Sweet Rogue of Mine (The Survivors #9) - Shana Galen Page 0,66
pounding in her chest since she had heard his voice. Then she turned to look at him, and it had taken this long for her to find her own voice. He looked so incredibly handsome. Clopdon obviously knew what he was about because not only was Nash dressed as a gentleman, he looked better than she had ever seen him. He wore a dark blue coat that contrasted with the stark white of his shirt and neckcloth. His cranberry waistcoat was embellished with gold thread in the shape of vines. She’d never seen him in breeches, and she almost wished she hadn’t seen him in them now. They were fawn colored and molded to his body, emphasizing his lean, muscled legs. She couldn’t help but glance down at his calves, nicely rounded in the stockings he wore.
But perhaps the biggest change was in his face. He’d always been clean-shaven, but she could tell he’d been recently shaven. His hair had been trimmed. It was still long on one side, worn to cover his injured eye, but it was otherwise neat and styled fashionably. His face had lost even more of the gauntness, and she could see in the time since she’d first met him that he’d gained weight and his features were returning to what they had once been.
He'd been an attractive man before, but now he took her breath away.
And she’d never felt so impossibly unworthy. She wore her dress with the faded tiny rose pattern, which had been mended more times than she could count and probably cost less than one sleeve of the superfine coat Nash wore. Her undergarments, though thankfully no one could see them, were tattered and stained. Her boots had holes, and her hair—well, she didn’t know when she had last smoothed it. It was probably a complete mess, lying flat on her head like a straw broom.
“Miss Howard.” Nash gave her a courtly bow. She knew he was showing off for his friend and Mrs. Blimkin. She heartily approved. Mrs. Blimkin would go back to Milcroft and tell everyone that the earl’s son was as sane as the next man and a perfect gentleman. It could only help his cause, especially if word reached his father’s ear.
She glanced at Mr. Payne and he gave her a small nod, indicating he was thinking exactly what she was.
“I understand and appreciate your desire to return to the vicarage. I am certain Mr. Higginbotham will worry about you”—Nash inclined his head toward Mrs. Blimkin—“and you, Mrs. Blimkin. However, unless the rain stops or slows in the next hour, the road back will be impassable. It’s raining quite hard, and the first quarter mile leading out of Wentmore has not been as well-maintained as it should have been. I’m afraid the wheels of even a dog cart will sink in mud and you will be stranded. Mr. Forester, my land steward, and I have already discussed improvements, but we have not begun them yet.”
“I can attest to that,” Mr. Payne added. “I’ve surveyed the road myself and spoke with Mr. Forester this morning. He told me he had discussed it with you. As soon as the kitchens are finished, we can direct the workmen to repair and shore up the road.”
“But, begging your pardon, sirs, I don’t think it would be fitting for Miss Howard and myself to stay here overnight,” Mrs. Blimkin said. What she didn’t say, but what Pru heard, was I’m afraid you’ll murder us in our beds.
“I think it less fitting that you catch your death of cold in a storm such as this.” As if to punctuate Nash’s words, lightning flashed, and a moment later, thunder boomed.
“You and I can share a chamber,” Pru said to Mrs. Blimkin. “That is, if the rain continues. That should end any talk of impropriety.” And perhaps make Mrs. Blimkin less concerned about being shot in her sleep.
“I’ll go tell Mrs. Brown.” Mrs. Blimkin started away, giving Nash a wide berth. “I suppose I had better help her with dinner as well. Give us a half hour to ready it. I’ve been up here for ten minutes at least and God knows what havoc she has wreaked below.”
Pru covered her mouth to hide a smile. Mrs. Blimkin left, and then it was the three of them. Pru was not certain whether to hope the rain stopped or continued. Of course, she hoped it continued, but she realized she was supposed to want it to stop.