Read Online No Proper Lady by Isabel Cooper - Free Book Online Page B

astonishingly diplomatic of you. Not simply asking if I’m a complete idiot, I mean. I’m pleased to say that my protections should cover you both, and I doubt Reynell can manage a demon or a spell to break through them.”
    “So any threats should be basically mortal?”
    “Yes, and I can’t imagine you’d encounter many of those as long as you stick to the grounds and the village. I may not keep as close an eye on my household as Alex does, but I expect people would notice an assassin around here.”
    “Some would,” said Joan. He knew the place—but if he was wrong, she didn’t think one assassin should give her much trouble.
    “All the same, I’d like you to keep an eye out. For Eleanor, especially.” Simon leaned toward her as he spoke, putting one hand on the arm of the sofa, and it was suddenly hard to look away from his eyes. “I know it won’t always be possible, and I hardly expect you to sleep across her threshold or any such thing, but where you can—”
    “I’d be glad to,” Joan said, and couldn’t keep laughter out of her voice. The man sounded like he was asking her to break into one of the great fortresses or to find a living elephant or something. “It won’t be a problem at all,” she said. Without thinking, she reached over and touched his hand.
    A rush of energy came with the momentary contact, along with a sudden awareness of what seemed like every inch of her skin, especially where the cloth of her dress lay against her breasts.
    Did he feel the same heat? Joan’s fingers were calloused, she knew, and she wasn’t anywhere near the way a woman should look in this time. Still, she thought she saw his eyes widen a little, and there could have been more color on his face.
    Better not to think too much about that.
    “Thank you,” Simon said. “That’s at least one weight off my mind.” He smiled at her—a damn nice smile too.

Chapter 9
    The new clothes arrived two days later, Mrs. Simmons and her daughters having more than earned their payment. Joan came down to her first practical lesson in a blue serge skirt and a snowy blouse embroidered with small blue flowers. Her hair was done as simply as ever, she wore no jewelry, and neither good food nor plentiful sleep had more than begun to take effect. Still, her face was softened and her eyes were brighter. She could have been called pretty.
    Rising to greet her, Simon suspected she’d go well beyond that in the end.
    She returned his look with a questioning glance of her own, and the corners of her mouth turned up just a little. “Mr. Grenville,” she said, mindful of the servants still setting up the tea things. “Eleanor says she’ll be in shortly. We were looking at the atlas, and she wanted to look something up, but she said I should come and tell you.”
    “Thank you,” he said, and then smiled and went as far as polite society would allow. “You look very well today.”
    “That’s very kind of you. I’m…very much obliged.”
    Simon winced. Of course, “Miss MacArthur” had been in dire straits. Of course, sending a dressmaker to her in this one instance wasn’t at all like giving a gift of clothing would have been otherwise. The servants understood that, and they’d known he was giving her clothes. Even so, he shook his head at her very slightly.
    Joan was just beginning to look puzzled when Eleanor stepped in. She still wore the plainest of dresses, and she was still very thin and pale, but she’d spent the last two days walking with Joan in the gardens, and now she was having tea in the drawing room with them, a small miracle in itself.
    “Ellie,” Simon said, smiling, “I hope you’re well.”
    “Oh yes, thank you. And you?”
    “Quite so, thank you.” He was relieved to see the last of the footmen put down his tray and walk out, the door closing quietly behind him. “Shall we?”
    “Please,” said Joan. “I’m pretty hungry.”
    “No, you’re not,” Simon said.
    Joan blinked. “Ladies