Lady Sophie's Christmas Wish - By Grace Burrowes Page 0,91
endear me to her?”
“Women set store by orphans, especially wee lads still in swaddling clothes. Never hurts to put yourself in a good light when you want to impress a lady.” His uncle went up the steps, leaning heavily on the banister railing.
“And why would I want to impress Lady Sophia?”
“You ogle her,” Rothgreb said, pausing halfway up the second flight.
“I do not ogle a guest under our roof.”
“You watch her, then, when you don’t think anybody’s looking. In my day, we called that ogling. You fret over her, which I can tell you as a man married for more than fifty years, is a sure sign a fellow is more than infatuated with his lady.”
Vim remained silent, because he did, indeed, fret over Sophie Windham.
“And you have those great, strapping brothers of hers falling all over themselves to put the two of you together.” Rothgreb paused again at the top of the steps.
Vim paused too, considering his uncle’s words. “They aren’t any more strapping than I am.” Except St. Just was more muscular. Lord Val was probably quicker with his fists than Vim, and Westhaven had a calculating, scientific quality to him that suggested each of his blows would count.
“They were all but dancing with each other to see that you sat next to their sister.” Rothgreb pushed away from the banister and headed off toward his room, Vim trailing a step behind him. “What are you about, boy? I know where my own room is. Lady Sophia’s in the green guest bedroom.”
The room right across from Vim’s room. “I would not disrespect a guest in this house, Uncle.”
“Youth! It’s a wonder the aristocracy hasn’t perished for sheer lack of brains. I’m not suggesting you disrespect anybody. Wish her a pleasant good night. Won’t take but a minute, and I’m sure your aunt neglected this courtesy.”
Vim passed his uncle the candle. “Good night, Uncle. Thank you for the suggestion.”
The old man pointed with a gnarled finger. “Her room’s that way, and for God’s sake, don’t wake the baby while you’re wishing her good night.”
***
Valentine stepped over the hound drowsing on the hearth rug in Lord Rothgreb’s study. “I can spend hours tuning that piano. Once I start on the harpsichord, we might be here all day.” He settled onto the sofa beside Westhaven.
“That’s fortunate,” St. Just said from the other end of the couch. “Trying out the mare’s paces was only going to take all morning, and that’s assuming nobody in the stables moves faster than the staff here at the house.”
“Which leaves me to do what?” Westhaven groused.
Valentine wedged himself a little lower on the sofa and propped his feet on a hassock. “You’re a clever lad, being the heir and all, you’ll think of something.”
***
Sophie put down her hairbrush, not even sure she’d heard a tap on the door. “Come in.” She said it very softly, in deference to the baby sleeping in the cradle near the hearth.
Valentine was fearless to the point of recklessness. He would be the one foolish enough—
“I hope I’m not intruding?” Vim closed the door quietly behind him.
“You’re not.” Sophie gathered her wrapper around her a little more closely. It was borrowed from Lady Rothgreb’s closet, a voluminous old thing more comfortable than attractive.
“Kit’s asleep?”
She nodded and watched as Vim moved a few steps into the room. “You have everything you need, Sophie? I’m not sure the staff has had to contend with visitors since the last time I passed through.”
“I’m quite comfortable. How long has it been since you came to visit?” She picked up the brush with every intention of resuming her evening toilette. It would not do to fall upon the man as if she were starving for the sight of him, for the sound of his voice, for the exact shade of blue in his eyes.
“Shall I braid your hair for you?” He rose from where he’d been kneeling by the cradle and prowled over to the vanity.
Or maybe it just looked to her like he was prowling, because her mind was in such a muddle. He took the brush from her grasp, and shifted her shoulders gently with his hands so she was facing the mirror.
“I want you to do something for me.” Sophie spoke quickly, lest she lose her nerve.
“Anything within my power, of course.” He used both hands to scoop her hair over her shoulders so it flowed down her back, a sweet, soothing caress that made Sophie’s insides melt.