Page 20 of Wickeds Scandal
Mr. Runyon maneuvered to the parlor,leaving her to sit on a lovely, green velvet chair. Odious Oliver, alreadyseated, was working his way through a large glass of wine. He tipped the glassback, downing the red liquid in one swallow. He snorted pig-like. “Whatdo you know, girl, about art? Or Italy for that matter?” Her uncle shookhis empty glass at Mr. Runyon’s butler.
The butler, a tall, lean man of uncertainage, shuffled slowly to her uncles side. The butler’s eyes hooded as he servedOliver Burke. He bowed only slightly, as if it offended him to wait on heruncle.
“More wine, my lord?” The butler’stone polite, held a note of mockery.
Uncle Oliver’s face, hardened. He turnedto Mr. Runyon, a complaint on his fat lips, but just as quickly lowered hiseyes. He held out his hand for the wine.
Alexandra watched the exchange withcuriosity. Mr. Runyon looked at her uncle, as one does a rodentaccidently found on the doorstep. Her host caught her curious glance andquickly smoothed out his features. He gave a conspiratorial wink andleaned 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 heregards you, or your opinions. I am so sorry for being unkind. Heis your uncle after all.”
I am a horrible person. Mr. Runyon protected her from heruncle, brought her lovely gifts and treated her with every kindness. Meanwhileshe used and exploited this sweet man for her own ends. Her guilt causedher to assassinate his character at every turn. “You, sir, are forgiven foryour prejudice.”
Mr. Runyon deserved her gratitude, nother speculation. His courtship of her gave her a reprieve from heruncle’s plans. Now that her uncle assumed her betrothal to Mr. Runyon,Odious Oliver left her in peace. He no longer threatened theservants of Helmsby Abbey with expulsion. In fact, he’d stoppedmentioning the estate to her completely. Now, if she could onlyreach Mr. Meechum, her aunt’s solicitor.
The note she sent Mr. Meechum the morningafter Agnes Dobson’s ball remained unanswered, as well as the note she sentyesterday. She could not travel to Meechum & Sons without arousingher uncle’s suspicion and he would certainly not allow her to make thetrip. Her gaze fell to Mr. Runyon. She would have to ask hisassistance. He was a kind, decent man. Honorable. Unlike Lord Reynolds.
Alexandra exhaled slowly, closing hereyes. She could hear the whisper of Lord Reynolds’s voice as he said hername.Alex. Alexandra had not seen him since that day. Sheplayed over and over in her head their two meetings. Re-lived the erotickiss of his lips, the smell of cinnamon that swirled about him and the green ofhis eyes.
“Miss Dunforth? I fear myconversation is dull for it appears I am putting you to sleep.”
Alexandra’s eyelids flew open. Fora moment, she had been back in that hallway, a warm hand running down her spinewhile a dragon’s tail wrapped itself around her.
“No, Mr. Runyon,” she sputtered,embarrassed to be caught daydreaming. Especially about LordReynolds. “That delicious aroma I smell put me in a trance. I mustconfess I am looking forward to whatever your chef is serving.” Shesniffed the air. The smellwasdelicious. Her stomachgrumbled in hunger. Odious Oliver ate most of his meals at his club andthe cook he employed at his townhome could barely prepare anything that mightbe mistaken for a meal. Alexandra thought perhaps her uncle attempted tostarve her into submission.
Mr. Runyon clapped his hands indelight. “You will be more than pleased, Miss Dunforth. Ipromise.” Mr. Runyon dipped his wheat colored head. Hishair looked recently trimmed. A single lock of gold fell across hisforehead, artfully curled and put in place. The dark blue jacketand lighter blue waistcoat set off his coloring to perfection. The suititself, tailored and expensive, fit him to perfection. Mr. Runyonappeared to have stepped out of a painting himself. Perfect.Surreal. Too perfect. She pushed aside the unease she suddenlyfelt. She was being ridiculous. So what if Mr. Runyon was a bit ofa dandy? A cultured man, like Mr. Runyon, paid attention to hisappearance. He did not have the unearthly male beauty, or the sense ofexotic danger that clung to Lord Reynolds, but that did not detract from hismasculinity. Alexandra gave Mr. Runyon’s styled hair another glance andsighed. She really must quit thinking of Lord Reynolds and comparing thetwo men. She had Helmsby Abbey to save. The attractions of a rakewere something she could ill afford.
