Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,106

faint.”

“I have never fainted in my life!” She looked horrified.

“There is always a first time for most things.” He dropped the jacket around her shoulders.

“I can’t wear your jacket,” she said, pulling the edges closer together and huddling into it. “It’s really not done.”

“I will take it from you before we return to the other guests. Now, tomorrow I will call upon you and we will talk. You shall tell me what you know, and I will start from there.”

“Oh.” She blinked several times. “I-I cannot thank you enough, Mr. Haddon. Really, you were my last hope.”

“I doubt that, Miss Redfern. Something tells me you are a resourceful woman.” He took her arm again, urging her toward the stairs.

He’d thought she’d be one of those ladies who chattered when they were nervous, but she simply walked quietly down the stairs clutching his jacket close. When they reached the bottom, he opened the door and nudged her through. Once there she removed the jacket and handed it to him.

“There are a few more floors yet.”

“But someone may see us. Not everyone will be watching the concert. There will be those who have… ah, other things on their minds.”

“Why, whatever do you mean, Miss Redfern?” He shrugged back into his jacket.

“Well… I mean to say that some guests may wish to wander.”

“That was an extremely vague description when what you really wanted to say was that they are seeking secluded places for secret rendezvous.” There was just something about this woman that made him want to tease her. She was wrapped up tighter than a Christmas parcel, and he doubted she unraveled often.

“I’m sure it’s not appropriate to speak to me that way.”

“Just as it’s not appropriate for you to go into brothels and gaming hells, do you mean?”

She sighed. “Jackson said you were devilishly tricky with words and have a sharp intellect.”

“I try.”

“So do I.”

“Excellent, then we shall battle wits and intellect often.”

“Intellect, but rarely wit, I’m afraid, Mr. Haddon.”

They walked down the wide staircase together. It was grand on every scale, from the plush carpets to huge gilt-framed pictures high on the walls.

“You have no wit, Miss Redfern?” He looked at her profile, saw the length of her lashes and determined tip of her chin. She wasn’t mousy, and yet he’d thought her that way because she did not make a statement as others did, but kept to the sidelines. What she actually was, was sweet.

“Very little, I’m afraid. It was a constant source of annoyance for Jackson.”

He laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls around them.

“You have a dry wit, Miss Redfern, vastly different from the non-dry variety, I assure you.”

“Jackson said I used to make him laugh without realizing I was being funny.” She looked sad suddenly.

“We will find your brother, Miss Redfern. Have heart.”

She turned to look up at him, and that look made something happen inside his chest. A tightness he couldn’t explain. She then took another step. He grabbed her upper arm in case she tumbled. “If I may suggest you look where you are going, as we are on a staircase.”

“Yes, another failing, I’m afraid.”

“Not looking where you are going?”

“Clumsiness.” She peeled down the sleeve of her glove, and he saw a bandage. “I walked into the sideboard this morning.”

“Not pleasant, I should imagine.”

“No, but usually not a day goes by when I do not connect with some piece of furniture.”

They arrived at the last step, and he released her, surprised that he was reluctant to do so.

“I will call upon you tomorrow, Miss Redfern. I think it best you return alone to the ballroom.”

“Of course. Thank you, I will be waiting.” She had to tilt her head back to look at him. “I really cannot thank you enough for this, Mr. Haddon.”

“No thanks necessary, I assure you. Jackson and I are friends.” He’d been about to say “were,” but he thought that may have made her sad.

She nodded, then walked away. Rory wasn’t sure why, as he stood there watching her disappear, he felt like something momentous had just happened in his life, but he did.

Following minutes later, he made his way back to his family, who were all still sitting where he’d left them what felt like hours ago. Sliding into his seat, he ignored the looks they sent him.

“Where have you been? You missed the last part of the performance,” his brother Joseph, Earl of Ellsworth, hissed. Large, and some said handsome—Rory would never be one of those—he was a man