Read Online Her Quicksilver Lover: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 6 by Lynne Connolly - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lynne Connolly
Tags: Paranormal;historical;club;gods;Georgian;Regency;newspapers;London;history;wealthy;aristocracy
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made her way slowly along the stone corridor to the stairs at the end. The servants’ stairs threaded around the whole building, a network of narrow staircases and passages, so the staff could get around the club without going through the public areas. Only the last part of their journey was usually taken in the grander parts of the club. Hence her reason for using the landing in the main hall that fateful day. If only she had reached the servants’ door safely!
She stopped so suddenly that a maid walking just behind her cannoned into her. After apologising, Joanna continued on her way, but the startling thought that had halted her remained. Why would he ask for her by name? Had he found her out? She shuddered.
Arranging the silverware in the dining room was not a task Joanna disliked, but she could not keep her mind on it. In the mirrors reflecting the light from the busy London thoroughfare outside, the shiny spoon bowls, even the heavy silver sugar-shakers and the salt cellars, she saw herself slipping and what the consequences could have been. However, she kept enough of her wits about her to ensure the room appeared at its best before she left, softly closing the door behind her.
The dining room lay at one end of the building, near the door that was once part of the servants’ network but was now permanently locked. The staircase had been declared unsafe, but it had been so since she had arrived, and still was no nearer repair. She would have to use the door leading off one of the bedrooms, or follow the passage around to the landing.
She would face it. Mr. Lightfoot had assured her the landing was safe. Cautiously she stepped out, and when she reached it, slid her shod foot along the place where she’d slipped a few days before, where a small part of the marble showed past the edge of the new carpet. It felt like the rest of the hallway used to, polished, but not too slippery.
A footman, stationed on the landing, raised a brow. “Seems somebody slipped, so they had the carpet laid. We can’t be having that, can we?”
She murmured a vague agreement and passed on, climbing the stairs to the comte’s private drawing room. He would dismiss her, she was sure of it. Why else would he ask for her?
Chapter Six
Anticipation filled Joanna’s veins with a chill that made her want to rub her arms, although she wasn’t cold, precisely. Unless she was cold from the inside. She had to force herself to go on, to stand before that door and knock. The peremptory “Come!” did nothing to settle her nerves.
With her head lowered, she went in. “Close the door,” he said.
She did so, but with a little hesitation. Respectable girls did not enter rooms with gentlemen and leave the door closed. Of course, she wasn’t a respectable girl, but a servant.
He was standing before the window, staring out into the street. His head, his mane of glossy fair hair tied back in a black velvet bow, moved very slightly, but the rest of his body remained still. He had his hands thrust in his breeches’ pockets, the sapphire blue skirts of his grosgrain silk coat roughly pushed back. Lace foamed from his wrists.
When he turned to face her, his features were shadowed by the bright light behind him. A solitaire glinted in his carefully folded neckcloth. He could have been a marble statue, except he was vivid with colour.
Hastily, she curtseyed. “Mrs. Holdsworth said you wanted to see me, my lord.” She’d already transgressed by meeting his gaze. She’d looked away, but the meeting of eyes had registered. “I’m glad to see you well.”
“Why should I not be?” Irritation snapped in his voice.
“No reason, sir.” She faltered, then took a calming breath, forcing her mind into working. She had better say what she meant to, otherwise she would never get it out. “I was concerned for you. A moment later and it could have been you slipping. You might have fallen right down the stairs.”
“So might you.” He spoke softly,
She stopped so suddenly that a maid walking just behind her cannoned into her. After apologising, Joanna continued on her way, but the startling thought that had halted her remained. Why would he ask for her by name? Had he found her out? She shuddered.
Arranging the silverware in the dining room was not a task Joanna disliked, but she could not keep her mind on it. In the mirrors reflecting the light from the busy London thoroughfare outside, the shiny spoon bowls, even the heavy silver sugar-shakers and the salt cellars, she saw herself slipping and what the consequences could have been. However, she kept enough of her wits about her to ensure the room appeared at its best before she left, softly closing the door behind her.
The dining room lay at one end of the building, near the door that was once part of the servants’ network but was now permanently locked. The staircase had been declared unsafe, but it had been so since she had arrived, and still was no nearer repair. She would have to use the door leading off one of the bedrooms, or follow the passage around to the landing.
She would face it. Mr. Lightfoot had assured her the landing was safe. Cautiously she stepped out, and when she reached it, slid her shod foot along the place where she’d slipped a few days before, where a small part of the marble showed past the edge of the new carpet. It felt like the rest of the hallway used to, polished, but not too slippery.
A footman, stationed on the landing, raised a brow. “Seems somebody slipped, so they had the carpet laid. We can’t be having that, can we?”
She murmured a vague agreement and passed on, climbing the stairs to the comte’s private drawing room. He would dismiss her, she was sure of it. Why else would he ask for her?
Chapter Six
Anticipation filled Joanna’s veins with a chill that made her want to rub her arms, although she wasn’t cold, precisely. Unless she was cold from the inside. She had to force herself to go on, to stand before that door and knock. The peremptory “Come!” did nothing to settle her nerves.
With her head lowered, she went in. “Close the door,” he said.
She did so, but with a little hesitation. Respectable girls did not enter rooms with gentlemen and leave the door closed. Of course, she wasn’t a respectable girl, but a servant.
He was standing before the window, staring out into the street. His head, his mane of glossy fair hair tied back in a black velvet bow, moved very slightly, but the rest of his body remained still. He had his hands thrust in his breeches’ pockets, the sapphire blue skirts of his grosgrain silk coat roughly pushed back. Lace foamed from his wrists.
When he turned to face her, his features were shadowed by the bright light behind him. A solitaire glinted in his carefully folded neckcloth. He could have been a marble statue, except he was vivid with colour.
Hastily, she curtseyed. “Mrs. Holdsworth said you wanted to see me, my lord.” She’d already transgressed by meeting his gaze. She’d looked away, but the meeting of eyes had registered. “I’m glad to see you well.”
“Why should I not be?” Irritation snapped in his voice.
“No reason, sir.” She faltered, then took a calming breath, forcing her mind into working. She had better say what she meant to, otherwise she would never get it out. “I was concerned for you. A moment later and it could have been you slipping. You might have fallen right down the stairs.”
“So might you.” He spoke softly,
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