Page 7 of Meet A Rogue At Midnight
He chuckled quietly against his collar. “I’m brimming with good cheer. So much that I thought I’d bring it here.”
Face reddening, Livvy yanked the rope. He held the chair in place.
Her smile stuck in a stubborn line. “I don’t have time to dally.”
“Even with an old friend?”
He’d seen the same determination on her face years ago. She’d answered a village boy’s dare and waded far into the River Trent. With her skirts waterlogged, the current had dragged her girlish frame underwater. Livvy had bobbled up and down, gasping for air. He’d dashed in after her and dragged her sputtering to the shore. Scrambling up the bank, she’d glared at him through sopping wet hair, announcing she didn’t need a Braithwaite boy to save her.
Nor did she need one now.
Livvy’s breath blew decisive clouds in chill air. Was her resistance about what she hid in the tower? Or him?
“Last night, you asked a boon of me when I caught you in my bedchamber. I gladly gave it. Now I ask a favor of you. Let me come in and—” he jiggled the chair “—I’ll haul this up for you.”
Snow thickened around his boots. Gusts swirled the flakes as if nature itself conspired to get him inside Livvy’s tower.
A little give in her shoulders, a slow sigh, and, “Very well. Door’s unlocked.”
He trotted around the medieval tower, passing an empty hand cart by the door. Iron rivets covered the oak door painted black. He pushed past it and, ducking his head at the low ceiling, took the stone steps two at a time up the narrow, winding passage, a passage too tight for the chair’s odd geometry.
Blazing light and the pungent aroma of vinegar hit him on the top floor. Four plank tables squared off the middle of the round room: each table was covered with mosaics, pottery shards, open books, jars, brushes, rags, and aged metal pieces. Three tall iron stands burned a dozen tallow candles. Two fires snapped a cheery welcome in the hearths. And one skirt-covered bottom fidgeted at the arched window.
Livvy’s head bobbed up. “Hurry. My arms are getting tired.”
He stepped gingerly around glossy mosaic pieces resting on canvas stretched across the floor. Settling beside her, he reached through the opening and placed his gloved hands above and below her chafed hands on the rope.
Big brown eyes fixed on him. “Have you got it?”
Livvy’s side was flush with his and, despite his heavy coat, awareness of his childhood friend struck. Their faces were inches apart with her chin grazing his shoulder. Snow crowned her head and the seriousness in her eyes touched him, eyes that had matured to a mildly exotic tilt above a slender, fragile nose. She was the rare redhead free of freckles. With her prettiness and unaffected candor, Livvy would be the toast of the Marriage Mart, a breath of fresh air for London’s open-minded gentlemen—if she was there.
Why was she stuck in this lonely tower?
Small, feminine nostrils flared. “You’re staring.”
“And you’ve not let go.” His voice was rough and low.
Livvy held on tight, her face turning to Plumtree. The tower’s height and elevated Halsey lands gave them a fine view. The church bell tolled the medieval hour Compline, a Christmas Day tradition. Snow dropped a curtain of innocence on jumbled homes where festive candles shined in windows, the effect like polished gold. Ten years he’d been gone. Nothing had changed except a narrow canal cutting through the land. Centuries would pass, but Plumtree would remain the same rustic village.
“I know you’re here because of my sneaking into your grandfather’s house last night,” she said quietly.
She turned, her brown gaze spearing him as if she’d decided to embrace honesty and expected the same of him. His chest squeezed. He swallowed hard. She’d been the one traipsing around dressed as a man, brandishing a pistol at midnight.
Why didhefeel the heat of expectation?
“Curiosity—perhaps concern?—is getting the best of you. I understand.” Her voice was grave. “But, for the moment, we must attend the chair. It’s very, very,veryold. A Roman general or magistrate probably sat on it.”
He nodded solemnly. “An ass of great, historical importance.”
Livvy bit her bottom lip, fighting a smile. “I am quite serious.”
“I see that.”
He gave her a sporting smile. This was cozy having a hushed discussion while leaning over a windowsill with Livvy. If he tipped his head toward her, their noses would brush.
Their conversation was a kiss with words.
Her eyes flared wider, and she carried on with an earnest voice. “You must handle this piece with care. All four ivory legs are intact. Do you understand? They areivory.” She paused. “This chair is worth a great deal ofmoney.”
