Redeeming the Reclusive Earl - Virginia Heath Page 0,75
it’s worse than that.’
Worse! Oh, dear.
‘Thanks to Eleanor...’ He cleared his throat, his eyes darting to hers, then flicking away. And behind the curtain of hair he was suddenly hiding behind, she was almost certain she detected what looked a lot like a blush.
‘I am really not sure how to tell you the next bit, so I’ll just say it straight out... In view of his persistent and fixated outrage at your involvement with the paper...she told them you were my fiancée.’ He winced as he said it, as if he was waiting for her to hit the roof and seemed genuinely surprised when she neither said nor did anything beyond blink. Because frankly, after the million and one thoughts, questions and scenarios to careen through her mind these fraught past few hours, that certainly had not been one of them.
His next words came out in an embarrassed tumble. ‘To be fair to Eleanor, it did seem to do the trick and Lord Pompous backed off and immediately directed his over-active scepticism elsewhere.’
‘I am to play your fiancée now?’
‘Obviously, I demanded to know what the hell she thought she was about when I finally got her alone and she quoted you as the inspiration for her spur-of-the-moment solution, stating that men like Denby would not question a lady’s diligent support of her betrothed and would be seen as natural because... Er...’ He was delightfully awkward now and most definitely blushing. Which was a first. She had never seen him so flustered or uncertain. And she had never heard him stammer. ‘Because in his eyes, as my fiancée, your place should be by my side regardless... What with women being chattels and all, with no thoughts beyond those fed to them by their biologically superior menfolk and no desire above...um...administering to his—or in this case my—whims.’
Her words. Almost exactly.
‘And that worked?’ She found herself smiling at Lord Denby’s utter stupidity as well as Max’s charming awkwardness. ‘He can cope with me assisting you as long as we are engaged—but not because you engaged my services as an assistant?’
‘That is the long and short of it, yes.’ He slanted her a wary glance. ‘Eleanor has appointed herself our chaperon... For appearance’s sake, of course, rather than... Are you angry?’
‘Not in the slightest. Thank goodness Eleanor thought of it.’ She watched the tension dissolve in his broad shoulders and suppressed the sudden urge to run her hands over them. ‘Are Sir Percival and Lord Whittlesey similarly placated?’
‘As Lord Whittlesey’s sole purpose, as far as I can make out, appears to be to agree unquestioningly with everything Disapproving Denby says and as Sir Percival seemed crestfallen to learn that you were spoken for, I’d say so. He seems to have taken a bit of a shine to you, by the way.’ Max seemed to be watching her reaction to that intently.
‘It will tarnish. It always does.’ She hoped her words sound blasé rather than bitter because Max was being nice. ‘What is our plan for tonight?’
‘We’ll eat, then show them the artefacts. I shall propose a very early night so that we can head to the ruins early.’ His gaze suddenly swept the length of her and he winced again at her now thoroughly crumpled day dress. ‘Eleanor is insisting it is to be horrifically formal, so you’ll probably have to change. Once the carriage is unloaded, it can take you back home to do so.’
‘No need. I brought every decent gown I own and...’ His words finally permeated her brain. ‘Did Eleanor not tell you she invited me to stay?’
His mouth settled in irritated flat line. ‘She neglected to apprise me of that fact. I wonder why?’
Effie did not need to wonder, but now felt hideously embarrassed to be put in the awkward position of defending herself and Eleanor—who was only being practical.
‘She insisted. She believed you would need me here...to be your constant shadow in case you were put on the spot.’ She watched his jaw clench and his dark eyes harden. ‘If it is a problem, I can just as easily take it all back home...’ She instinctively turned towards the carriage in time to see the last of her