“She really is.” Angel’s smile grew slightly wistful. “I did not think I would miss her, especially after a mere few days but—” A book slipped from her fingers and landed directly on her slippered foot. “Ow!”
Reuben slid down the ladder and took her hand as she hobbled on one foot. “Are you well?” He looked at the offending book, which was a hefty, leather-bound thing.
She bit down on her bottom lip. “I think so.” She tried to pry off her thin slipper that had likely done little to protect her foot from the force of the book. Her grip tightened on his hand as she struggled and nearly toppled over.
“Here.” He looped an arm around her waist and led her over to the leather armchair that sat by the windows. It was only after he’d set her down did he consider how inappropriate his actions had been.
And how damned perfect she’d felt under his hands. The touch of the boning of her stays and the delicate feel of her rib cage lingered on his palms. He balled up his fist and released it. This was not the time to be indulging whatever foolishness this was. She could have a broken toe for all he knew.
Kneeling in front of her, he slipped off her shoe and eyed the curve of her stockinged foot. “May I?” He glanced up at her.
Still biting down on her lip, she nodded. “Bloody book was heavy. Who writes such long books anyway?”
If their situation had not been so intimate, he might have been taken aback by her curse, but he did not have the time to dwell on it, not when he needed to concentrate carefully on drawing breaths that were weighted with…whatever this was.
He took her foot in his hand and carefully pressed along it, urging her to flex her toes and the arc of her foot. Her skin was warm in his palm. “I do not think anything is broken.”
She nodded, opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. Her eyes grew suddenly dark, and he could not bring himself to look away.
He cursed himself inwardly and released her foot. There was no denying it. He knew very well what this was. As much as he wanted to convince himself otherwise, this was desire. Hot, foolish, insanity-inducing desire.
For an entirely inappropriate woman.
Chapter Seven
Lingering outside of doorways really did not become her. But nor did spending time with the atrocious Mr. Cartwright. Angel’s first impression of that man had yet to be dispelled by his latest visit, and she did not expect that to change. The way he looked at her as though she were a mere piece of meat ready to be devoured sent a chill down her spine. He thought himself handsome and charming—it was obvious in the way he carried himself and how he anticipated her responses, as though she might fall into his arms at any second. However, she had been around many truly charming men, and he fell a long way short of them. Apparently Berkshire was sincerely lacking good men or else no one would give this man a second of their time.
Apart from Mrs. Stone.
Angel gnawed on the end of a thumbnail and peered through the gap into the drawing room. Mrs. Stone seemed to find him amusing, if the laughter emanating from the room had anything to do with it. She had half-hoped Mrs. Stone would send the man on his way, especially after Angel had muttered something about not finding him all that pleasant, but it seemed her charge would not be persuaded. The man would be invited in and entertained to the best of their ability, commanded Mrs. Stone.
Still chewing on her nail, she eyed Mr. Cartwright through the gap. He sat opposite Mrs. Stone so that Angel could view his side profile. The words between them were muted, but she heard the occasional sentence. Of course, she could go and sit with them. After all, she was a lady’s companion, not a servant. There was no reason to be lingering in doorways.
The thought of his gaze crawling over her made her shudder, though.
Angel stiffened as she latched onto the conversation.
“Investment.”
She drew in a breath. She just knew it. Mr. Cartwright was up to no good. He intended to take money from Mrs. Stone, she was certain of it.
Controlling her breaths, she tried to listen to the rest of the conversation. Though muffled, what she heard confirmed her instinct. Mr. Cartwright wished Mrs. Stone to invest in something with him. Angel snorted to herself. No doubt this investment would come to nothing. She had seen Theo throw out men just like this, men who offered the world for a small sum and who would never be seen again. They gathered up as many investors as they could and then fled.
Well, she would not stand for this. Mrs. Stone had such a kind heart and was far too trusting. No doubt she would give the man the money if she got the chance.
Angel entered the drawing room and a hint of frustration flitted across Mr. Cartwright’s face before his expression shuttered and that faux-charming smile was pasted in place. She responded with one of her own.
