Page 49 of The Rise of a Forsaken Lady
“Because of his disinterest in the arts? My Lady, haven’t we had this conversation?” Mr. Moore said while offering the tray to her and she took the cover off the cup of warm tea.
For a moment, she wondered why there was no jug of milk or sugar but one taste and knew he had already added them. It warmed her heart that he knew exactly how she took her tea.
She met his eyes, “I’ll concede to that…eventually. But may I ask you a question, Mr. Moore.”
“Of course.”
“Do you hate Lord Hillbrook?”
Chapter 19
Heath felt struck between his eyes with Lady Penelope’s question and felt rooted to his place. When he got over the shock, he stopped the urge to step away from her. His instinct was to tell her that yes, he did not like the Baron. But aside from explaining his ire at the Baron’s first snub to him, telling her more would call for him to answer more questions than he was ready to.
“My Lady, I—”
Her look stopped his plan to avoid the issue, and he sighed deeply through his nose. She was looking for his honestly and though he felt horrible giving it, he spoke his mind. “No, My Lady, I am not partial to him. His rudeness the other day is not the issue…”
“Then what is?” Lady Penelope asked as his words had run out of steam and hanging in the air.
“He or his company rather…puts you in danger,” Heath replied. “Despite the lull in peace that we have, any connections with a Bonapartist directly or indirectly is actively seeking trouble.”
Large golden eyes were above the rim of the steaming tea-cup, and a wayward lock of her hair curled with the steam. She seemed to have forgotten to swallow before pulling the cup away and her heavily-lashed eyes blinked thrice. “I understand and that…that is a cause for concern,” she swallowed. “But that was not my real question. Do you, personally, not like Hillbrook?”
Yes.
“No.” he lied.
That slow, knowing smile tugged her lips and he knew—just knew—that she had seen through him. “You’re lying Mr. Moore. Will you just speak your mind?”
Heath prayed that his composure was still in place, but her calm, placid eyes felt more intrusive than a knife buying itself into his ribs. “Fine, I do not like him because his condescension is enough to fill a hot-air balloon and drift across the pond—with the fumes from his conceit lifting him up.”
Lady Penelope spewed tea in an arch but luckily, she had twisted to the side to avoid showering him. She slapped her chest hard to stop her cough, and her hair fell over her shoulder. He rested the tray on the nearest flat surface and reached to help her. He took the cup away before it could fall and then held her shuddering shoulders.
She was laughing and coughing at the same time, which did not make her situation better. She took in a deep breath, and he held her shoulder as she calmed. Her whole body shivered under his touch.
“Breathe, Lady Penelope,” he advised.
Her hand reached up to grab him and her hand gripped his arm. He looked quickly to see nails with shaped half-circles instead of the bitten nails he had seen before—and felt a bit cross. He felt—without logical reason—that the uneven nails were more fitting to her than these neat circles. She took in a deep gasp, still struggling to breathe.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, yes,” she said though her voice was hoarse, “I believe so.”
Her eyes met his and the flushes over her cheeks were so inviting. Her golden eyes were light, and her curved bow lips had slipped open. He felt arrested under her gaze, and his eyes slipped to her mouth briefly before lifting from them again. Her amber orbs had dimmed to honey, and she had begun to nibble on her bottom lip. Her throat was working, and his fingers were half-a-thought away from tugging her right into his arms.
She cleared her throat, and he dropped his hold faster than a hot iron and stepped away for good measure. He refused to acknowledge the warmth that was steadily making its way through his body. In the lull, he reached for the cup of lukewarm tea and handed it to her. She drank a mouthful in silence.
“So…erm. Duke?”
“Yes,” Heath said, happy for the change of subject. “He has seen me assist women many times. I would like to think he has learned the rules of chivalry by now.”
“But how would you convert that to a horse?”
“Well, he learned to pick up a stick from a dog and bring it to me so I could toss it to him, so I have hope,” he replied while facing the stallion. “Isn’t that right, Duke?”
Perhaps it was serendipity, or the horse actually understood his master, but Duke seemed to dip in his head in a nod. Penelope giggled and the mirth on her face spurred him to smile. Over her turned shoulder, he nodded approvingly to the horse. Then Penelope spun to Bessie and held out her hand over the door. This time, the mare came to her.
He watched as she fondled the horse’s jaw, “I agree with you, Mr. Moore.”
