Miss Nothing (Unexpected Heirs)

Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

T he street in front of Lady Sophronia’s creamy stone townhouse was jammed with carriages. Keynsham supposed that people would continue to arrive until midnight. The ball—like all his grandmother’s balls—was evidently a success.

The front door was flanked by a pair of footmen. The line of carriages waiting to disgorge their passengers was bound to contain people who would recognize him. If he were to simply walk up the front steps, he would enter to the stares of half the ton . Within a few moments every gossip at the ball would be hurrying to see the heir to the Alford viscountcy looking as though he’d been in a street brawl.

Which… well, he had been.

He pictured himself trapped by a gawking crowd—and the arrival of Mrs. Fairleigh, towing her daughter and creating some sort of public scene intended to convince everyone of her tender feelings for him, and the fact of their engagement….

No. They could not go in through the front door.

Miss Ryder stood next to him on the still-damp pavement, gazing across the street. “My goodness,” she breathed, in innocent admiration. “How very elegant indeed!”

Her face was lit with delight. Her expression made him look again at what he’d been taking for granted: the magnificent house, the glossy carriages crowded into its torchlit forecourt, the high bred horses and the muted gleam of silk evening clothes.

How he wished that he could have met her at the ball! After all, if she’d been a guest, he could have been reasonably assured that she had the correct background and breeding. As it was… well, the cold truth was that no proper young lady would be lost and penniless in London in the first place.

He cleared his throat. “We shall go down the mews and in through the kitchen door.” His voice sounded harsh, almost as it had when he’d been giving orders to his men.

Was it his imagination, or did she seem momentarily taken aback? “Oh. I see. Of course. You cannot wish to be seen with”—she stopped herself. “Well. Me.”

That wasn’t what he’d meant. But explaining himself would mean creating even more intimacy.

They made their way to the service entrance of the house. Delivery carts were still arriving. He saw one painted with the Gunther’s name and realized that he’d spent more time in the tavern than he’d thought. If the ices were arriving out of the famous confectioner’s cold storage—a last-minute delivery to ensure that they would not begin to melt before they were served to the ball-goers—it must be close to one o’clock.

The kitchen yard was lit by torches and lanterns. Miss Ryder glanced up at him—and a look of dismay crossed her face. “Oh.”

“What is it?” He glanced down at himself.

The damage to his clothes was worse than he’d thought. His jacket was missing a ruffian’s handful of buttons, and one lapel was torn half off. He brushed at the dirt on it.

“Wait! There is blood. Just a little!” She produced a very clean handkerchief. “Here.”

He wiped off his face as best he could, realizing as he did so that the inside of his cheek was cut. He winced and spat onto the cobbles. “Better?”

She studied his face. “Better.”

But their eyes had caught again. And for a moment he forgot all his resolutions about getting this over with as quickly as possible. Why could they could not simply stray into the early spring garden, listening to the sweet strains of music from the open windows? They could wander away, lost in conversation, and never come back...

There was only one explanation for these thoughts: He must still be a little tipsy. It had to stop.

He straightened his shoulders. “You will wait just inside the kitchen door while I go upstairs and look for my cousin. Do not come back outside by yourself. Do not wander off. Do not start trouble. Do not….”

“I quite take your point, thank you!” She glared at him. “And I did not start trouble. The ruffians who stole my pocketbook started it. And I got it back. Which you said was impossible.”

He lifted his hands and dropped them in a shrug. “Yes. Well. Give me a few minutes and I will find my cousin and relieve him of some of my money. And then, with any luck, we will see you on your way to… where did you say you were going, again?”

She folded her arms and lifted her chin. “I did not say.”

He found that he was gazing at her. Her cheeks were pink. Her dark-lashed eyes—a warm amber brown, he saw in the light—were full of irritated sparks. And now there was something else—an invisible connection, a feeling that their nighttime adventure had set something else in motion—something undeniable.

And inconvenient. And dangerous to his peace of mind.

He cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. Give me a few minutes.”

Wait. He’d already said that. And somehow, he was still standing there, looking at her.

He led her just inside, stationed her in an alcove where she would not be in the way, and made for the back stairs.

He was safe now. The moment between them had passed.