Read Online Lady Anne's Lover (The London List) by Maggie Robinson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Maggie Robinson
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be your affianced husband, I need to be convincingly smitten.”
Anne pulled the sewing basket from the shelf. “No, you don’t. Your neighbors already know that I’m your housekeeper. They will simply think I trapped you in some way. Go fetch your coat.”
“A honeyed trap indeed,” he said, his lips quirking. He disappeared down the hallway and Anne sank into the rocking chair by the hearth. The threads were a tangle, the needles rusty in their paper packet. Cecily had not been as vigilant with the mending as she had with the pantry.
Gareth returned holding a jacket of dark blue superfine. It was shiny at the elbows and seams. “I’ve nothing better save my uniform, and I’m not going to peacock about in that. When I sold out last year I was relieved I wouldn’t have to wear it.”
“Where were you serving?”
“In India, until my father’s letters became desperate. By the time I got back, he was in way over his head. I should have come home after Waterloo. There might have been a chance to set Ripton Hall to rights if I had.”
That explained the faintly golden skin in the middle of a Welsh winter, and why he was in such desperate financial straits now. Things had been left too long.
“I was home for just three months before I had my accident,” he continued. “Ironic, isn’t it? All the French bayonets and native uprisings didn’t make a dent in my armor, but I was defeated by leaky thatch.”
He didn’t sound as bitter as he had earlier. But in the short time he’d been home, his life had been completely up-ended. His career gone. His love, too. Anne needed to ask him about Bronwen, but would not do so now. She licked a length of navy blue thread and passed it through the needle’s eye. “Give me the jacket, please.”
Her fingers were clumsy and the needle too blunt to poke through the thick wool easily.
“Here.” Gareth rummaged through the basket and handed her a tarnished thimble. It helped some. She would never be an expert needlewoman—she suspected she’d never be an expert on anything domestic no matter how hard she studied Mrs. Smith’s book.
She tied the knot and bit off the end of the thread. “What were you reading?”
“ ‘ An Excellent Way of Washing to Save Soap and Whiten Cloaths .’ I will need all the help I can get now that you’ve deputized me to do the laundry. This is the most interesting book.”
How very strange it was for them to be sitting in the warm kitchen together talking of household chores. On their way to visit a parson. Anne watched as Gareth shrugged into his coat. “May I fasten your sleeve?”
“If you don’t mind.”
She was nearer to him now than she’d ever been, folding up the cuff to his elbow and securing it with several bent pins. Perhaps when they were done with Mr. Morgan she’d purchase a fresh set of pins at the little shop and announce their intentions to the world.
In a month’s time she would be a married woman. What the future held after that, she didn’t dare to think upon.
He looked down on her, his eyes dark. “A kiss for good luck, Annie?”
A kiss . He smelled of mint and lime, his dark hair clean and brushed back from his intelligent forehead. He was so very, very handsome, though there was pain still etched in the lines of his face. Anne realized he was as uncertain as she was that this mad scheme might work.
If it did, he would have his home. She would be safe from her father.
But not, perhaps, from Major Ripton-Jones.
She closed her eyes and pursed her lips, expecting a quick peck. That was not what she received.
At first his lips brushed hers so gently she though he was done. Her lashes fluttered open but he was still there, nose to nose with her, his own eyes shut, his brows knit. Anne felt the incremental pressure and his warmth. She trembled and felt his hand steady her shoulder. His mouth was still closed, as was hers, but she swore she tasted something even though her tongue was firmly behind her
Anne pulled the sewing basket from the shelf. “No, you don’t. Your neighbors already know that I’m your housekeeper. They will simply think I trapped you in some way. Go fetch your coat.”
“A honeyed trap indeed,” he said, his lips quirking. He disappeared down the hallway and Anne sank into the rocking chair by the hearth. The threads were a tangle, the needles rusty in their paper packet. Cecily had not been as vigilant with the mending as she had with the pantry.
Gareth returned holding a jacket of dark blue superfine. It was shiny at the elbows and seams. “I’ve nothing better save my uniform, and I’m not going to peacock about in that. When I sold out last year I was relieved I wouldn’t have to wear it.”
“Where were you serving?”
“In India, until my father’s letters became desperate. By the time I got back, he was in way over his head. I should have come home after Waterloo. There might have been a chance to set Ripton Hall to rights if I had.”
That explained the faintly golden skin in the middle of a Welsh winter, and why he was in such desperate financial straits now. Things had been left too long.
“I was home for just three months before I had my accident,” he continued. “Ironic, isn’t it? All the French bayonets and native uprisings didn’t make a dent in my armor, but I was defeated by leaky thatch.”
He didn’t sound as bitter as he had earlier. But in the short time he’d been home, his life had been completely up-ended. His career gone. His love, too. Anne needed to ask him about Bronwen, but would not do so now. She licked a length of navy blue thread and passed it through the needle’s eye. “Give me the jacket, please.”
Her fingers were clumsy and the needle too blunt to poke through the thick wool easily.
“Here.” Gareth rummaged through the basket and handed her a tarnished thimble. It helped some. She would never be an expert needlewoman—she suspected she’d never be an expert on anything domestic no matter how hard she studied Mrs. Smith’s book.
She tied the knot and bit off the end of the thread. “What were you reading?”
“ ‘ An Excellent Way of Washing to Save Soap and Whiten Cloaths .’ I will need all the help I can get now that you’ve deputized me to do the laundry. This is the most interesting book.”
How very strange it was for them to be sitting in the warm kitchen together talking of household chores. On their way to visit a parson. Anne watched as Gareth shrugged into his coat. “May I fasten your sleeve?”
“If you don’t mind.”
She was nearer to him now than she’d ever been, folding up the cuff to his elbow and securing it with several bent pins. Perhaps when they were done with Mr. Morgan she’d purchase a fresh set of pins at the little shop and announce their intentions to the world.
In a month’s time she would be a married woman. What the future held after that, she didn’t dare to think upon.
He looked down on her, his eyes dark. “A kiss for good luck, Annie?”
A kiss . He smelled of mint and lime, his dark hair clean and brushed back from his intelligent forehead. He was so very, very handsome, though there was pain still etched in the lines of his face. Anne realized he was as uncertain as she was that this mad scheme might work.
If it did, he would have his home. She would be safe from her father.
But not, perhaps, from Major Ripton-Jones.
She closed her eyes and pursed her lips, expecting a quick peck. That was not what she received.
At first his lips brushed hers so gently she though he was done. Her lashes fluttered open but he was still there, nose to nose with her, his own eyes shut, his brows knit. Anne felt the incremental pressure and his warmth. She trembled and felt his hand steady her shoulder. His mouth was still closed, as was hers, but she swore she tasted something even though her tongue was firmly behind her
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