Page 34 of If the Slipper Fits
“Oh, isn’tgoldslipperthere? My eyes must be playing tricks.”
She scanned the items, frowning. “I don’t see anything you could confuse with slipper.”
“Shall we?” His free hand grazed the small of her back, urging her toward the recesses of the manse—away from the general flow of guests who swarmed the well-stocked library, music room and sitting areas nearest the grand parlor.
“Speaking of slippers, yours are a lovely shade of blue with what looks like very skilled hand-stitched embroidery. This after the expensive walking boots you sported this morning. I begin to see a pattern.”
She blinked. He’d noticed her slippers? Even Lady Wentworth had never commented on Anna’s footwear. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”
“Ah. I do apologize.” He ducked his head as if chagrined, and guided her down a narrow corridor splitting off from the main.
She glanced behind her, aware she no longer heard other guests. A sense of contentment suffused her. She could almost convince herself she and Caden were two friends who happened to find themselves at the same party, not a care in the world save playing a game.
She grinned to herself. “You apologize, sir? For what, pray tell?”
A regretful smile curved his lips. “You admittedly didn’t pack a slew of party dresses. I assume Lady Wentworth not only garnered gowns, but also slippers and boots for you, as well. Rather uncouth of me to broach the subject, however.”
Her spine stiffened. So much for forgetting her current circumstances. Clearly Caden had not. Worse still, he saw her as a servant reduced to wearing another’s shoes.
He sighed. “What have I said wrong now?”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
He drew to her to a halt. “Out with it, Jones.”
She lifted her chin. “I am not wearing borrowed slippers, nor did I borrow those boots.”
He flashed her a crooked, pirate’s grin. “Just so.”
She frowned, feeling vaguely tricked.
He regained her hand and resumed leading her in a leisurely stroll. “Odd though.”
Wary now, she slanted him a glance. “What’s that?”
“For one with such high standards in footwear, your choice of bonnets leaves a great deal to be desired.”
Her mouth fell open and she stopped abruptly. “I beg your pardon?”
He released her hand, and glanced back from whence they’d come as if to ascertain no one followed. With a grunt of satisfaction, he made fast work untying the bow at her chin.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, though she made no move to stop him.
He plucked the bonnet from her head and jammed it in his coat pocket.
“Well,” she huffed. “Now you’ve likely crumpled it beyond repair.” Not that she wasn’t secretly glad to be momentarily rid of it.
He looked not the least repentant. “It was already there, darling. Besides. Thatthingwas blocking my view.”
She threw up her hands and glanced around the corridor. “Your view? Of what pray-tell?”
“Of your beautiful, amber eyes.”
Beautiful?Amber? She snorted, batting back the flush of pleasure at his words. “Please. My eyes are nothing if not boring old brown.”
He crooked a hand under her chin and guided her face upward ’til their gazes locked. “There’s nothing boring about your eyes, Jones. They seem to capture all the light in any room and glow like expensive brandy held before the fire.”
Her eyes glowed? She didn’t know whether to smile or scowl at his brazen flattery—except her mouth kept trying to pull into a grin, so that wasn’t exactly true.
