Page 31 of Undercover with the Heiress
The butler, Hugh, entered the room. Past the rim of his paper, Phineas watched as he placed a flat package wrapped in brown paper and tied with a sensible string bow before Rosanna. She tapped it, thanked him, then broke off an end of croissant and dunked it in her coffee. Her tongue caught a drip before it fell. Phineas buttressed himself behind his newspaper and waited.
He turned a page.
Read an article.
Turned another page.
Phineas peered around the side of his broadsheet. ‘You never wait to open a delivery. What is it?’
She placed a protective hand over the package. ‘You won’t be interested.’
Phineas folded his paper and laid it aside. ‘Try me.’
A piercing glance across the top of her coffee cup stilled him. A curl of heat unfolded beneath his skin, like a frond tendril unfurling, and for an excruciating moment, only one image saturated his every thought, his every breath. Rosanna naked. Splayed across his lap. Groaning. Soft. Tensing against his fingers.
Her eyes creased at the corners, and although her mouth was obscured, he knew she was smiling. ‘As long as I don’t bore you with it.’ She cast a look at the door. ‘That is all, Hugh. Thank you.’
As the butler left the room, Rosanna pulled the string. Phineas rose from his seat and slipped around the curve of the table. Herslim fingers stroked the long length of thick brown paper as she folded it aside, first one half, then the other.
‘It seemed prudent to order a set,’ she said, her hand sweeping over the stack of light cream paper. ‘I am so particular about these things, and I thought it might be noticed if I didn’t. And if I had married you in sincerity, one of the first things I would have done is order new stationery.’
From the pen of Rosanna Babbage. It seemed so false, so heavy, especially considering Babbage had only been his name for such a short while. And yet, the intertwinedRandBdented the paper so elegantly and purposefully with their calligraphic swirls and thick letters with flowing curls. Like they were always meant to be.
‘Who will you write to?’ he asked. She’d had no callers to the home apart from her family and Elise, as far as he was aware. He rubbed at a tightness in his chest. That was likely because of him. Mrs Babbage did not receive calls the way Lady Richard would have done.
But then, Lady Richard would have been locked in a marriage where her usefulness expired as soon as the ink had dried on a bank transfer.
‘It’s only for appearances.’ She folded the paper over. ‘But the monogram is pretty, isn’t it?’
‘The R and B look nice together,’ he said. The clock in the hall gonged. ‘Come, Hempel. We have business to attend to.’ Phineas buttoned his coat and made for the door.
‘Are we going spying?’ Rosanna scrabbled to her feet. ‘Have you found new information? Do you need me to meet with the ladies at the hotel again?’
He waited for her at the top of the stairs. They walked down to the entrance side by side. Phineas took Rosanna’s coat from Letitia and held it out. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and shrugged it over her shoulders.
‘It’s Tuesday. We have a Spencer and Co. board meeting.’
‘Is that all? I hardly need my coat to cross the road.’ She tucked her hand around his elbow, and they set off across the street at an angle, making for Number 4. ‘You are going to take me spying again, aren’t you? Unless you want to be married to me forever. We need to do something other than wait for me to be kidnapped.’
‘We could, I suppose.’
‘Go spying?’
‘Wait for you to be kidnapped. I might get some peace until I rescued you.’
‘Provided youcanrescue me.’ Rosanna laughed, light and carefree, before her joviality became weighted with realisation. Even the birds seemed to quiet their chirping as silence tensed between them. ‘I didn’t intend to sound so mean,’ Rosanna said as she loosened her hold on his arm. ‘We’ll find Imogen. I just know it.’
He couldn’t rouse anger or even a grunt. Instead, he shrugged her off and stepped up the kerb and onto the path.
Who was he to think he could save her—save anyone? He’d positioned himself as some knight for a bright young woman with the world before her, but what if he dragged her down, too? Intentions couldn’t fix the past, nor could they secure the future. What if, with his rashness, he’d made her life worse?
They climbed the stairs. Rosanna clapped the knocker, its brassy thump low and hollow against the wood. She stepped into place beside him.
‘I won’t let that happen to you,’ he said as he forced himself to keep his focus on the swirls and splinters in the wood grain. In his periphery, he caught the turn of her head. ‘I’ll look out for you and keep you safe. Whatever it takes.’
Her delighted laugh banished the tension, and she snuck her hand through the crook of his elbow. Her shoulder rubbed his. She really was exactly his height.
‘Do you really believe I would allow anyone to kidnap me? I would like to see him try.’
