A Scandalous Portrait (The Rose Room Rogues #1) - Callie Hutton Page 0,4
in the ballroom last night—his presence overwhelmed the space in her drawing room. His thick, light brown hair, known for its inability to be tamed, fell over his broad forehead and teased the back of his cravat.
No tailor needed to pad his chestnut sack jacket, which his broad shoulders filled out nicely. His deep tan trousers below a snug brown and black checked waistcoat outlined well-muscled thighs. A starched white pristine shirt set off his slightly tanned skin.
He’d gone from the gangly youth who had plucked her from trees and tended to her scrapes to a man who knew his place in the world and commanded a good part of it with aplomb and a touch of arrogance.
He offered a slight bow. “My lady.”
She waved to a chair in front of the fireplace. “Won’t you have a seat? I am expecting tea any moment.”
She hated how breathless she sounded but convinced herself her disquiet was due to what she was about to reveal, not from his overwhelming presence. Had he truly been so very masculine prior to her trek to Italy? She attempted to remind herself this was Hunt. Her childhood friend.
And savior.
No sooner were the words out of her mouth than the door opened and Michael, one of her footmen, entered. He carried a tray with her favorite tea things that she and Grandmama had used for years. Alongside the lovely blue and while teapot sat a plate of small sandwiches and another plate of tarts. She gestured to the table between the two chairs, where the footman placed the tray. Her lady’s maid, Marguerite, slipped into the room and took a seat near the door.
With shaky hands, Diana poured the tea, adding cream and sugar as was Hunt’s wont. Once they were settled and initial pleasantries had been exchanged about the offerings on the tea tray, she placed her teacup firmly in the saucer and stiffened her back. “You must be wondering why I asked you to call.”
He nodded, a slight smirk on his lips. “What trouble are you in now, Diana?”
She jumped up, causing him to quickly put his teacup down and stand, the serviette on his lap falling to the floor.
“No, no, sit, please.”
He offered her a bemused smile. “You know I am unable to sit while a lady stands.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. All right, I’ll sit.” She returned to her chair and then fidgeted so much she annoyed herself. She took a deep breath and smiled. “I learned about your rescue of Miss Manchester last month.”
“Miss Manchester? Rescue? I’m afraid I do not understand.” He picked up the teacup and frowned, obviously feigning ignorance.
“Perhaps you did not see it as a rescue, but I’m sure Miss Manchester felt it was.”
He continued to look perplexed until she wondered if perhaps Marguerite had gotten the story wrong from Miss Manchester’s lady’s maid. Please, God, don’t make it so. She needed Hunt’s help. Desperately. “You seem confused, so perhaps I may refresh your memory?”
He nodded. “Please, do.”
“The information I received was Miss Manchester was present at a house party where you were also a guest.” When he continued to stare at her, she sighed. “Hunt, for heaven’s sake, you are nowhere near your dotage. Did you or did you not attend a house party at the Bedford estate last month?”
“Yes, I did.” He dragged the words out, his eyes narrowing.
“Was Miss Millie Manchester also a guest?” She tried to keep her voice calm, but the entire situation had been unnerving her for a week, and the sooner she could get his promise to help her, the happier she would be.
“I believe she was, along with her brother, Mr. David Manchester.” The caution in his words was telling. A man protecting a woman’s reputation. Perfect. The sort of behavior she desperately wanted to encourage.
“If you are trying to guard the young lady’s name, I admire you for that, but I assure you I know the story of how she left her scarf in a young man’s bedchamber and, at her behest, you retrieved the garment for her before her brother discovered her indiscretion.”
If he’d been surprised at her knowledge of the event, he did not show it. Instead, he viewed her with curiosity. “If you are in possession of that story, it has not come from me. May I ask why you bring it up now, and how that connects to the reason you have requested my presence this afternoon when I would much rather be on the way