Bridal Favors by Connie Brockway Page A

the chaps hire out for cleaning as well.”
    “Good.” She picked up an ancient, dented helmet resting near her feet and wrinkled her nose when she discovered a pile of cigar stubs in it. “What do you call the decor? Early Draconian?”
    He smiled. “The rest of the place isn’t quite so bad. It’s been strictly bachelor quarters since I inherited it a few years back and before that, well, the General wasn’t keen on spending money.”
    She tried to look reassured.
    “Everything considered, I should say the best course would be to keep the lighting as low as possible,” he suggested helpfully.
    “Oh, Lord,” she murmured.
    “It was an abbey,” he said a trifle defensively. “They were
supposed
to lead simple, cloistered lives, which means simple quarters and great, plain common rooms.”
    “Why ever would your ancestors want to make such a place their home?”
    He grinned disingenuously. “It was free, given to my ancestor for his faithful service to Queen Bess. My maternal line’s motto is:
Never pay for what one can get gratis
. I believe it’s actually written somewhere on the family crest.”
    “And is your family very political?” she asked curiously as he started into the room.
    “Only when we feel threatened. Then we howl ‘King and Country’ with the best of them. Ergo North Cross Abbey.”
    “If it’s as unappealing as you suggest, and I’ve yet to see anything which contradicts you, it doesn’t seem much of a reward for a good and faithful servant.”
    “Perhaps the service wasn’t so good, or the servant so faithful,” he said cheerfully. “Incurably lazy lot, my family. Not to mention opportunistic and predisposed toward artful behavior.” There was a touch of pride in his voice.
    “I suppose I ought to thank you for yet another warning.”
    “Warning?” He stopped so abruptly she plowed into him. He caught her elbow, steadying her. The moment he touched her, she had a distinct physical memory of his fingertips brushing the side of her breast.
    “Listen, Evie—”
    “Evelyn,” she corrected him faintly. He was standing too close. She had to tilt her head up to see him and it felt bizarrely as though she were lifting her mouth for a kiss. She flushed at the notion and dropped her chin.
    “About what I said earlier . . .” He scowled, and in the dim hallway his features looked angular and severe. “About pursuing you. I apologize.”
    “Apologize?” He had a beautiful mouth, long and chiseled looking, the bottom lip deep and full.
    “I would
never
press my attentions on you.”
    “You wouldn’t?” His words slowly penetrated. “No. Of course you wouldn’t! You were teasing. I know that.”
    She flushed hotly. Justin must have sensed what she’d been thinking and was desperate to dispel the notion.
    True to her suspicion, he breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re a sensible woman, Evie.”
    His fingers dropped from her elbow. She smiled, trying to look sensible, which shouldn’t have been that hard, because she
was
sensible. Sensible, smart, good at everything she laid her hand to—except planning weddings. Because weddings were about love.
    Pull yourself together, Evelyn! You have work to do here and you can’t afford to spend the days dodging Justin Powell.
    “What an ass you must take me for,” Justin said.
    He put one hand flat against the wall at her head level, and leaned against it, subtly hemming her in, looking down into her eyes, smiling pleasantly. His shirt stretched tightly across his broad shoulders, the rolled-up sleeves pulling farther up his arms, exposing the start of a bulging biceps muscle. Careless, cavalier, no sense of decorum.
    And fascinatingly, casually, extraordinarily, unconsciously masculine.
    “Imagine me, flattering myself that you’d take me seriously.” He said. “Can you forgive me?”
    But whatever he was, he was also truly a gentleman, Evelyn thought with bittersweet admiration. With a few words, he took the onus off