity. "I have heard he is a reliable barrister, should one find himself in trouble with properties and taxes. Mercifully, I have not required his acquaintance."
"Oh, yes, he is utterly sensible," Tia confirmed with a little sigh, picturing her father poring over endless charts and calculations for his clients, shushing his girls if they got too boisterous. "Nana said his lack of whimsy was his way of rebelling against herself and my grandfather, and their playful nature. What a ridiculous way to rebel!"
"And you rebelled by taking after your Nana," he pointed out. "Bit of a concerning pattern, isn't it? Aren't you worried that some day you'll end up with a brood of perfectly sensible little offspring, refusing to humor tales of the fair folk because they'd rather be doing sums?"
She gasped, narrowing her eyes at the way he chuckled. "How dare you put such a dire curse upon me, Lord Moorvale? I thought you a principled man!"
He held up his hands in apologetic surrender. "My apologies, fair lady. How do I retract my evil?"
She glared at him a little longer before allowing herself to smile, shaking her head. "Fear not. I think the likelihood of my producing a brood of any sort of children has been diminished these past weeks anyhow. If I go on to become a governess, perhaps your curse will be to my benefit. Imagine the thrill of so many respectable parents as their children turn into little barristers under my care!"
His expression sobered, the dark fringe of his eyelashes emphasizing a glint in his look that she could not quite place. "You do not truly believe yourself doomed to spinsterhood, Miss Everstead," he said, in a way that was not quite a question. "A woman like you belongs happily in the arms of a worthy man, and no just world would allow you to grow old alone."
"The world didn't force me to flee a good union, Lord Moorvale. I did. And I'm afraid that now it's done, and there is no going back upon it. It is not a particularly confidence-inspiring mark in my favor, even if I did catch the eye of another willing bachelor." She spoke quietly, her voice soft and without accusation. He was a fantasy, and she knew that, destined to wed the cream of society to bestow upon her his title and wealth.
Their attraction could, at best, perhaps make her a kept mistress, a scandal that would destroy her parents, even if it were a far more pleasant fate than the prospect of life as an aging governess. No, she could not do that to her father, for all his flaws, and she did not wish to so quickly conclude this final thrill of her maidenhood—a flirtation with an exciting and desirable man—by making him believe she had unrealistic designs upon him.
"I chose not to marry," she concluded with a brave little smile, hoping to both absolve him of any pressure to rescue her from her solitary future and to assure him that she was enjoying their ever-so-scandalous dynamic. "I am at peace with the choice I made. Marrying was not the path for me. And, after all, it led me here. If nothing else, this Christmas will be a story I might tell, in the years to come."
He looked surprised, though not displeased. He rose to his feet and offered her his hand, warm and large and reassuring. It was impossible not to accept it.
He did not step away once she had risen, and instead, looked down into her eyes, her fingers still held lightly in his calloused palm. She could smell the pine on his skin, the warmth of him so close, and it made her heart race, a symptom she rather suspected was his desire in standing so close.
"You are a mysterious woman, Tatiana," he said, sending that shiver down her spine that was reserved for the way he tasted the syllables of her full name. "You know, my favorite stories are always the mysteries.”
Chapter 14
Sheldon had never been involved in much intrigue, despite his status and regular participation in the London Season. This, of course, was partially due to his own direct nature and dislike for such things, but he had to confess that working with a polished debutante to manipulate the outcome of a social gathering had been terribly fun thus far, and Miss Everstead had been a patient and enlightening tutor as they'd solidified their strategy for the evening.
He was delighted to find that no stars had been discovered on the first hunt. That was as he had hoped, for what fun was a game so soon over? Tia had suggested they go back to the sitting room and review the other clues after reaching a dead end in the main library, and while they studied the various clues laid out in front of them, she had reflected on how useful it might be, were she to have a proper tour of the estate. How else could she hope to compete with the natives, after all?
After two hours of planning social subterfuge with this woman, he knew very well that she was engineering a subtle manipulation, one he was all too happy to play his part in. No matter how well tonight went, he had a morning that would be spent showing the dark-haired beauty all the secrets, nooks, and crannies of the Somerton estate, first thing tomorrow. He was already plotting their route in his mind.
He wondered if he could so easily and enthusiastically show her around Hawk Hill, especially once all the workers and obstacles had gone. He realized, with a spark of pleasant surprise, that there were many things he would indeed enjoy showing her at his ancestral estate, from the turrets he'd climbed as a lad to the little herb garden that had so cleverly been built into the kitchens, some generations ago.
It made him think, in a rare bloom of optimism regarding the old place, that perhaps while it was not yet somewhere he could truly consider his home, it certainly had a bit of potential. A woman's touch on the old place would only do it more good.
Would she like it in Scotland, he wondered? Would she like it in the moors? Would she like it with him?
Ah, he knew he was being ridiculous, mooning like a debutante at her first ball. He should find the impulse irritating, but to his surprise, he found indulging in a bit of infatuation rather fun, and felt nigh buoyant on his feet as he made his way to the dining table for dinner.
Perhaps he was conspicuously cheerful, for he caught a couple of sidelong looks from various members of the table as he aided Miss Everstead in steering the conversation in the direction of childhood nostalgia, and an outright stare of suspicion from Gideon when he suggested they take this conversation directly into the sitting room, rather than parting ways after the meal.
"What are you up to?" Gideon asked him under his breath as they made their way from the dining room to their destination. "I've never seen you so chatty in all my life."
"Just having a bit of fun," Sheldon replied with deliberate vagueness, and then with amusement at his friend's responding glower, he added, "and we thought it might aid us in solving Reggie's rather curious clue."
