Always the Rival (Never the Bride #7) - Emily E K Murdoch Page 0,31

see.”

Priscilla flushed. Blast it, but of course, it was the most boring book to have ever been printed. “And Charles is…?”

She allowed her question to linger, her face a picture of innocent questioning.

The butler sighed. “In the drawing room. As soon as I have put away your coat and gloves, I will take you to –”

“No need, Hodges,” Priscilla said, darting around him. “Fear not, I know the way. I have known this house for as long as I can remember.”

As Priscilla walked toward the west corridor, she looked up as she always did at the painting that never failed to avoid her eye.

Mary. Lady Mary Audley, even at the tender age of eleven showing all the beauty of her mother that promised would blossom within a few short years. Gone now, of course. A flower that never bloomed.

She was brimming with emotion as it was. The last thing she needed was to lose herself in recollections of Mary, of what could have been.

It had always been she and Mary against the world, and Charles when he was back from school. Strange to think that it had been Mary’s death, really, that had brought them together.

She passed a number of other family portraits, as familiar to her as Mary’s, along with a Rembrant and two Gainsboroughs. Only the best for the Orrinshires, Lady Audley had always said, and Priscilla smiled to think how in awe of her she had been as a child.

And then she was outside the drawing room door. Without ceremony, she opened it and walked in.

“Charles, I thought I would – oh!”

Priscilla’s eyes widened at the scene before her, the drawing room was lit by a blazing fire and several candles, and there on the settee was Charles without a jacket, without a waistcoat, and with a shirt unbuttoned to his navel.

“Charles,” she breathed. Closing the door behind her, she was grateful for the heat in the room that colored her face, removing any potential questions about why her cheeks were so red.

To think, he was just sitting here, almost…her mind could not even think of the words. When was the last time she had – she had never, never seen him so dishabille, and it was obvious by the growing smile on his face that he was enjoying her disquiet.

“Hello,” he said with a grin, sitting up slightly but not bothering to button his shirt. “This is a little late, isn’t it? Was I expecting you?”

Priscilla shook her head mutely. There was something so wildly intimate about being in this room with him after dark and….

Without saying a word, she held out the book. Where had her tongue disappeared to?

Charles sat up properly now, his hair tousled, and leaned forward to take the book. Priscilla was careful to position her fingers so it was almost impossible for their hands to touch.

“And to think, I never even noticed that it was missing!” Charles opened the cover and examined the title page. “Goodness, and who knows how long it would have taken before I noticed.”

Priscilla nodded, tongue still mute. What had she been thinking? All afternoon, she had planned the perfect speech, explained everything to him in a way he would understand, perhaps even agree with.

She could not admit anything to Charles. She could not tell him how she felt, reveal to him the secret inner workings of her heart.

What if he laughed at her? Thought less of her? What if he demanded their friendship came to an end?

Priscilla swallowed down the panic and instead said, “Well, you have the book back safely. I will go home now. Goodnight, Charles.”

She almost made it to the door before he spoke, leaning over the settee with a smile.

“Don’t be silly, Priscilla. Come and sit down, have a nightcap with me before you go back out there in the rain. It sounds horrid, to tell the truth.”

Her hand was on the handle, but she hesitated. “I should not be drinking with a gentleman, not really.”

“You’re not,” said Charles. “You’re drinking with me.”

Everything in her bones told her to go home. She was alone here. Society would not care if they were friends. No, society would call her a ruined woman if caught with a gentleman so indecorously dressed.

“Just one drink then,” she relented. “Or I shall be unable to walk straight on the path home!”

Returning to the fire, she sat on the same settee Charles immediately vacated. He had moved to the drinks cabinet, pulling out two glasses and a bottle