Page 83 of Her Impeccable Scoundrel
Footsteps on the stairs startled a squeak out of her. Clive bowed and held up a pair of spectacles.
“Pardon, my lady. His lordship asked me to fetch his reading glasses from his room and bring them to him in the library.”
“A letter arrived a short time ago for him,” the footman assigned as porter said.
“My lady,” Clive said, “are you… pardon me, is there some way I may help you?”
In the few seconds during which the two servants stood trying to hide their curiosity about the trembling that gripped her, Blythe shook her head and squashed the hysterical urge to laugh. Tonight, her future had been settled by the court’s decision, then unsettled by Lord Vernon’s lack of punishment, and now unsettled even more.
Graeme had promised to help her. She’d carried the dishonorable burden of destroying one copy of the will. Once was enough.
Clive bowed again, preparing to pass.
“Wait, Clive,” she said. “I’ll bring those to his lordship.”
Concern creased his brow but he handed the spectacles over, and she made her way to the ground floor room with a strange sensation sweeping through her.
Relief. Though why she should feel that now she had no idea.
She found Graeme standing by the hearth where a low fire eked out warmth, one hand braced against the mantel.
He hadn’t heard her enter, and she stood for a moment watching him. The young boy he’d been had grown into a powerful man, considerate, determined, perhaps even wise. The impeccable manners came from those qualities. Even as a younger man, he’d thought before indulging in carelessness and yet he wasn’t a moralizing pedant.
He must have sensed her presence because he looked up and his face cleared. “Blythe,” he said.
“I’ve brought your spectacles.” She held the item up and moved closer. “You will want to put them on. I’ve been going through the things Lunetta sent.”
He accepted the glasses from her and then captured her shaking hand.
“You’re cold,” he said. “And shaking like a leaf. And so pale. Come closer to the fire.”
She shook her head. The fire was too tempting. “There’s a shawl on the chair by the window.”
He went to retrieve it and tenderly draped it around her shoulders.
“What have you brought?”
She huffed out a breath and shook her head. “I suppose… I suppose one might consider this Maddy’s dowry. Here.” She shoved the papers at him and, relieved of temptation, went to take one of the chairs by the hearth and stare into the smoldering coal.
Silence followed. Not even the paper rustled. Certainly, Graeme was too much of a diplomat to offer a surprised gasp.
Long minutes passed and when she looked up, she saw that he had seated himself in the chair across from her, his head bent, reading every line carefully, his frown set in stone.
The droop of his loosened neckcloth clashed with the tautness of his demeanor, and a frisson of desire shot through her.
She pushed it down. Even in spectacles, he was appealing; he would make for the sort of challenging lover ladies whispered about.
But he wasn’t for her. She’d had a challenging husband, one who’d made her feel desire—for a brief time anyway—until she’d seen what a fool he truly was.
When he reached the last page, he set the paper aside and walked away, returning with two glasses of brandy. He set one by the document on the table next to him.
“A message came saying that Lunetta has died,” he said. “She sent along Maddy’s other dowry, some stocks and notes, as well as the child’s birth certificate. Thornsby has sailed for Italy. Not a good enough friend to stay to the end. The flat was, after all, Lunetta’s, not Thornsby’s.”
Unable to find words for the unbearable sadness, she nodded.
He lifted her hand and closed her fingers around the glass. “Just take a sip,” he said. “Please.”
The warmth of the spirits seeped into her and through her, and then she set the drink aside. When he touched his lips to her forehead, she shut her eyes tight on incipient tears.
