Read Online When Good Earls Go Bad: A Victorian Valentine's Day Novella by Megan Frampton - Free Book Online Page B

sure. Because no matter how Scottish earls were different from their British counterparts, she knew neither type would ever get involved more permanently with a not-housekeeper who was also a not-aristocrat.
    “You know what ladies appreciate in clothing, I presume. At least,” he amended, throwing a quick glance at her nearly second-best gown, “you know more than I do. I need to gather data on the subject, and I cannot just walk around to ask random ladies how important it is to have certain types of fabrics.”
    “Ah, of course not,” Annabelle replied, trying to keep the humor out of her voice. Because she did not want that glower again, but honestly, the thought of him out on the London streets, perhaps carrying a notebook of some sort, and accosting women as they emerged from dressmakers to ask his very detailed, very somber questions, was enough to make her at least want to smirk.
    She did not. She was very proud of her self-restraint.
    “I will be very pleased to assist you, my lord.” A pause, and then she couldn’t resist saying, “Even though that task runs far outside the normal duties of a housekeeper, even one who isn’t really.”
    They arrived at his rented house before he could do much more than let out a sharp huff of breath. She’d been hoping for another eye roll, at least, maybe even a tongue sticking out.

 
    A Belle’s Guide to Household Management
    Cleaning out the house is not the same as being cleaned out, even though by the end of the former your enthusiasm for the task might be the latter.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    “O h, and this one! This one is gorgeous; I can just see a young woman, maybe with dark hair, wearing this at her first ball.” Miss Tyne leaned back in her chair, the swatch of fabric in her hand, her expression distant. “And he would ask her to dance, and she’d say she wasn’t very good at it.”
    Like making toast, Matthew thought.
    “And he’d say, ‘All I want is to dance with you in my arms. I don’t care if you’re good or not.’ And he would hold his arms out for her, and she’d step into them, and then they’d dance. All because she was pretty and kind and wore a lovely gown.” She shook her head, as though to clear a memory away, then her cheeks flushed a lovely pink color.
    They were sitting in the sitting room, the one where Matthew had slept the first night, candles lighting the room up as though it were daylight. He’d only felt a twinge at seeing just how many candles she thought were necessary for them to see by, and he was proud of himself for not snuffing out the ones that were on the desk, rather than at the table at which they were seated. Because he wasn’t certain at that point if he wanted to be economical or if he just wanted to be in the dark with her.
    “Is this what you were expecting? Me just talking?” she asked, her tone changing to one that held a note of concern. As though he could find her wanting. Maybe he’d find her overabundant in her enthusiasm and joy and beauty and honesty, but not wanting. Never wanting.
    Matthew took another swatch from the pile. Unlike Mr. Andrews, he’d parsed them out so he wouldn’t overwhelm her eyes. He doubted he could overwhelm her opinion. Thus far, she’d offered comments on no fewer than half a dozen swatches, and there were at least twice that many to go. He’d offered to finish another day, but she’d just shaken her head and kept on going.
    “What about this one?” Matthew said, holding the swatch out to her. She took it, but not before touching his fingers with hers, a sly smile on her mouth as though she knew precisely what she was doing.
    And she did, didn’t she? She’d returned his kiss, she’d told him to hush when he’d tried to offer some sort of honorable excuse. She’d said she wanted it, too, and he couldn’t even imagine her lying, especially not about something like that.
    He really, really wanted to kiss her again. And perhaps explore other things with his mouth,