straightened.
“Have you been waiting for me?”
“Of course not,” he answered, just fast enough to tell her he’d been doing exactly that. “But since you’re here…”
As quick as you please, he had his hand under her elbow and was leading her away.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she whispered with a frightened glance down both ends of the hallway.
“Escorting you to my study.”
She stopped walking. “We most certainly will not be going—”
“Would you prefer my room?”
“Are you mad?” she gasped, struggling to pull her arm from his grasp. “You’ll ruin me.”
“The study it is,” he decided and led her forward at a leisurely rate. “It occurs to me that you are forever bemoaning the possibility of ruin, and yet your good name remains intact.”
“No thanks to you,” she bit out.
“Nor you,” he retorted without heat. “Wandering the halls at night as you are.”
“I most certainly was not wandering. I was visiting Kate—whose door, I’ll remind you, is only three down from my own.”
“A lot can happen to a young woman in the space of three doors.”
“Like being dragged off by a fiend disguised as a gentleman?” she asked pointedly.
“Why yes, that was the very thing I was thinking. How funny you should mention it.”
“Hilarious.” She gave up trying to free herself. “If you must be an overbearing ass, Whit, couldn’t you at least do it more expediently?”
When he failed to move any faster, she leaned up to hiss in his ear. “If we’re discovered, your mother will insist you do the honorable thing and offer for me.”
His pace increased exponentially, until they were very nearly trotting. The relief she felt was instantaneous, as was her annoyance at the obvious insult.
“Not that I’d have you,” she huffed.
“Here we are.” He pulled her into his study where several candles were already—or possibly still—glowing. He shut and locked the door behind them.
“We’re safe enough now, I think,” he said, no longer whispering.
“Hush, what if someone should hear you?”
“There’s no one close enough to hear anything,” he assured her.
“You can’t possibly know that. People are always skulking about at house parties.” She tossed her arms up. “Look at us.”
Unconcerned, he walked over to lean a hip against the enormous oak desk. “Yes, and as it’s my house, I’m perfectly aware of where each and every one of them is skulking about.”
“That’s absurd, you can’t possibly—”
“Mr. Dooley is passed out drunk in the orangery,” he began, folding his arms across his chest. “The lonely Mrs. Dooley is consoling herself in the arms of Mr. Jaffrey. Mrs. Jaffrey, well aware of her husband’s roving ways, has taken her revenge upon him by slipping into Lord Habbot’s room. Lady Habbot isn’t in residence, of course, but her nephew Mr. West is busy entertaining the willing Mary—Mrs. Renwald’s lady’s maid—while Mrs. Renwald herself, is occupied in the stable with Mr. Bolerhack’s grooms. Mr. Renwald, blissfully unaware of his wife’s proclivities, is fast asleep—”
“I beg your pardon.” She just had to ask. “Did you…did you say grooms? ”
“I did.” He grinned at her wickedly. “I did indeed.”
“But what…how…I…”
“Would you care for an explanation, imp? A description, perhaps?”
“No.” Good Lord. “Thank you. I’d rather you explain why you dragged me in here.”
“In a moment. Did you speak with Kate?”
Deciding she might as well make herself comfortable while she was being annoyed, she took a seat at a small settee in front of the fireplace. It might have made more sense to have chosen the chair in front of the desk, but she rather felt as if that position would have put her in the role of subordinate, and the man’s arrogance was intolerable as it was.
“I did speak with Kate,” she informed him stiffly. “And as it happens, you’ve made a fuss over nothing.
“Have you been waiting for me?”
“Of course not,” he answered, just fast enough to tell her he’d been doing exactly that. “But since you’re here…”
As quick as you please, he had his hand under her elbow and was leading her away.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she whispered with a frightened glance down both ends of the hallway.
“Escorting you to my study.”
She stopped walking. “We most certainly will not be going—”
“Would you prefer my room?”
“Are you mad?” she gasped, struggling to pull her arm from his grasp. “You’ll ruin me.”
“The study it is,” he decided and led her forward at a leisurely rate. “It occurs to me that you are forever bemoaning the possibility of ruin, and yet your good name remains intact.”
“No thanks to you,” she bit out.
“Nor you,” he retorted without heat. “Wandering the halls at night as you are.”
“I most certainly was not wandering. I was visiting Kate—whose door, I’ll remind you, is only three down from my own.”
“A lot can happen to a young woman in the space of three doors.”
“Like being dragged off by a fiend disguised as a gentleman?” she asked pointedly.
“Why yes, that was the very thing I was thinking. How funny you should mention it.”
“Hilarious.” She gave up trying to free herself. “If you must be an overbearing ass, Whit, couldn’t you at least do it more expediently?”
When he failed to move any faster, she leaned up to hiss in his ear. “If we’re discovered, your mother will insist you do the honorable thing and offer for me.”
His pace increased exponentially, until they were very nearly trotting. The relief she felt was instantaneous, as was her annoyance at the obvious insult.
“Not that I’d have you,” she huffed.
“Here we are.” He pulled her into his study where several candles were already—or possibly still—glowing. He shut and locked the door behind them.
“We’re safe enough now, I think,” he said, no longer whispering.
“Hush, what if someone should hear you?”
“There’s no one close enough to hear anything,” he assured her.
“You can’t possibly know that. People are always skulking about at house parties.” She tossed her arms up. “Look at us.”
Unconcerned, he walked over to lean a hip against the enormous oak desk. “Yes, and as it’s my house, I’m perfectly aware of where each and every one of them is skulking about.”
“That’s absurd, you can’t possibly—”
“Mr. Dooley is passed out drunk in the orangery,” he began, folding his arms across his chest. “The lonely Mrs. Dooley is consoling herself in the arms of Mr. Jaffrey. Mrs. Jaffrey, well aware of her husband’s roving ways, has taken her revenge upon him by slipping into Lord Habbot’s room. Lady Habbot isn’t in residence, of course, but her nephew Mr. West is busy entertaining the willing Mary—Mrs. Renwald’s lady’s maid—while Mrs. Renwald herself, is occupied in the stable with Mr. Bolerhack’s grooms. Mr. Renwald, blissfully unaware of his wife’s proclivities, is fast asleep—”
“I beg your pardon.” She just had to ask. “Did you…did you say grooms? ”
“I did.” He grinned at her wickedly. “I did indeed.”
“But what…how…I…”
“Would you care for an explanation, imp? A description, perhaps?”
“No.” Good Lord. “Thank you. I’d rather you explain why you dragged me in here.”
“In a moment. Did you speak with Kate?”
Deciding she might as well make herself comfortable while she was being annoyed, she took a seat at a small settee in front of the fireplace. It might have made more sense to have chosen the chair in front of the desk, but she rather felt as if that position would have put her in the role of subordinate, and the man’s arrogance was intolerable as it was.
“I did speak with Kate,” she informed him stiffly. “And as it happens, you’ve made a fuss over nothing.
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