snorted pig-like. “What
do you know, girl, about art? Or Italy for that matter?” Her uncle shook
his empty glass at Mr. Runyon’s butler.
The butler, a tall, lean man of uncertain
age, shuffled slowly to her uncles side. The butler’s eyes hooded as he served
Oliver Burke. He bowed only slightly, as if it offended him to wait on her
uncle.
“More wine, my lord?” The butler’s
tone polite, held a note of mockery.
Uncle Oliver’s face, hardened. He turned
to Mr. Runyon, a complaint on his fat lips, but just as quickly lowered his
eyes. He held out his hand for the wine.
Alexandra watched the exchange with
curiosity. Mr. Runyon looked at her uncle, as one does a rodent
accidently found on the doorstep. Her host caught her curious glance and
quickly smoothed out his features. He gave a conspiratorial wink and
leaned over to Alexandra.
“My dear,” he said close to her ear,
“forgive me. I do not approve of your uncle’s disposition or the way he
regards you, or your opinions. I am so sorry for being unkind. He
is your uncle after all.”
I am a horrible person . Mr. Runyon protected her from her
uncle, brought her lovely gifts and treated her with every kindness. Meanwhile
she used and exploited this sweet man for her own ends. Her guilt caused
her to assassinate his character at every turn. “You, sir, are forgiven for
your prejudice.”
Mr. Runyon deserved her gratitude, not
her speculation. His courtship of her gave her a reprieve from her
uncle’s plans. Now that her uncle assumed her betrothal to Mr. Runyon,
Odious Oliver left her in peace. He no longer threatened the
servants of Helmsby Abbey with expulsion. In fact, he’d stopped
mentioning the estate to her completely. Now, if she could only
reach Mr. Meechum, her aunt’s solicitor.
The note she sent Mr. Meechum the morning
after Agnes Dobson’s ball remained unanswered, as well as the note she sent
yesterday. She could not travel to Meechum & Sons without arousing
her uncle’s suspicion and he would certainly not allow her to make the
trip. Her gaze fell to Mr. Runyon. She would have to ask his
assistance. He was a kind, decent man. Honorable. Unlike Lord Reynolds.
Alexandra exhaled slowly, closing her
eyes. She could hear the whisper of Lord Reynolds’s voice as he said her
name. Alex . Alexandra had not seen him since that day. She
played over and over in her head their two meetings. Re-lived the erotic
kiss of his lips, the smell of cinnamon that swirled about him and the green of
his eyes.
“Miss Dunforth? I fear my
conversation is dull for it appears I am putting you to sleep.”
Alexandra’s eyelids flew open. For
a moment, she had been back in that hallway, a warm hand running down her spine
while a dragon’s tail wrapped itself around her.
“No, Mr. Runyon,” she sputtered,
embarrassed to be caught daydreaming. Especially about Lord
Reynolds. “That delicious aroma I smell put me in a trance. I must
confess I am looking forward to whatever your chef is serving.” She
sniffed the air. The smell was delicious. Her stomach
grumbled in hunger. Odious Oliver ate most of his meals at his club and
the cook he employed at his townhome could barely prepare anything that might
be mistaken for a meal. Alexandra thought perhaps her uncle attempted to
starve her into submission.
Mr. Runyon clapped his hands in
delight. “You will be more than pleased, Miss Dunforth. I
promise.” Mr. Runyon dipped his wheat colored head. His
hair looked recently trimmed. A single lock of gold fell across his
forehead, artfully curled and put in place. The dark blue jacket
and lighter blue waistcoat set off his coloring to perfection. The suit
itself, tailored and expensive, fit him to perfection. Mr. Runyon
appeared to have stepped out of a painting himself. Perfect.
Surreal. Too perfect. She pushed aside the unease she suddenly
felt. She
do you know, girl, about art? Or Italy for that matter?” Her uncle shook
his empty glass at Mr. Runyon’s butler.
The butler, a tall, lean man of uncertain
age, shuffled slowly to her uncles side. The butler’s eyes hooded as he served
Oliver Burke. He bowed only slightly, as if it offended him to wait on her
uncle.
“More wine, my lord?” The butler’s
tone polite, held a note of mockery.
Uncle Oliver’s face, hardened. He turned
to Mr. Runyon, a complaint on his fat lips, but just as quickly lowered his
eyes. He held out his hand for the wine.
Alexandra watched the exchange with
curiosity. Mr. Runyon looked at her uncle, as one does a rodent
accidently found on the doorstep. Her host caught her curious glance and
quickly smoothed out his features. He gave a conspiratorial wink and
leaned over to Alexandra.
“My dear,” he said close to her ear,
“forgive me. I do not approve of your uncle’s disposition or the way he
regards you, or your opinions. I am so sorry for being unkind. He
is your uncle after all.”
I am a horrible person . Mr. Runyon protected her from her
uncle, brought her lovely gifts and treated her with every kindness. Meanwhile
she used and exploited this sweet man for her own ends. Her guilt caused
her to assassinate his character at every turn. “You, sir, are forgiven for
your prejudice.”
Mr. Runyon deserved her gratitude, not
her speculation. His courtship of her gave her a reprieve from her
uncle’s plans. Now that her uncle assumed her betrothal to Mr. Runyon,
Odious Oliver left her in peace. He no longer threatened the
servants of Helmsby Abbey with expulsion. In fact, he’d stopped
mentioning the estate to her completely. Now, if she could only
reach Mr. Meechum, her aunt’s solicitor.
The note she sent Mr. Meechum the morning
after Agnes Dobson’s ball remained unanswered, as well as the note she sent
yesterday. She could not travel to Meechum & Sons without arousing
her uncle’s suspicion and he would certainly not allow her to make the
trip. Her gaze fell to Mr. Runyon. She would have to ask his
assistance. He was a kind, decent man. Honorable. Unlike Lord Reynolds.
Alexandra exhaled slowly, closing her
eyes. She could hear the whisper of Lord Reynolds’s voice as he said her
name. Alex . Alexandra had not seen him since that day. She
played over and over in her head their two meetings. Re-lived the erotic
kiss of his lips, the smell of cinnamon that swirled about him and the green of
his eyes.
“Miss Dunforth? I fear my
conversation is dull for it appears I am putting you to sleep.”
Alexandra’s eyelids flew open. For
a moment, she had been back in that hallway, a warm hand running down her spine
while a dragon’s tail wrapped itself around her.
“No, Mr. Runyon,” she sputtered,
embarrassed to be caught daydreaming. Especially about Lord
Reynolds. “That delicious aroma I smell put me in a trance. I must
confess I am looking forward to whatever your chef is serving.” She
sniffed the air. The smell was delicious. Her stomach
grumbled in hunger. Odious Oliver ate most of his meals at his club and
the cook he employed at his townhome could barely prepare anything that might
be mistaken for a meal. Alexandra thought perhaps her uncle attempted to
starve her into submission.
Mr. Runyon clapped his hands in
delight. “You will be more than pleased, Miss Dunforth. I
promise.” Mr. Runyon dipped his wheat colored head. His
hair looked recently trimmed. A single lock of gold fell across his
forehead, artfully curled and put in place. The dark blue jacket
and lighter blue waistcoat set off his coloring to perfection. The suit
itself, tailored and expensive, fit him to perfection. Mr. Runyon
appeared to have stepped out of a painting himself. Perfect.
Surreal. Too perfect. She pushed aside the unease she suddenly
felt. She
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