Love Is a Rogue (Wallflowers vs. Rogues #1) - Lenora Bell Page 0,4
I was watering the roses.”
“I think you were watching.” His gaze dropped to her lips. “Because you wanted to see what a kiss from me would be like.”
Beatrice wasn’t accustomed to men perusing her with that hooded, hazy look in their eyes. She was no beauty. She never incited desire.
She never experienced desire.
And yet . . . the glow in her belly was spreading. She still felt the soft brush of his fingers along the edge of her ear.
“This conversation is over. Be on your way.”
“Not yet.” He wrapped his hand over the window ledge. “I have a question to ask you.”
“Well?”
“I don’t want anyone to overhear me ask it.”
“That doesn’t sound proper.”
“I’m never proper. Don’t even know what the word means.”
“It’s from the Latin proprius meaning ‘one’s own, particular to itself.’ It’s not until the mid-fourteenth century that we see the usage meaning ‘by the rules’ or ‘correct and acceptable.’”
“I don’t play by the rules, either.” He slid one knee onto the ledge. “I’m coming in.”
“No. Wait—!”
Too late.
Her sanctuary had been invaded by a rogue.
Chapter Two
Ford jumped down onto the library’s expensive imported carpet. Life was always attempting to bring him to his knees, but he always landed on his feet.
The duke’s sister had retreated to a shadowy niche between two bookshelves. She stood there, half-hidden, all glinting spectacles and glowing red hair.
The new-minted copper of her hair never failed to strike his mind and reverberate like a ship’s bell tolling the hour of the watch.
She was dressed in a simple blue gown, unadorned by frills and ribbons. Her gown might be plain, but there was no mistaking that she was highborn. Sister to a duke. Blazing intelligence in her eyes and finishing school in her posture. Privileged, cosseted, and raised to believe she was a superior being.
He’d never entered the library before. It looked like an explosion had occurred in the center of the cavernous room, scattering books and papers over every surface.
Ford flung the rose he was carrying onto a table. “Now you can have a better look at me, princess.”
“I don’t want a better look. Leave, please.”
Stay away from the noble house. That’s not your place. No trespassing, do you hear me, son?
The warning had been drilled into his head over and over when he was a child. Thornhill House and its noble part-time occupants were off-limits.
Well, here he was breaking the rules. Would the gods painted on the ceiling smite him down?
Lady Beatrice looked like she wished she had a spare thunderbolt to hurl his way. Her expression was distant and forbidding. Her slender arms were crossed over her chest in a gesture that clearly said no trespassing.
All summer long she’d watched him from the library windows, but they’d never exchanged a word in person, communicating instead through a brief exchange of notes. He’d glimpsed her walking along the path that led to the sea, her long curly hair escaping from the hood of a gray cloak. Walking alone.
Always alone.
She kept herself apart, isolated in her tower, too superior to fraternize with those beneath her elevated social standing.
His mother was sorely disappointed that there was a lady living at Thornhill House who’d never once paid a visit to any of the cottagers, or hosted any kind of festivities. Not many elegant ladies from London visited these parts.
Ford didn’t give a damn about social standing or the rules of propriety. He needed information and he would have it. “When will the duke return? I can’t seem to get a straight answer from anyone.”
“I don’t know. I haven’t heard from him in weeks. I expected him home well before now.”
“Is he stopping in London first, or coming directly to Cornwall?”
“He planned to spend several weeks in London to visit with family.”
“I have to speak with him on a matter of urgency.”
“Why don’t you speak with Gibbons?”
“Absolutely not,” Ford said vehemently. He suspected Gibbons, the duke’s land agent, of embezzlement on this estate, and possibly on the duke’s other properties. He’d uncovered a series of troubling discrepancies in the receipts for timber and other goods. He didn’t want his father, or himself, to be blamed if the theft came to light.
“And why not?” she asked.
He glanced swiftly around the room. They were still alone. She hadn’t rung for a servant.
“Because Gibbons is the problem.”
“Really? He’s a distant cousin of ours.”
“Just because he’s related by blood doesn’t mean that he has your best interests at heart. I can’t discuss it here. These walls have ears. I’ll need to speak