Page 25 of One Night to Remember
It took him a moment to realize that she was garbed much as she’d been dressed the morning that he’d seen her at the races—and that a droopy bonnet, tattered pelisse, and stained gown was not precisely the elegant attire one more commonly associated with the sister of a duke.
“Of course,” he said. “I wondered about the disguise.”
She fluttered her eyes heavenward and let out a world-weary sigh. “You didn’t evennoticethe disguise.”
“To be fair,” he pointed out, “the disguise was the least surprising component of the unexpected arrival of a ducal curricle and self-appointed ‘carriage counselor.’”
“Duke-appointed,” she assured him. “You were standing right there when Cole insisted we work together. And this arrangement is perfect. No one would look for me here, and with so many others milling about… nobody will notice one more worker.”
Giles would notice. He would spend every moment of every day noticing every curve and sigh and lick of the lips. And there was nothing he could do about it until after the race.
He gestured behind him in defeat. “Aprons in the pile to the left, gloves in the bucket to the right.”
She blinked. “That’s it?”
“That’s what?”
“No argument?” she stammered, as if he was the one throwing wrenches. “I show up unannounced, and you’re not patting me on the head and shooing me from your very manly workshop?”
“First of all,” he said, “No one wants to touch that bonnet.”
She inclined her head. “True.”
“Secondly,” he continued, “you’re right. Iwasstanding right there when Colehaven commanded us to work together. More importantly, you’ve spent more time with this curricle than anyone, and you know what you’re about. Go get an apron.”
Cheeks flushing a becoming pink, Lady Felicity laid her bonnet on the table as she pulled an apron over her head.
“Hats on the hooks,” someone called out.
“Right.” She crossed the room to place her bonnet on an empty nail next to the row of boys’ caps, then turned back toward Giles. “Youdohave a lot of rules.”
“He’s the master,” one of the lads said simply. “That’s one of the most important rules of all.”
Lady Felicity shot Giles an arch look.
He smiled back at her blandly.
“You’ll never bemymaster,” she warned him. “You may be the master of your shop, but I am the master of my brother’s carriage.”
He tossed her a large rag. “Rule number thirty-seven: Carriage-master keeps his assigned carriage clean of dirt and grime.”
“I doubt that’s a real rule,” she muttered as she began wiping the dust from the curricle’s exterior.
Giles grinned as he pulled a rag from his apron and joined her.
The next quarter hour passed with companionable ribbing and semi-serious debates about the virtues of leather washer seals and the various styles of axle grease. Every shared laugh caused a strange flutter in his stomach.
Bickering with Lady Felicity as they worked together on a carriage wasalmostas much fun as preparing his own curricle for a race. It would be a challenge to keep her away from—
She followed his line of sight and visibly restrained herself from bouncing on her toes. “That’s ‘Baby,’ isn’t it? She’s gorgeous. May I see her up close?”
“You may not.”
“I just want to—”
“Nobody touches Baby,” he said firmly. “In fact, the only carriage you have permission to touch belongs to your brother.”
“But she’s been custom-built specifically to your taste,” Lady Felicity protested. “You know how much I love personalized modifications.”