She scanned the room. Bright sunlight flooded the room, spilling onto luxurious but aged furnishings. None of them gave her any idea as to how she would get rid of the man, though.
“Ah, I was wondering where you were, Angel.” Mrs. Stone gave a broad smile. “Mr. Cartwright has come to visit. He’s so generous with his time.”
“Yes, I see,” Angel said tightly.
“Well, it is no hardship visiting with you, Mrs. Stone.” His tone made Angel want to retch. London was not without its beastly men, but the way his gaze traced hungrily over everything in the room, including her, put a bitter taste in her mouth.
Angel’s gaze fell on the wooden coffee table, set with a tray, pot of tea, and several cups. The one clasped in Mr. Cartwright’s hand was empty. She forced her expression to remain neutral.
“Would you like me to pour some tea?” she offered, motioning to the empty cup.
Mrs. Stone nodded. “Thank you, my dear. Do pour yourself one and join us. We were having the most interesting conversation.”
Angel topped up Mrs. Stone’s cup before turning her attention to Mr. Cartwright’s. She moved close so that the man may only need to lift his cup a fraction. It meant she could feel his gaze lingering on her waist and up, and he kept trying to catch her eye. It didn’t matter, though, so long as he was distracted.
She glanced at him, met his gaze, and held it. Then she poured quickly and deliberately, ensuring the tea completely missed the cup and splashed directly on his lap.
He jumped up swiftly and cursed under his breath though, loud enough for Angel to hear it. Unfortunately, she did not think Mrs. Stone had heard. But it didn’t matter. His breeches were soaked, and he looked as though he had suffered a rather unfortunate accident.
Angel clapped a hand over her mouth and feigned shock. Lowering the teapot to the table, she bunched up some napkins and shoved them toward Mr. Cartwright.
“Mr. Cartwright, you must forgive me. I apologize for my clumsiness.”
His cheeks were red, and she saw him take several breaths before responding. “That is quite all right, my lady. No doubt you were distracted.” His eyes warmed and lingered on hers.
Angel’s heart dropped to her toes. No, this was not what was meant to happen. He thought the reason she spilled it was because she was distracted by him.
Mrs. Stone laughed. “Oh we do tend to get into a mess in this house. I think Angel has been spending too much time with me.”
The door to the drawing room swung open and remained so as Mr. Hunter stepped into the room. Angel’s heart gave a little thud against her ribcage at the sight of him. Dressed impeccably, he put the uncomfortably pristine Mr. Cartwright to shame. Angel had still not quite fathomed the man, but there was no denying it, her heart gave little jigs every time he was near. And he seemed to be doing a lot less scolding this past week.
His gaze narrowed when he spotted Mr. Cartwright. A long brow rose when he spied the damp patch on his nether regions and the napkins Mr. Cartwright was furiously using to blot his breeches.
“Mr. Cartwright had an accident,” Angel explained sweetly.
“Indeed.” Mr. Hunter’s countenance remained expressionless.
Mr. Cartwright
’s warm gaze snapped away from her, and she saw it again—that spark of anger that he kept trying to hide. The arrival of Mr. Hunter had unsettled him, and his cheeks reddened.
Mrs. Stone waved a hand. “Angel spilled a jot of tea on him. Nothing too dramatic.”
Mr. Hunter’s gaze struck hers. The slightest pull of his lips told her he understood her intentions behind the mishap. She had to force her lips to remain straight.
“Do stop fussing.” Mrs. Stone flapped both hands this time. “Why do we not continue our discussion? You shall dry off soon enough, Mr. Cartwright.”
Mr. Hunter folded his arms, drawing Angel’s attention to the breadth of his chest and no doubt forcing Mr. Cartwright’s to it too. She doubted Mr. Cartwright considered how wonderfully broad his shoulders were or how she could see his biceps pressing against the fabric of his clothes.
“I think Mr. Cartwright would be better off returning home and getting dry,” Mr. Hunter said taciturnly.
