Page 27 of A Flaming Lady's Secret Valentine
She trailed off, but he waited for the end of the sentence.
“Mivart’s is extortionate.”
“And?”
“And my family is quite well off.”
“I am aware. I perform some of the accounting for His Grace—who is not exactly a penny-pincher, might I add.” He chuckled, and his breath misted before him. “Your concern is not for your own wealth but for mine. There’s no need, really.”
Cecilia conceded defeat, sliding her notebook back into her reticule and clicking it shut. “If you insist, Mr Travers. It is wiser not to leave a paper trail anyway.” She quirked a brow. “That was a joke.”
“Thank heavens for that.”
The driver had parked at the end of the road, the carriage a spot of black against an otherwise greying London. Clemens greeted Raphael and Cecilia as they returned, readying the horses for the short drive back in the snow.
“It does not seem to be settling.” Raphael turned to Cecilia. “Less risk of slipping and cracking my head open.”
“You mean to walk home?” Cecilia brushed a snowflake from her lashes. “We can drive elsewhere if you have matters to attend before this evening.”
“I have nothing else that needs doing. But I do not think it is wise for his lordship to catch us returning together.”
He did not need to explain the rest. There was nothing for Lord Anthony to take issue with, as the duke trusted Raphael to chaperone Cecilia and had made that fact clear. But when it came to making enemies, Lord Antony would find a way.
“I refuse to allow you to hike home in this weather,” Cecilia argued. “You will catch your death, and I will be to blame. Would you truly saddle me with a lifetime of guilt over an innocent carriage ride?”
It seems to me that nothing is innocent where Lady Cecilia is concerned.
The wind picked up, and he shivered involuntarily. Cecilia gave a gloating smile.
“All right, have it your way,” he grumbled, nodding haplessly for the driver. “But I will be dropped off a few doors down from Lantham House.”
“My lady,” she corrected.
“My lady,” he repeated, opening the door for her.
Raphael climbed in after her. The carriage was hardly warm, but it was more comfortable than standing in the snow. He gave one last look at the Mivart building before the carriage rumbled down the road. Taking off his gloves, he flexed his fingers and sighed.
“Do you come from money, Mr Travers?”
He paused, dumbstruck by Cecilia’s candidness. “Is it not frowned upon for ladies to ask a man of his wealth?”
“It is, but it is equally frowned upon for ladies to have opinions, and ride astride, and take tea with unmarried gentlemen.” She shrugged. “My question is the least flagrant example of my poor etiquette, so I would ask it again, expectant of an answer from you.”
Raphael felt his jaw tick. He was flattered that Cecilia wanted to get to know him better, but he feared there was nothing he could say that would be honest but not incriminating. The matters of his past, and in turn of his wealth, were better left unsaid. He had made peace with his daemons because he had to.
No one else would show him any leniency if they knew what he had done.
“My father was not a wealthy man,” he murmured.
“You are self-made? I find that incredibly impressive.”
He did not bother to correct her; she was not entirely wrong.
“There’s naught impressive about me, Lady Cecilia.”
She said nothing for a long moment, then rasped, “I beg to differ, Mr Travers. Everything I have learned about you has left me breathless.”
The carriage rolled over a depression in the road, jostling its passengers. Raphael slammed his hand against the front of the box to stop from shooting forward, but Clemens’s poor driving did not surprise him nearly as much as Lady Cecilia’s confession.
