Devil's Daughter (The Ravenels #5) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,78
He longed to tell her how completely he accepted her, wanted her, how he adored her every strength and frailty. “I’ve never thought of you as perfect,” he told her flatly, and she laughed. “Still,” he continued, his tone gentling, “it would be hard not to worship you. I’m afraid you don’t behave nearly badly enough to bring my feelings into proportion.”
A hint of mischief glittered in Phoebe’s light gray eyes. “If that’s a challenge, I accept.”
“It’s not a challenge,” he said quickly, but she didn’t appear to hear as she led him from the room.
They went to a glass-and-stone corridor connecting the main block of the house to one of the side wings. Sunlight poured through the paned windows, warming the corridor agreeably.
“The guest cottage can be reached through the east wing,” Phoebe said, “or by way of the winter garden.”
“Winter garden?”
She smiled at his interest. “It’s my favorite place in the house. Come, I’ll show you.”
The winter garden turned out to be a glass conservatory, two stories high and at least one hundred and twenty feet long. Lush ornamental trees, ferns, and palms filled the space, as well as artificial rock formations and a little streamlet stocked with goldfish. West’s opinion of the house climbed even higher as he looked around the winter garden. Eversby Priory had a conservatory, but it wasn’t half as large and lofty as this.
An odd little noise seized his attention. A series of noises, actually, like the squeaking of toy balloons releasing air. Bemused, he looked down at a trio of black-and-white kittens roaming around his feet.
Phoebe laughed at his expression. “This room is also the cats’ favorite.”
A wondering smile spread across West’s face as he saw the sleek black feline arching against Phoebe’s skirts. “Good Lord. Is that Galoshes?”
Phoebe bent to stroke the cat’s lustrous fur. “It is. She loves to come here to terrorize the goldfish. We’ve had to cover the stream with mesh wire until the kittens are older.”
“When I gave her to you—” West began slowly.
“Foisted,” she corrected.
“Foisted,” he agreed ruefully. “Was she already—”
“Yes,” Phoebe said with a severe glance. “She was a Trojan cat.”
West tried to look contrite. “I had no idea.”
Her lips quirked. “You’re forgiven. She turned out to be a lovely companion. And the boys have been delighted to have the kittens to play with.”
After prying one of the kittens from his trousers as it tried to climb his leg, West set it down carefully.
“Shall we continue to the guest cottage?” Phoebe asked.
Knowing he couldn’t trust himself with her if there was a bedroom in the vicinity, West suggested, “Let’s stay here for a moment.”
Obligingly Phoebe sat on the stone steps that formed part of a bridge over the goldfish stream. She arranged her skirts to keep them from bunching beneath her and folded her hands in her lap.
West sat beside her, occupying a lower step so their faces were level. “Will you tell me what happened with Edward Larson?” he asked quietly.
Relief flashed across her face as if she were eager to unburden herself. “First,” she said, “will you promise not to say anything insulting about him?”
West rolled his eyes. “Phoebe, I’m not that strong.” But as she gave him a reproachful glance, he sighed and relented. “I promise.”
Although Phoebe made an obvious effort to remain composed while she explained her difficulties with Edward Larson, tension strung through her quiet tone. “He won’t talk to me about the estate’s business. I’ve tried many times, but he doesn’t want to discuss information, or plans, or ideas for improvement. He says it’s too difficult for me to understand, and he doesn’t want me to be burdened with the responsibility, and that everything is perfectly fine. But the more he tells me not to worry, the more worried and frustrated I am. I’ve started to wake up every night with a nagging feeling and a pounding heart.”
West took one of her hands, warming her cool fingers in his. He wanted to kill Edward Larson for causing her even one minute of needless anxiety.
“It’s hard for me to trust him now,” Phoebe continued. “Especially after what he did with the account ledgers.”
West glanced at her sharply. “What did he do with them?”
As Phoebe proceeded to explain how Larson had removed the account books from the estate without permission and had let three months go by without returning them, she became visibly agitated. “. . . but Edward kept forgetting to bring them back,” she said without pausing for breath,