Friends? Damn, but she still wanted more. Not that she could have it, and Connie had become used to not having what she wanted. Friends would do. “Very well.”
“And I’ll devote a portion of every day to helping you.”
“Thank you, sir.” Exquisite agony to have this man so close, but she’d bear it. Worse that she was liking him more.
“Alex.”
She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“I want the privilege of calling you Connie. In return, you must call me Alex, especially in private. You do me a great favor, helping me to avoid the ladies, particularly Miss Stobart. She’s done everything she can to compromise me.”
“What about me? Won’t I be compromised?”
“You’re a respectable widow, soon to be formally betrothed. You told me so yourself.”
He had her there. “And in any case, I’m of an age where I cannot be expected to be on the hunt. Isn’t that right?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” He raked her with his eyes, once, twice, from head to toes.
Every part of her body tingled. How could she bear this? “I’m eight and twenty, sir. I’m far too old to consider husband hunting seriously, even if my arrangement with Jasper didn’t exist.” He might as well hear the truth. “If it weren’t that my godparents had chosen me, I’d be well on the shelf.”
“They might consider you decrepit. I certainly don’t. But you have my word, Connie, I’ll behave. Just don’t leave me to their mercies.” When he moved back, she caught the scent of citrus and masculinity. He was too real, with her in this room, a man rather than a symbol of power and influence.
“Why don’t you just leave?”
He shook his head. “I promised my father I wouldn’t. He’s an old curmudgeon, but he’s the only father I have. In a week, I will be kicking the dust of this admittedly charming house off my heels. I just need help until then.”
So he could help the old widow woman sort out the dusty books. The situation appealed to her underused sense of humor. If she could bear his presence, and since he’d dropped his society mask she found him much more agreeable, then she could watch the play unfold and smile. As a widow she was allowed more leeway than others, and even if rumors came her way, she was safe. Jasper would arrive any day now and then her quietude would be at an end. She would be an engaged woman. “Very well, but not for long. Until you leave.”
“Thank you, Connie. You do me a great service and I won’t forget it.”
She might as well make use of him. “Be warned, Lord Ripley, I intend to work you hard collecting volumes from the dustiest rooms in the house.”
“Alex.”
He must look at all women that way and the gullible thought he did it just for them. More fools they. Connie wouldn’t join them.
* * * *
Alex left the library smiling. If Connie Rattigan thought her plain gowns and quiet demeanor had prevented him looking at her with more than usual interest, she was much mistaken.
Her determination to avoid the house party had intrigued him at first. Then he wondered how she could think of becoming betrothed to anyone belonging to the Dankworth family. Of course he was biased, since his mother’s family were constantly at odds with the Dankworths, but Jasper, in his opinion, was a typical example of the breed. He didn’t deserve her. Glad to find her betrothed absent from the party, he’d looked at Connie and liked what he saw. The more he looked, the more he liked.
Discovering her lair had become an obsession that had lightened the otherwise dull visit. He’d traversed several corridors more plainly decorated and much narrower than the more gracious ones in the main part of the house. But he’d failed in his quest.
So it was ironic that he’d found her by accident. He had been escaping the wiles of Miss Stobart. Running away. He’d wandered into the older part of the house, to explore a little. Like many country houses, this one had been added to over the years. Lower ceilings and narrower corridors than in the modern part of the house attested to its age. He’d ducked into an old library, lined with shelves of books that looked read instead of just for show.
When he turned a corner and discovered the lady facing him full-square, his smile vanished. If he wanted to get past her, he’d either have to retreat or beg her pardon and squeeze past. The narrow corridors that a moment ago had seemed quaint now took on a more sinister aspect.
Another lady chased around the far end of the long hallway, no doubt determined to prevent any tete-a-tete. Good for her.
“Ladies, would you both care to accompany me in a stroll around the gardens?” Acceptable, and he could make an excuse and leave them with each other. Perhaps they’d come to blows. A man could only hope.
Alex considered himself an easy-going man but these two had driven him to distraction. So much that he’d left London and taken up the invitation for a quiet gathering, only for them to discover where he’d gone and follow post-haste. The Downhollands were too genial to turn them away.
Even more reason to pursue the fascinating Constance Rattigan. He’d never met a woman before who drew him as she did. The fact that she was about to be married, or contracted anyway, made her safer than the two women who confidently came forward and took an arm each. Also infinitely better company. She conversed like a sensible woman, and while he tried to be a gentleman, he took note of her luscious figure and her lovely features almost without thinking.
Strange feeling. Must be the Yorkshire air, he decided, as he made the necessary detour to the south entrance, heading for the gardens.
Chapter 2
Alex had helped Connie with her tasks for three days now but that had been clean work, cataloguing and capturing family histories from the more salubrious parts of the house. Nobody had touched this storeroom for years, but she’d found it quite by chance when she opened the wrong door. To her this room was a treasure-trove. To anyone else, a dirt trap holding useless old books.
Connie climbed down the ladder and banged two books together to get rid of the worst of the dust. She found the resulting cloud quite impressive but she drew breath at the wrong minute and coughed, dropping the volumes.
Turning away, she fumbled for her handkerchief and discovered one thrust in front of her nose. Too overwhelmed to wonder who the newcomer was, she mopped up the resulting stream of tears, finished coughing and turned around, ready to thank her Good Samaritan.
Before her, holding the books, stood Alexander, Lord Ripley. Although dressed simply, in a dark green cloth coat and fawn colored waistcoat, she would never confuse his garments with something produced by a country tailor and here she was, in the same old gown as before, only now it was covered in centuries-old dust and grime.
Her breath quickened, her heart beat faster, exactly as they had when she’d first met her late husband. And look how that had turned out.
One dark brow moved a fraction and he smiled, the warmth filling her with a sense of camaraderie. “Such a gentleman,” she murmured before she could stop herself. Then she clapped a hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry. My father always said I shouldn’t be allowed into polite society on my own.”
He gave a sharp bark of laughter. “He was wrong. You’re quite right, ma’am. You nearly had had me in unseemly laughter twice at dinner last night with your drollery. You have a way about you, don’t you?” He turned and put the books on the large deal table that dominated this small room and flipped open the cover of one. His gaze sharpened. “My word.” He bent and examined the contents.
Surprised by his interest, she opened the other and was similarly intrigued. She’d come here to unearth a few inventories but had become interested in the much smaller