Page 43 of Snowbound with the Scoundrel
Claire.Her sisters were the only ones who ever called her by that nickname.Yet, for some reason, it felt right coming from Rupert’s lips.
“It’s not all right,” she countered.“I am horrified that I said it.It’s no excuse, but I remember feeling shocked that Lady Milthorpe had arranged the match for me in the first place.My reputation is for being shrewish and strident, and I had assumed I would never marry.I’m sure you weren’t any more enthusiastic about our proposed union than I was.”
He said nothing.After a moment, Clarissa summoned the courage to meet his eyes.
The overwhelmingly kind expression was still in place.“Honestly?I was looking forward to meeting you.Lady Milthorpe had told me how clever you were, and…” He looked away, his eyes sorrowful.“You’re just the kind of woman I want to marry.”He jerked upright, seeming to realize himself.“I mean, wanted!I mean…” His shoulders sagged.“Want,” he admitted.
Clarissa felt horrified.She had somehow blundered into the one and only man in all of England who regarded being the world’s biggest bluestocking not as a disqualification to matrimony but as an attribute greatly to be desired, and she had managed to ruin things before they’d even shaken hands.
One of them was an idiot, all right.And it wasn’t Rupert Dupree.
And yet… he had saidwant, present tense.Did that mean… was it still possible that he… that he…
She summoned her courage.“Rupert, I—”
She was cut off by the faint creak of the glass door opening.She froze, her eyes flying to Rupert’s.
The door clicked shut, and a woman’s voice filled the orangery.
“As I rode out one May morning across yon fields so early,
I spied a maid, a most beautiful maid as sweet as—”
A housemaid came around a cluster of orange trees.The song died on her lips as she saw Clarissa and Rupert standing guiltily together.
She glanced back and forth between them once… twice, then dropped a hasty curtsey.“I’m sorry, miss, sir.Cook sent me to fetch some lemons for tonight’s dinner.I didn’t mean to… to…”
“Quite all right,” Rupert said easily.“I just arrived myself and was surprised to find that the orangery was already occupied.”He gestured to Clarissa.“How I would hate for anyone to form the impression that there was anything irregular going on.It’s fortuitous that you arrived in time to play chaperone.”
The maid brightened.“Oh, well, in that case.”She gestured to a cluster of trees in the corner.“You don’t mind if I pick a few lemons before we head back to the castle, do you?”
“Not at all,” Rupert replied.“In fact, may I be of assistance?”
Clarissa joined in, too, giving Rupert a meaningful glance while she tugged a branch laden with lemons low for the maid to do her work.Rupert responded by waggling his eyebrows.
“There!”the maid exclaimed once she had a dozen lemons cradled in her apron.
Once the lemons were picked, they had little choice but to return to the castle with their new chaperone.Once inside, they parted ways with the maid and Rupert escorted Clarissa up the stairs.Bending his lips toward her ear, he murmured, “We forgot to discuss the mission.”
She frowned.“The mission?”Her thoughts were still swirling with what she’d learned about the real reasons behind their broken engagement.She stiffened as she recalled the reason they’d gone there in the first place.“The mission!”
“Meet me in the library at midnight,” he whispered.
Clarissa nodded.“The library.Very—”
“Look where you’re standing!”a singsong voice called from the top of the stairs.
Clarissa glanced up to find a delighted Lady Emily skipping down the steps.She pointed to a spot above their heads.“You two are the first to get caught under my mistletoe!”
Sure enough, a jaunty sprig of the white-berried plant hung suspended over the landing by a bright red ribbon.
Time seemed to slow down.Clarissa was conscious of Lady Helmsley lingering near the bottom of the stairs.Lady Ashington and the Duchess of Kimbolton, who happened to be strolling through the foyer, paused their progress to see if they were actually going to do it.This would be the juicieston ditof all, that Rupert Dupree and Clarissa Weatherby had not merely made up their spat but had kissed under the mistletoe.
Clarissa’s heart was thundering.Rupert’s words echoed in her head.You’re just the kind of woman I want to marry.
And she still wasn’t sure, but she was starting to think that maybe, justmaybe, he was the kind of man she wanted to marry, too.
He was looking at her, his usual jovial expression gone, his blue eyes intense.Lady Emily’s voice sounded far away.“It’s just a silly tradition.You don’t mind, do you?”
