Page 55 of Lady Arabella’s Reluctant Hero

Arabella nodded. Of course. Thea was mistaken. She had to be.

"But if she's ever been wrong, I've yet to see it." John smiled. "I don't believe she makes mistakes very often."

When she stayed quiet, John studied her. "Arabella, are you all right?"

She swallowed hard and nodded. "I just— She said something to me. Just now. And I⁠—"

She stopped. What was she thinking? This was hardly a matter to discuss. Certainly not with John. And definitely not here, standing in the dark hallway.

But he was quiet, watching and waiting, in that patient way of his. He was that rare sort who actually listened. Who didn't simply wait for his turn to speak, and⁠—

And she was staring at him. In a silence that had lasted far too long.

She stepped back. "It was nothing. I am overthinking, that's all."

His brow furrowed, but before he could question her, she forced a smile. "Good night, Lord Alderton."

18

Everyone had gone to bed and somehow John had not.

He was aware this was a mistake, because the only other person who had not gone to bed was Arabella. Being alone with Arabella after dark in a quiet house was precisely the sort of situation a sensible man would avoid.

And yet, he was still sitting here. So. Apparently he was not that sensible.

She was in the armchair nearest the lamp, her legs curled beneath her skirts in a way that was either unconscious or deliberately designed to make him lose his train of thought. He suspected the former, which was worse, because it meant she was comfortable.

He liked when she was comfortable in his home. And that was the problem. Because when she was comfortable, he found it far too easy to see how she could fit here. Not just for a house party, but…

Well, not forever. He frowned. He wasn't thinking forever. Was he?

He leaned back in his seat and studied her as he considered just what exactly he'd been imagining.

And then he let all that go, because his mind grew absurdly distracted by the mere sight of her. Her features were softly lit by the fire, and she'd caught her lip in her teeth as she turned a page to continue reading.

She was more beautiful than ever when she was like this. Warm. Soft. Touchable. The spoiled, calculating debutante gone, replaced by a young lady who enjoyed long walks into town and lazy mornings at the breakfast table. Who gamely partook in charades with Clarissa and played chess with Thea—and who read more than anyone in good society would likely ever guess.

"You're staring," she said, without looking up from her book.

He flinched. Blast. He'd been caught.

But when she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, he feigned affront. "I am not staring. I am…contemplating the fire."

He'd reached for the silliest of lies just to make her smile.

Her lips twitched and he felt a pang of triumph. "The fire is behind you."

He nodded. "I am contemplating it retrospectively."

Her lips curved as she turned a page. "You are a peculiar man, Lord Alderton."

"So I have been told." He stretched his legs out. "Usually by people sitting in my armchair."

She glanced up. "Is this your armchair?"

"It is."

"Do you want it back?"