Angel nodded vigorously. “Is that buckskin? It shall stain horribly.” She lifted her gaze from his breeches lest he think she was looking for any other reason than being highly amused by the whole situation. Since the entrance of Mrs. Stone’s nephew, his charming countenance kept slipping, but he’d caught her looking and that arrogant air had returned. The man was as changeable as the damned wind.
“You really should get home, Mr. Cartwright.” When he made no show of moving, Angel took his arm and began leading him out of the door.
“Yes, do go home.” Mr. Hunter followed them out.
“Oh this is nonsense,” Mrs. Stone protested. “Whoever fled because of a mere stain? Men these days!”
Angel ignored her and continued maneuvering the man toward the hallway. He came willingly and curled a hand over hers. “If you are keen to get me alone, Angel, I would happily oblige.” He threw a glance over his shoulder. “Unfortunately, we have company.”
She ignored him and the use of her first name, that he said with elongated tones. The grip of his hand on hers and the press of his side as he drew her inappropriately close combined to make bile rise in her throat. She forced a breath through her nostrils. So long as she got him away from Mrs. Stone, it did not matter what she had to tolerate—and with Mr. Hunter shadowing their steps, nothing untoward would happen.
Once they reached the front door, Angel pried her hand from his, still able to feel the bite of his fingers imprinted on the back of her hand. He donned his gloves and took his hat from the butler.
“Have a good day, Cartwright,” Mr. Hunter said when Mr. Cartwright lingered in the doorway.
“And you, Hunter. I admit, I was surprised to see you still here. Do you not have a lot of duties to which to attend? All that constituency business and whatnot.”
“I am fully able to manage my affairs from here.” Mr. Hunter clasped his hands behind his back. “And my aunt needs me at present. Her health is my absolute priority.”
“As is it mine.” Angel smiled serenely. “I would so hate to see anything happen to her.”
It seemed the meaning behind the words was lost on Mr. Cartwright, whose uncomfortable stare remained on her face.
“Angel by name and angel by nature, it seems.” He reached for her hand once more, and she stepped back, barely avoiding his touch. His gaze darted to Mr. Hunter’s then back again. “I will be sure to return soon, and perhaps we can take the time to converse more on your care of Mrs. Stone.”
“Mrs. Stone keeps me quite busy, Mr. Cartwright, with very little time to converse. As you can tell by our little, um, accident, I can hardly manage pouring tea let alone conversing.” She linked her hands in front of her and took another subtle step back.
As she did so, Mr. Hunter came forward. “As Lady Angel said, she is busy indeed. We had better let her return to her duties, do you not think, Cartwright?”
Mr. Cartwright narrowed his gaze, and she thought for a moment he might try to protest his abrupt eviction and something horrible might happen. Both men lifted their chests and Mr. Hunter shifted even farther forward, placing his shoulder in front of her just enough to make Mr. Cartwright understand that any flirtation in which he wished to partake was over.
Angel avoided Mr. Cartwright’s gaze and focused on the open front door that the butler was patiently holding open. After several tense minutes, with her heartbeat thudding in her ear, he finally nodded his head.
“I would not wish to distract you from your duties, Angel.” Mr. Cartwright elongated the word distract and loaded it with meaning. “Needless to say, you are not without your ability to distract either. Be certain I shall be distracted for most of the day.” His lips curved in apparent amusement at himself.
Mr. Hunter took another step forward. “Good day,” he said firmly, and Angel heard the anger simmering in his tone.
Angel bit down on her tongue to avoid saying anything herself, but the temptation to tell him to hang himself and his horrible manners burned in the back of her throat. Here she was, trying to prove herself better, and this man was making it horribly hard. If she upset Mrs. Stone by insulting her friend, her time here could be over and her inheritance would be forfeit. She could not have that.
“Good day, Mr. Cartwright.” She turned away before either of them said anything else. Whatever came out of the man’s mouth was reliably awful. Why Mrs. Stone thought him amusing, she did not know!
