Page 16 of Lady Frederica and the Scot Who Would Not
The little minx. She was batting her eyelashes at him.
“No. You won’t be seeing me there. So when we pass on the street, I suppose, if it ever occurs. Or perhaps I’ll see you at the home of your sister or the Duke and Duchess of Greybourne.” They were friends, after all.
“I intend to live in Covent Garden,” she said, “so you will see me there.”
“Was this your harebrained idea or my sister’s?”
“Mine,” she said. “And it is not harebrained.”
“Exactly how do you plan to support yourself? I presume your parents are unaware of the future you’re plotting for yourself.”
“My parents are no concern of yours, and as a matter of fact, I was hoping you’d give me a position as a bookkeeper.”
“A bookkeeper?” He couldn’t have heard her correctly.
“Yes, your sister taught me, and she says I’m quite a natural.”
He was going to wring Blythe’s neck. How this woman had talked Blythe into doing such a thing, he didn’t know, but he intended to find out from his sister. Too much conversation with Frederica was not a good idea. Something that felt suspiciously like admiration had lodged in his chest since the start of this exchange, and he didn’t want to feel that or anything else for her. “There’s no way I’ll give you a position as bookkeeper or anything else.” She opened her mouth, and he could see the protest balanced on her lovely lips. “No means no, Frederica. I’m not a man to change my mind. Ever.”
“Everis a very long time.”
She hitched one perfect eyebrow. Quite a feat that was. He refused to be bemused by how lovely she looked with her eyebrow raised. Instead he said, “I’m steadfast in my decisions, if nothing else.”
“Well—” she unfolded her arms and stared at him “—I don’t imagine you are the only potential employer in Covent Garden.”
“You’ll not find employment so don’t come down there. Now out you go. I don’t want to see you again.”
That was a bloody lie.
“You don’t own Covent Garden.” Her voice rose to a very unladylike bellow, which he found amusing, but he kept his face perfectly neutral. The woman had a temper. He wished he could say he didn’t like that, but he did. And he would ignore that he did.
“No,” he said with a calm that was not natural in her presence, “I don’t own it. But you won’t get anywhere there without my permission, and you won’t be getting that.” And since it was past time to send her on her way, he turned, opened the door, exited the carriage, and then offered his hand to help her down.
She smacked his hand away and shoved past him. “I don’t require your aid, nor will I ever be in need of it again.”
“I certainly hope not,” he replied to her back as she walked away from him and toward her house.
He lingered there. He told himself it was simply to ensure she made it unscathed into her home, but his gut knew the lie his head tried not to acknowledge. He never allowed himself to think what his life might have been. That was a waste of his time. His parents had both died. He and Blythe had become orphans. Hawk had betrayed all of them. Georgette and the babe had died. Loss had defined his life. Even if he wanted to let someone close besides Blythe, really close, he couldn’t. Hell, he wouldn’t even know how anymore anyway.
Frederica had stirred his lust, nothing more, and there were ways to slake one’s lust without courting problems. Yet, as he settled once more in his carriage, questions about her disturbed his peace. For instance, why exactly did she want to leave the only world she’d ever known for his? And why was it that a woman as stunning and unique as she was had not yet been kissed?
Chapter Five
Gabe returned to the club, listening as Brooke threatened to destroy him, Blythe, and Frederica for interfering with the man’s private affairs, and then Gabe calmly made his own threats to the man. He was glad Belle had decided to disappear and start a new life. He’d happily given her the means to do so. Brooke seemed to be the sort of man whose pride was greater than his intelligence, which meant he’d likely try to make good on his threats. And that meant Gabe needed to warn not only Frederica but Carrington, as well. His friend and partner was the best person to watch after his impetuous sister-in-law, and luckily, the ball the Carringtons were hosting the following evening would be the perfect time to do so. He’d already been planning to attend, as Carrington was supposed to be giving him a list of candidates for Blythe to wed.
Yet, as Gabe shut the door that led from the club to the cellar and proceeded down the stairs to confront Blythe, anticipation at the thought of seeing Frederica again stirred in his chest. It wasn’t a welcome feeling, but damn it all, he couldn’t seem to kill it. That feeling was why he was grateful for how public the next night’s ball would be. There would be no opportunity for him to forget himself and kiss her again.
Decision made, Gabe proceeded down to the cellar and found Blythe sitting on the edge of the ring with a drink in hand and an empty glass and a full bottle of whisky beside her. She flicked her gaze toward him, then scooped up the bottle with her free hand, poured him a measure, and carried the drink to him. She knew him well. He always drank a finger of whisky before bed. He took the glass from her and tilted it up, letting the whisky slide a fiery trail down his throat to spread through his chest. Maybe it would unravel the knots that Frederica’s kiss had put there.
“Are you worried about Brooke?” Blythe asked, tilting her own glass back and knocking down the remainder of her drink before she swiped the back of her hand across her face.
“Yes.” But he wasn’t worried in regard to himself. “I’m worried about you.”
“Me?” She frowned. “Why?”
“Because you take too many chances with your well-being.”
“You’re one to talk. You pummeled and humiliated a lord who then departed with a threat to destroy you.”