“As you can probably tell, or smell inthis case, my chef has prepared an outstanding dinner for you thisevening.” He held out his glass for the butler to refill. “I foundHenri quite by accident, cooking in the villa of an impoverished nobleman’sfamily in Tuscany. He was about to return to France, since the family couldno longer afford to keep a chef of Henri’s talent. Apparently theirdaughter,” Mr. Runyon frowned, “was promised to a wealthy suitor. But thegirl preferred to run away with the estate’s groom. Much to her family’shorror. The family was counting on the marriage to rescue them from direstraits.”
“How sad. Did they ever seetheir daughter again?” Alexandra asked.
“Alas, no. The daughter was founddead of a broken neck shortly after she fled her family. The groomdisappeared. The authorities assume he murdered her.” Mr. Runyonshook his head sadly. “I did what I could to help the old man. Infact, several of the statues you admired were from his privatecollection. I purchased them from him. Paid way too much I’mafraid.” His smooth brow wrinkled in consternation. “I wish I couldhave helped them more. But I did manage to rescue Henri and his marvelousway with Cornish game hens.” He waved a hand at the tallbutler. “Hobson, please ask Henri if dinner is ready. I cannot have MissDunforth wasting away!”
What a nice man! Alexandra felt theflash of guilt again. She would make it up to him. She would assisthim in his search for a bride once her uncle’s guardianship ended and HelmsbyAbbey safely in her hands.
Hobson emerged from the shadows by the openparlor door and nodded respectfully to her host. He turned, staringat Alexandra. A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.
“That will be all, Hobson, until you callus for dinner.” Mr. Runyon said softly, though his voice held a hint ofsteel.
The butler twitched. He lowered his eyesto the floor and shuffled from the room.
“Hobson is a decent enough butler,” Mr.Runyon explained, “but I keep him mostly out of pity. He’s quite simple,you see.” Mr. Runyon tapped his temple with a finger. “I need toconstantly remind him of his manners. Sometimes he forgets hisstatus. He is one of life’s unfortunates.”
“Your care of others is apparent in allyou do, Mr. Runyon.” Alexandra took a sip of sherry, letting the cherrytaste slide down her throat. “It speaks well of you to offer such charityto others.”
Uncle Oliver chuckled from his positionby the fireplace.
Mr. Runyon shot him an ill-concealed lookof dislike.
Uncle Oliver grinned into thefireplace. Obnoxiously merry this evening, she expected that he wassimply anticipating shoveling a five-course dinner into his mouth.Alexandra envisioned him choking on the game hen. That wouldcertainly solve her problems quickly. Odious Oliver grunted, rubbing hisstomach in anticipation.
Mr. Runyon sighed. He threw a lookof disgust in her uncle’s direction.
She knew exactly how he felt.
“I try to be of a service to others whenI can, Miss Dunforth. Especially those less fortunate than myself.”
Alexandra nodded and took another sip ofsherry as she surveyed the room. The art, paintings and knickknacks on displaywere all lovely and expensive. She and Mr. Runyon sat on finelymade Chippendale furniture, easy to recognize by its exquisite lines andelegant upholstery. A book on India lay on the table before her. Darkgreen curtains, velvet and quite expensive, hung from the windows. A firewarmed the room, crackling merrily in the hearth. The room, as comfortable andcheerful though it was, bothered Alexandra. The fire, the way thefurniture was situated, even the tassels of the curtains, gave the impressionof being alltooperfect. Staged. Nothing in the room showed theleast bit of wear. The room, immaculately clean, did not feel used orlived in. It struck her that she saw nothing personal in the room. Noportraits of Runyon ancestors. No pipe or reading glasses. Thefeeling of unease returned. Something was odd here, but she couldn’tquite put her finger on it, and wasn’t sure she wished to.