Footsteps followed her, and she turned once she heard the door shut. Releasing an audible breath, she gave a shudder. “Why does your aunt insist on having him around?”
Mr. Hunter gave a strained smile. “I have tried to persuade her he is not a good man, many a time, but she insists she enjoys his visits.”
“He is not a good man, is he? I heard him talking…” She glanced around and dropped her voice. “Talking of investments. I think he wants to take money from your aunt.”
He nodded slowly. “He is a known gambler. No doubt he sees my aunt as easy prey for a quick penny. He has had money from her before.”
Angel grimaced. “I thought there was something odd about him.”
His gaze lingered on hers, making her feel a little breathless. “You are a good judge of character.”
“Do not sound so surprised.” She grinned. “I am not without my talents.”
“I can see that.” His eyes darkened slightly.
Yes, she understood people. However, she was not certain she understood Mr. Hunter. The man who had so clearly detested her was fading, replaced with someone far too appealing and likeable in his own stiff, rigid way.
She glanced away as her cheeks heated. “I shall try to talk to your aunt,” she offered.
He blinked and took a slight step back. “That would be greatly appreciated. Aunt Jean respects you.” Before she could come up with a response, he gave a curt dip of his head and left her in the hallway. She eyed the spot where he’d been standing for far too long before shaking herself and heading back into the drawing room.
She frowned to herself and made a non-committal noise when Mrs. Stone asked her something. Did Mrs. Stone really respect her? She could not be certain that anyone had ever truly respected her. Certainly, people had no choice to at times because of her rank, but she did not believe anyone thought her respect-worthy. Yes, people liked her, but more often than not people thought her frivolous and flirtatious. The idea of being respected was entirely new.
She let her frown deepen. Worse still, she wanted that respect. And she wanted it from Mr. Hunter too.
Chapter Eight
Reuben caught himself pinching the bridge of his nose for what had to be the fourth or fifth time this afternoon. He curled his free hand around the delicate cup and took a deliberately lengthy drink. He should be home. He should be handling work and dealing with estate issues. He should definitely not be here.
Here amongst five of his aunt’s oldest, most gossipy friends. To think he’d believed his aunt was lonely. Apparently she still had quite the social life, and his weekly vis
its had not told him enough about her current situation. At least one good thing came out of his impromptu decision to stay—he understood his aunt’s needs much better now.
He really should be returning home, however. Yes, he wanted to protect her from Cartwright, but there was only so long one could remain away from home. Most of his work could be managed via letters, for which he was grateful, but there were certain things that needed his presence. And Angel could take care of his aunt, he was sure. She had already shown she could stand up to Cartwright.
He peered in Angel’s direction. Caught between two of his aunt’s most rambunctious friends, Angel’s smile shone like a beacon in the night. Every now and then, her laughter would ring through the room, drawing everyone’s attention. Including his own. He’d never heard a laugh like it. No doubt it caught notice wherever she went. It was the sort of laugh that made one wonder what had triggered it and if one would be able to make her laugh too.
He’d seen her in many situations now, and she seemed to thrive in them all, whether it was painting with his aunt, playing terribly at the piano for her, or tucking her into bed at night. But this was the first time he’d seen her shine. He considered that perhaps, just perhaps, he understood her a little better now. What others thought of as flirtation or silliness was her innate ability to enjoy herself. Even here, amongst several nearly deaf and certainly slightly batty old ladies, she looked as though she had never had more fun.
Whatever the family situation was with the Templetons, he could no longer convince himself that Angel was capable of cheating his aunt.
And that was yet another reason for him to leave.
He sighed to himself. Another week. Just one more. Then he could be assured all was well, and he could spend more time with… No, that was not a suitable reason for wishing to remain here. No matter what he thought of Lady Angel Templeton, he had not come here to…to flirt. Not that he even knew how. His experience with women was not atrocious nor had he been particularly interested in gaining the opposite sex’s attention. His work and younger sisters kept him far too busy.
There Are Plenty More Dukes in the Sea (The Inheritance Clause Book 1) Page 6