More movement ensued.
And then the viscount stopped. The crackle of a nearby fire sounded. Based upon the heat permeating her backside, Lord Randall stood before a glowing hearth.
“You can let go now, Lady Montrose,” he said. The unmasked amusement in his tone broke the spell of whatever had inspired her, unknowingly, to cling to him like a burr.
She lifted her chin and attempted to look down her nose at him. “And you may release me, Lord Randall.”
“By all means.” He swiveled and dumped her, rather unceremoniously to her way of thinking, onto a plush armchair situated before the hearth.
As she struggled to right herself, he lowered to a crouch before her—and started to remove her boots, of all things.
“What are you—a moment, if you please.” Heaving to her feet, she unwrapped her soaked scarf with fingers clumsy from the cold.
He rose, graceful as a cat, and swatted her hands away. “Allow me,” he said, his voice dripping sarcasm as he untwined the wrap.
At least he made no comment regarding the shivers against which she fought a losing battle.
“Sit,” he commanded, crossing the room, she assumed, to hang her scarf.
She did not sit. Instead she edged nearer to the grate and began peeling out of her gloves. Really. Did the viscount have no servants to manage these things? Not that she voiced her complaint. He might dispatch her back to the foyer and, at the moment, she wanted to stay as near to the hearth as humanly possible.
His put-upon sigh announced his return.
In the next instant, he moved to stand before her and, to her surprise, draped a thick cashmere blanket over her shoulders. “Please, sit,” he said, his request gentle and not at all dictatorial this time around. He stood very close, his hands clasping the blanket to her.
She tilted her head back to meet his eyes. She’d forgotten how very tall he was. Had somehow convinced herself his obscene good looks had been a figment of her imagination.
But she hadn’t forgotten what a cake she’d made of herself over him.
She edged backward ’til her legs brushed the armchair, then sat.
Once again the viscount moved to crouch before her. She noted, then, that he’d taken the time to remove his own outer garments—coat, scarf, gloves. He had well-shaped hands. Tanned, with long, graceful fingers, nimble as they unfastened the ties of her riding boots. She ground her back teeth and ordered herself to stop cataloguing the man’s charms. She had encountered more handsome men in her life. Not that she could think of any at the moment.
Still.Looks aside, the viscount had already stated quite plainly what he thought of her. Not to mention, he was either a murderer, or at the very least, complicit with one.
Having tugged the boots off of her feet, he placed them on the stone near the hearth to dry.
She wriggled her toes in her damp woolen stockings, grateful she could still feel all ten digits.
“Ah, thank you, Babette,” Lord Randall said, a smile evident in his voice. He reached a hand toward whomever approached.
“So you do have at least one servant,” Annabelle muttered.
Lord Randall’s attention diverted briefly to her, his mouth curving downward in instant displeasure before the maid, quiet as a church a mouse, delivered a wrapped bundle into his hand.
There was something odd about her. What, exactly?
She was young. Not quite of an age with Annabelle, who was a mere two-and-twenty. Nearly three-and-twenty. But she didn’t want to think about that. Thinking of that reminded her of how swiftly time passed.
Seemingly yesterday she’d been a fresh-faced one-and-twenty. Then, Gaston’s death at the start of last Season resulted in, among other things, Annabelle entering a period of deep mourning. That period had now ended, which, coupled with her age, meant she would soon be expected to accept a suitor.
Nearing her debut, Gaston had pointed out several likely marital candidates for her—men whom he believed Father would deem beneficial to the family prospects.
Each one was more abhorrent than the last.
No, she most certainly did not want to think about that.
She resumed her study of the young maid. She had light brown hair, smooth skin, and…something off. Something about her expression. As if her head was in the clouds and not on her work.
