revulsion for physical contact. No matter how impersonal the touch was she shrank from it.
Rothbury’s touch was not impersonal. His fingers closed about hers and Tess could not quite repress the tremor of awareness and apprehension that quivered through her. He felt it too; his eyes narrowed momentarily on her face, a perceptive flash of green. Tess felt the heat burn into her cheeks. She was blushing again, so rare an occurrence that she had almost forgotten how it felt. Except that around Rothbury it was not rare at all. She concentrated on descending the carriage steps neatly. Falling into his arms at this or indeed any other moment was not part of her plan.
Once her feet were firmly on the pavement, Rothbury released her and stood back, but his gaze was still fixed intently on her face. He was, Tess realised, still waiting for her reply to his question.
“There is a business proposition I would like to discuss with you, Lord Rothbury,” she said, “but not out here in the street.” Her voice was not quite as steady as she might have wished. It lacked authority and she hated that.
Rothbury bowed ironically. He looked completely unsurprised, as though his female acquaintances frequently appeared unannounced on his doorstep to discuss some sort of mysterious business. Perhaps they did, Tess thought. She had heard enough about his past as an adventurer to know that her unexpected arrival was probably the least exciting or unforeseen thing that had happened to him all year.
“Then please step inside.” He stood back to allow her to precede him up the steps and into the hall. Tess’s immediate impression was of darkness. The hall was so full of statuary and enormous china vases that she was afraid she might blunder into one of them in the gloom. The previous Lord Rothbury, she recalled, had been a scholar of ancient civilisations. The collection must represent some of his research. She repressed a shudder. The house felt as dry and lifeless as a museum display.
“A mausoleum, I know.” Rothbury’s voice cut through her thoughts, reading them with uncanny accuracy. “I have yet to decide what to do with it.” He glanced at her. “Did you ever meet my cousin, the previous viscount, Lady Darent?”
“Not that I recall,” Tess said. “I heard he was a prodigious academic, always travelling and adding to his collections.”
Rothbury nodded. “We shared a love of travel, he and I. It makes for a bond between us even though we never met.” He smiled. “I assume that you know the rest of my inherited family though—my great-aunts Ladies Martindale, Borough and Hurst?”
Tess looked up sharply. This was even better than she had imagined. Ladies Martindale, Borough and Hurst were a trio of the most fearsomely upright dowagers in society.
“Lady Martindale is a very high stickler—completely terrifying,” Tess said.
“Even to you?” Rothbury murmured. “I thought you impervious to the disapproval of society.”
He loosed his coat and handed it with a word of thanks to a butler who looked as though he was part of the statuary.
“Would you like Houghton to take your cloak, Lady Darent, or will your stay be of short duration?” There was gentle mockery in his voice.
Tess hesitated. The house was not cold but she felt as though she required the extra layers of protection her cloak gave her, rather like a suit of armour. The conviction beat in her mind that she was about to make a very serious mistake. Despite all of Rothbury’s advantages—impotence, respectable relatives—she could not quite get past her discomfort.
But whilst she had been thinking, he had taken herarm and steered her into the library. The double oak doors shut behind her with a stealthy snap and it felt like another trap closing.
“I apologise if you think me high-handed.” His smile stole her breath, something that happened so rarely to her that for a moment Tess wondered if the tightness in her chest meant that she was
Rothbury’s touch was not impersonal. His fingers closed about hers and Tess could not quite repress the tremor of awareness and apprehension that quivered through her. He felt it too; his eyes narrowed momentarily on her face, a perceptive flash of green. Tess felt the heat burn into her cheeks. She was blushing again, so rare an occurrence that she had almost forgotten how it felt. Except that around Rothbury it was not rare at all. She concentrated on descending the carriage steps neatly. Falling into his arms at this or indeed any other moment was not part of her plan.
Once her feet were firmly on the pavement, Rothbury released her and stood back, but his gaze was still fixed intently on her face. He was, Tess realised, still waiting for her reply to his question.
“There is a business proposition I would like to discuss with you, Lord Rothbury,” she said, “but not out here in the street.” Her voice was not quite as steady as she might have wished. It lacked authority and she hated that.
Rothbury bowed ironically. He looked completely unsurprised, as though his female acquaintances frequently appeared unannounced on his doorstep to discuss some sort of mysterious business. Perhaps they did, Tess thought. She had heard enough about his past as an adventurer to know that her unexpected arrival was probably the least exciting or unforeseen thing that had happened to him all year.
“Then please step inside.” He stood back to allow her to precede him up the steps and into the hall. Tess’s immediate impression was of darkness. The hall was so full of statuary and enormous china vases that she was afraid she might blunder into one of them in the gloom. The previous Lord Rothbury, she recalled, had been a scholar of ancient civilisations. The collection must represent some of his research. She repressed a shudder. The house felt as dry and lifeless as a museum display.
“A mausoleum, I know.” Rothbury’s voice cut through her thoughts, reading them with uncanny accuracy. “I have yet to decide what to do with it.” He glanced at her. “Did you ever meet my cousin, the previous viscount, Lady Darent?”
“Not that I recall,” Tess said. “I heard he was a prodigious academic, always travelling and adding to his collections.”
Rothbury nodded. “We shared a love of travel, he and I. It makes for a bond between us even though we never met.” He smiled. “I assume that you know the rest of my inherited family though—my great-aunts Ladies Martindale, Borough and Hurst?”
Tess looked up sharply. This was even better than she had imagined. Ladies Martindale, Borough and Hurst were a trio of the most fearsomely upright dowagers in society.
“Lady Martindale is a very high stickler—completely terrifying,” Tess said.
“Even to you?” Rothbury murmured. “I thought you impervious to the disapproval of society.”
He loosed his coat and handed it with a word of thanks to a butler who looked as though he was part of the statuary.
“Would you like Houghton to take your cloak, Lady Darent, or will your stay be of short duration?” There was gentle mockery in his voice.
Tess hesitated. The house was not cold but she felt as though she required the extra layers of protection her cloak gave her, rather like a suit of armour. The conviction beat in her mind that she was about to make a very serious mistake. Despite all of Rothbury’s advantages—impotence, respectable relatives—she could not quite get past her discomfort.
But whilst she had been thinking, he had taken herarm and steered her into the library. The double oak doors shut behind her with a stealthy snap and it felt like another trap closing.
“I apologise if you think me high-handed.” His smile stole her breath, something that happened so rarely to her that for a moment Tess wondered if the tightness in her chest meant that she was
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