Marrying Winterborne (The Ravenels #2) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,11
A necklace? Furs?”
She shook her head.
“There must be something.” He wanted to inundate her with lavish gifts, make her understand what he was prepared to do for her.
“I can’t think of anything.”
“A piano?” As he felt the involuntary tightening of her fingers, he continued, “A Brinsmead grand concert piano, with patented check repeater action and a Chippendale mahogany case.”
She gave a breathless laugh. “What a mind for detail you have. Yes. I would love to have a piano. After we’re married, I’ll play for you whenever you like.”
The idea seized him. He would relax in the evenings and watch her at the piano. Afterward he would take her to his room and undress her slowly, and kiss every inch of her. It didn’t seem possible that this creature of moonlight and music would really be his. He felt himself at the edge of panic, needing to ensure that she wouldn’t be stolen from him.
Carefully he worked the diamond ring from her finger and drew his thumb over the faint indentation left by the gold band. It felt too good to touch her, the awareness of her softness, her sweetness, coursing through him. He made himself let go before he ended up ravishing her there in the office. He had to think. Arrangements had to be made.
“Where is your driver waiting?” he asked.
“At the mews behind the store.”
“An unmarked carriage?”
“No, the family carriage,” came her innocent reply.
So much for discretion, Rhys thought ruefully, and gestured for her to precede him to his desk. “Write a note and I’ll have it taken to him.”
Helen allowed him to seat her. “When shall I have him return?”
“Tell him he won’t be needed for the rest of the day. I’ll see to it that you’re delivered home safely.”
“May I also send a message to my sisters, to keep them from worrying?”
“Aye. Do they know where you’ve gone?”
“Yes, and they were quite pleased. They’re both fond of you.”
“Or at least of my store,” he said.
Helen struggled with a smile as she drew a sheet of writing paper from a silver tray.
At his invitation, the Ravenel family had visited Winterborne’s one evening, after hours. Since they were still in mourning for the late earl, their activities in public were restricted. For the space of two hours, the twins, Cassandra and Pandora, had managed to cover an impressive amount of territory. They had been beside themselves with excitement over the displays of the newest, most fashionable merchandise, the glass cases and counters filled with accessories, cosmetics, and trimmings.
He noticed that Helen was staring in perplexity at the fountain pen on his desk.
“There’s an ink reservoir inside the pen casing,” he said, walking around the desk to her. “Apply light pressure to the tip as you write.”
Picking up the pen cautiously, she made a mark with it, and paused in surprise as the pen created a smooth line across the paper.
“Haven’t you seen one of those before?” he asked.
Helen shook her head. “Lord Trenear prefers an ordinary pen and inkwell. He says this kind is prone to leak.”
“They often do,” he said. “But this is a new design, with a needle to regulate the flow.”
He watched as she experimented with the pen, writing her name in careful script. When she finished, she studied it for a moment, and crossed out the surname. Rhys leaned over her from behind, his hands braced on either side of her as she wrote again. Together they stared down at the paper.
Lady Helen Winterborne
“It’s a lovely name,” he heard Helen murmur.
“Not quite so exalted as Ravenel.”
Helen twisted in the chair to look up at him. “I’ll be honored to take it as mine.”
Rhys was accustomed to being flattered all the time, by a multitude of people who wanted things from him. Usually he could read their motives as easily as if they’d been written in the air above their heads. But Helen’s eyes were clear and guileless, as if she meant it. She knew nothing of the world, or what kind of man she should marry, and she would only realize her mistake when it was too late to rectify it. If he had any decency, he would send her away this very moment.
But his gaze fell to the name she had written . . . Lady Helen Winterborne . . . and that sealed her fate.
“We’ll have a grand wedding,” he said. “So that all of London will know.”
Helen didn’t seem especially taken with the idea, but she offered no objection.