Page 57 of The Wedding-Crashing Duchess

Augusta had expected him to appear in the dark coat and carefully tied cravat he wore through most of the day, although he had evidently retired to his rooms before remembering the arrangement. He wore loose dark trousers and a white linen shirt that had not been fastened completely at the neck, while his coat and waistcoat had been abandoned.

For several seconds, Augusta forgot to greet him.

The open collar revealed a narrow triangle of skin at his throat and chest, and although there was nothing improper in the sight, she had never seen him in anything less formal. Without the high cravat, the severe lines of his face seemed less imposing, while the shirt stretched across his shoulders in a manner Augusta had never noticed beneath his coats.

Her gaze returned to the opening at his throat before she could stop it.

Ronan glanced down at himself, then looked back at her.

“Have I misunderstood the arrangement?” he asked as he stepped farther into the room. “You said this would be informal, although your expression suggests I have arrived dressed for the wrong occasion.”

“No,” Augusta replied too quickly, and then she forced herself to look towards Sarah. “You are dressed perfectly well for an evening of stories, although I had not expected you to have retired before joining us.”

“I had not retired,” Ronan said as he moved towards them, the steady tap of his cane sounding against the floor. “I changed after dinner, and when Mrs. Belling reminded me of the time, returning to formal clothes seemed unnecessary.”

“It was unnecessary,” Augusta agreed.

Her eyes moved towards his collar again. Ronan noticed.

“Are you certain?” he asked, and although his expression remained composed, there was a trace of curiosity in his voice. “You have looked at my shirt three times since I entered.”

Augusta felt warmth rush into her face.

“I was only wondering whether you might be cold,” she said, and she immediately disliked the weakness of the answer but knew that there was little use in saying anything else.

Sarah looked between them, clearly puzzled by the conversation.

“Father, do you like my dress?” she asked.

Ronan’s attention shifted to his daughter, and the change in his expression was slight but immediate.

“You look very pretty,” he said, his gaze resting upon the pink ribbon at her waist. “Is that the dress you prefer?”

Sarah nodded eagerly.

“It is my favourite, although Miss Morton says it should only be worn when there are visitors,” she replied. “Augusta said tonight was special enough, and she helped me choose the ribbon.”

Ronan glanced towards Augusta. “She chose well,” he said.

Augusta’s face remained warm, although this time the sensation had little to do with embarrassment.

“We have made a place for you,” she said, gesturing towards the cushions. “You may sit in the chair if the floor will be uncomfortable, although Sarah and I have already decided that stories are better when everyone sits together.”

Ronan looked at the carpet, then at the low arrangement of cushions, while the scepticism in his face made Augusta expect an immediate refusal.

“You wish me to sit on the floor?” he said.

“Well, it is up to you,” Augusta replied. “I am offering a choice between sitting with us and watching from a distance.”

Sarah picked up the largest cushion and held it towards him.

“This one is for you,” she said. “It is thicker, so your leg will not hurt.”

Ronan looked at her for a moment, and then he set his cane beside the nearest chair before lowering himself carefully onto the carpet.

The movement was less easy for him than Augusta had expected, and she shifted closer without thinking, ready to offer support if he lost his balance. Ronan placed one hand against the floor, adjusted his injured leg, and settled against the cushions without asking for help.

Sarah sat beside him at once. “I am pleased that you came.”