Page 21 of Daring in a Blue Dress
“I was going to eat at a pub—,” he protested, but came along willingly enough.
“Bah. What you need after your day is a home-cooked meal. Something that’ll give you the oomph to get up tomorrow morning and start renovating. Which way?”
We’d reached the doors to the library where I had set up the temporary table as my desk.
“To the left,” he said, moving ahead of me.
It would take a stronger woman than me to not eyeball his behind as he marched over to a door and held it open for me.
“I know what you’re doing, you know,” he said as I exited the library.
“Walking? I’ve been doing it for about thirty-three years now, so I feel like I have a pretty good handle on it.”
Naturally, at that moment, I tripped over something invisible, probably an atom of oxygen. Alden’s arm shot out to grab me and keep me from careening into the wall.
“You were saying?”
I made a face at him. “I’m also fairly clumsy, but I prefer to ignore that facet of my life and focus on the times when I move with lithe, swanlike grace. Would you like to see me do the Queen Elizabeth wave? I have it down pat, and it’s one of my most elegant moves.”
“Perhaps later, when you’re taking the air in your carriage.” He slid me a look as we walked down a darkly paneled hallway, shadowed squares and rectangles marking where paintings once graced the walls. The air of abandonment hung heavily over this section of the house, making me speak in a hushed tone.
“By the way, in case you didn’t notice, you’ve been bantering with me a good five minutes. So see? It does get easier with time.”
“No, it doesn’t,” he disagreed as he strode onward down the long, dark, empty hallway.
“You certainly aren’t looking uncomfortable to be talking to me,” I pointed out, almost trotting to keep up with him. “Which is good! I’m not complaining or anything, I’m just saying that you’re clearly feeling much more comfy with me.”
“I’m angry, that’s all. My discomfort speaking to women has always been lessened by strong emotions, and right now, I’m angry at that Patrick fellow for thinking he can dictate to me. In my own garden!”
“Interesting,” I said, mulling over this latest insight into Alden’s character. “Change-of-subject time lest you go back out and get into a fight with Vandal. What are you going to do to the house first? As far as renovation goes.”
“I’m not sure. The roof needs repair, but it’s such a big job, I’ll need help with it. I thought of starting with the bedrooms first, but now since some of them will be occupied, I guess I’ll start on the ground floor and work through the rooms there.”
“I’m sorry we’re occupying your bedrooms, but you know, there’s something to be said with starting work on the lowest common denominator, and that’s the stuff on the ground floor.”
“How do you figure that?”
I gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Well... you don’t have to climb any stairs to get there.”
He said nothing, but I could feel him thinking rude things. I couldn’t entirely blame him since I’d been speaking nonsense, but there was something inside me that wanted to keep him talking.
Maybe it was his pretty eyes.
Or the way he frowned. He had a sexy frown.
Most likely, though, it was a sense of neediness about him that made me feel protective. One of the personality classes I’d taken had revealed that I had highly empathetic tendencies, making me a sucker for homeless dogs, lost kids, and evidently men with crippling social anxieties.
We turned down a small side passage that was cast into deep shadows despite the long fingers of the setting sun creeping in through the small, high window.
“Damn,” he muttered. “Wrong turn.”
“It is kind of like a maze in here, isn’t it?” I said conversationally as he retraced his steps, then made a left where we’d previously gone right. “Kinda gloomy inside, in a gothically spooky way. I could see one of those atmospheric horror video games being filmed here. I half expect an ax-wielding deranged clown to leap out of a doorway.”
“Everything was sold at auction before I bought the house,” Alden said. “Including the ax-wielding clowns.”
I laughed, delighted that he could make a joke, and was about to point out to him the fact that his attempt at humor signified his growing confidence, but at that moment he made a happy little noise when he opened a door and we emerged into a kitchen that could have been at home in Downton Abbey.
Dominating the room was a turquoise blue enamel range that was approximately as big as a medium-sized sedan, whitewashed glass-fronted cupboards, and vast expanses of counter that were mostly empty. There was also a huge table in the center of the room, around which were scattered five chairs, and one three-legged stool.
