Page 77 of Once More, My Darling Rogue
“You’re not to climb ladders.”
“But what of your windows?”
“I’ll hire someone to wash the blasted windows.”
“I won’t try to talk you out of the expense as I don’t truly want to do them.”
He had the feeling of being manipulated again. He should be angry. Instead he was rather amused. He was losing count of the number of times she amused him. “Where did you get the roses?”
“I stole them from Mrs. Turner’s garden.”
He arched a brow. “So you’re a thief now?”
“Marla said she wouldn’t notice them missing. She never goes into the garden, no one ever comes to visit. Which I find rather sad. I thought about calling on her, asking her to take tea with me among the roses, but apparently servants aren’t allowed to visit with those who hire servants.”
Her compassion astounded him. Was this the woman Grace saw, the woman with whom she was friends? Why the cold façade, the distance? He wanted to explore her, not only with his hands, but with his mind, to know and understand every aspect of her.
The minutes were ticking by. He needed to tell her. Tomorrow. He would find time for it tomorrow. No sense in ruining her enjoyment in a day of accomplishments.
As Drake sat at his desk in his library, it occurred to him that today he wasn’t doing anything that he was supposed to do. He’d left Phee in the kitchen, tidying up, thinking that he was headed to the club. He’d thought the same thing himself until he walked to the end of the street. Then he’d abruptly turned around, borrowed Mrs. Turner’s footman, and paid him to deliver a message to Goliath at the club, informing him Drake would be in residence this evening. He told himself it was because he could think better here, it was quieter, he was less likely to be disturbed.
But he knew the truth of it. He was loath to leave her alone with the company of only a cat, knowing this would be her last night in his residence, that following his meeting tomorrow he would tell her everything. This little farce had gone on long enough. It was time to put an end to it. But first he had to concentrate on the meeting.
Yet it was so silent. Had he ever realized how quiet it was when darkness fell beyond the windows? He heard the occasional crackle of the fire, but that only added to the sense of isolation. And he’d left her here alone, night after night, a woman whose evenings had been filled with balls, dinners, and gaiety. He doubted she’d ever spent an hour completely alone before she’d ended up with him. Not that she remembered all her social obligations, but he knew of them, and that somehow made it all the worse.
He refused to acknowledge the gladness that swept through him when the door clicked open and she stepped into the library, the cat brushing against her skirts as it sauntered in with her. Surprise lighted her features.
“I thought you’d gone to the club.”
“I decided to work here tonight.”
“Oh.” She hesitated, glanced around, held up a pad of paper. “I was going to sketch for a while. Do you mind if I do it in here?”
“No, of course not.” It wasn’t as though she had an abundance of choices, so he couldn’t very well be selfish about sharing the room.
She closed the door, which created an intimacy that he hadn’t expected in a room as large as this one. It was silly really when they’d been in his bedchamber together, been in his bathing chamber. It was the laughter in the garden, he thought. It had changed things between them, knocked down walls he’d strived so hard to keep erect, opened windows he would have preferred remain shut tight.
Coming to stand before the desk, she gazed at the paper before him, the pen in his hand as though she expected to be privy to some great discovery. “What sort of work can you do here that doesn’t require you be at the club?”
“I have a meeting with the partners tomorrow. I’m trying to organize my thoughts.”
“What are they? Your thoughts?”
“I’m not quite sure as I’ve yet to organize them.”
Blinking, she stepped back. “I’m sorry.”
“No.” He held up his hand, cursing himself for his terse words earlier. “I stayed here because I expected it to be quieter than the club, and I need to concentrate.”
“Perhaps I should go elsewhere.”
“No, I—”I want you here.“I’ve already built a fire, and it’s cozy over there with the new chairs. You should enjoy them.”
“I shall be as quiet as a dormouse.”
She took the chair that was turned so it faced the desk. If he leaned forward slightly, he could see her clearly with her legs tucked beneath her, the pad on her lap, the pencil moving across the paper with a speed that should match that of his pen.
Then she stopped, looked up, opened her mouth, and snapped it shut. He wasn’t near enough to see her blush, but he suspected it was there, a faint pink that hinted at warm passions. Perhaps a measure of embarrassment, because she’d been on the brink of disturbing him with a comment or a question. She returned to her drawing.
