Page 38 of A Body, A Baron, and Miss Mifford
She lifted a gloved finger to trace her initials unto it—a childlike impulse, but one she could not control—when she heard the sound of voices from behind the far door. Female voices.
Aghast, Eudora stepped backwards toward the door through which she had entered, glad of the darkness and the length of the—aptly named—Long Room.
She opened the door quietly, thankful that Ivo and Jane’s servants kept the hinges well-oiled, and stood out into the corridor.
Curiosity, however, got the better of her, and she did not close the door entirely. Instead, she left it open a crack and leaned her ear close to better hear who had intruded upon her.
“Empty, Mrs Wickling,” she heard Mrs Canards’ voice say. “I could have sworn they’d be here. I have heard comings and goings from this room the past two nights.”
“Are you certain he followed her?”
“I’d bet my house upon it,” Mrs Canards replied before sniffing with distaste, “If I was the type of lady to stoop solow as to gamble, that is. She left the room, and he followed immediately after. They must think us all fools.”
Eudora held a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp, then stepped back from the door, seeking to put distance between herself and the two town gossips. However, instead of stepping back into empty space, she collided with something warm, hard, and very firm.
“Eudora?”
Lord Delaney sounded as winded as Eudora felt.
Alarmed, she whirled on her slippered feet to face him, both glad and slightly disappointed to break the frisson of connection their colliding bodies had caused.
Robert, his cheeks a little red, opened his mouth to speak again. Before he could utter a word, outing their presence to the two harridans nearby, Eudora reached up on tip-toe and placed a gloved hand over his mouth.
She felt him tense at her touch, and Eudora’s earlier magnanimity toward Lord Delaney’s imagined London lover flew out the window—for she, too, found the unusual intimacy rather exciting.
“Shh,” she commanded before dropping her hand from his lips, “Follow me. Quietly, please.”
Drawing on reserves of composure she hitherto hadn’t known she possessed, Eudora took off down the corridor with the baron at her heels.
Much like the previous night, Eudora took the first turn she chanced across, followed by the servants’ stairs, where she found the doorway leading to the mahogany-paneled corridor in the west wing. It was here she had heard the argument between Lady Albermay and Captain Ledger, but she would have to wait to explain that tale to Lord Delaney for first—
“Would you care to explain the cloak and daggers, Eudora?” Robert asked his expression a touch amused.
Unsure of how to reply, Eudora stepped so far back from his towering frame that her behind brushed against the wall.
Willing herself not to become flustered—which only made her more so—Eudora haltingly explained how Mrs Canards and Mrs Wickling had followed them to The Long Room.
“They said it was obvious to everyone that you were following me,” she finished, mortification causing her cheeks to burn.
“But that’s impossible,” Robert exclaimed with a bewildered laugh.
The embarrassment she had felt before was nothing compared to the sheer humiliation which coursed through her veins at his reply. The very idea that he might pursue her romantically amused him.
“Of course, how silly of them.” Eudora cleared her throat—which was now terrifically dry—as she willed the ground to open and swallow her whole.
“I didn’t mean that—”
It was the baron’s turn now to be discombobulated. He floundered for words for a moment, his ears pink.
“What I meant to say is that they could not have thought that I was following you, for they left before I did,” he finally explained, his brown eyes warm and sincere. “I did not mean to insinuate that…that the idea I was pursuing you was impossible.”
Eudora stilled, unsure how she should respond to his statement. Hope fluttered in her breast, accompanied by a sudden awareness of his proximity. He was so tall that she had to tilt her chin to look up at him. His dark hair was curled at the collar, and—at this late hour—his strong jaw was shadowed in a way that made Eudora long to run her finger along it.
He was, Eudora realised with a gulp, an exceptionally masculine man.
Lord Delaney watched her watching him, his brow drawn into a thoughtful frown.
“For I am,” he continued, breaking the tense silence, “I am pursuing you, Eudora.”
