Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,52

about the contents of the many rooms at The Vynes, but she supposed extolling the virtues of Lord Vyne’s home was not what her uncle had in mind. She had been instructed to woo Mr. Blackwood.

After dinner on the night she’d met Blackwood, her uncle had sent for her and explained the extent of his help. He owed Blackwood a debt that he believed her attentions to the man would fulfill. Marriage was the only outcome Ruby would insist upon. She would not be used for her body, pimped to Blackwood as a whore just to set the earl free. And in exchange for her involvement in her uncle’s scheme, she’d demanded he answer her questions—no matter how uncomfortable.

He’d said Lady Vyne and his children had humiliated him by leaving to live in Cornwall, and he also admitted that the strength of his legs had become unreliable—which was why she’d never seen him standing. And why he stayed in his rooms most of the time.

She felt sorry for him in a way, but he reminded her of Mr. Roper. He intended to use Ruby to have his way unless she stood up for herself.

Ruby stood, picked up the coat and scarf she’d discarded upon entering the conservatory and led the way out. As soon as she encountered the cold, she quickly slipped on her coat and wrapped her scarf about her neck, too.

Blackwood, absent a coat, rubbed his arms briskly. “Is it always so chilly here?”

“I believe so.”

She led Blackwood toward the heated drawing room, where there were a few portraits she recognized. She pointed at one. “My uncle and my father with their parents, in their youth.”

Blackwood squinted at all the faces in turn. He drew back, one brow raised. “People always appear so perfect in these sorts of things.”

Ruby almost laughed. The painting showed nothing of the reality of her father. “If I could afford to commission an artist to immortalize my family, I’d want to look my best, too.”

Blackwood studied the painting again, but this time only the artist’s signature scrawled across the bottom corner.

When he’d finished, he held out his hand, urging her to continue their stroll.

She took Blackwood through the dining room and then the long hall, noting that every fire in the house had been lit today. Vyne must have ordered it done, intending to seem a generous and considerate host to Blackwood.

The long hall held many grand paintings, but Ruby hardly knew one from the other. They walked in silence for the length of the hall.

When they stopped, it was at a far window. The view outside was white still, but the snow was no longer falling. If not for her bargain with her uncle, she and Pip might have gone exploring together today.

Blackwood turned to her. “Not much excitement out there.”

“The Vynes is a place of peace and tranquility.”

“I’d much rather the chaos of London,” Blackwood admitted.

“My family has a house in London, too.” A place she might never see again unless she married well and they invited her back into the fold.

“Mayfair is not the real London,” Blackwood warned. “I shouldn’t think you’d find it much to your liking.”

“Why is that?”

“London is unruly, disorder and chaos. Loud and unapologetic. It requires a certain degree of flexibility and dishonesty that I suspect you entirely lack.”

Ruby found his statement both pleased and angered her. How dare he assume to know her character on so brief an acquaintance? He didn’t know anything about her, really. Lord Vyne would hardly have told him the truth. She could enlighten Blackwood here and now but found she didn’t want to, no matter what she’d promised her uncle. “I guess I’ll never know until I see it for myself.”

She moved along the hall a ways, to a new window with a slightly different view. What was she to do about Blackwood and that promise to her uncle? Perhaps she should have taken up Hector’s offer of assistance the moment he’d spoken of it. They could have been halfway to Cornwall by now. She needed very little but safety, and a little warmth, too.

To her surprise, she saw him, Hector, trudging through the deep snow…with a small bundle thrown over his shoulder. When the bundle wriggled, kicking tiny legs and arms, she froze in surprise.

Hector had her son and was taking him off to the stables.

At the door, Hector set him down and straightened his clothing.

Pip looked up at Hector, clearly talking his head off, and Hector ruffled his