Page 19 of The Rules of Matrimony
“Let me take care of this,” he begged.
She shook her head, charging forward. She couldn’t save herself, but she would help this dog. “The ground is damp. I would not want you to dirty your boots.”
The terrier came racing back around toward her, and she lunged to snag it from harm’s way. Her boot caught on the hem of her dress, and her knees slapped the ground. She managed to get her arms around the squirming, shaking dog, but when she righted herself, she was covered in mud.
Fiddlesticks. She had managed to save the unfortunate creature, but she’d ruined her best dress. She returned to Lord Reynolds with uneasy steps, her nerves rattling like the terrier in her arms. Was this God’s way of telling her that she was better off relying on others than barging forward on her own? But for heaven’s sake, if something was meant to go wrong, why did it have to be with this man watching? His wide, uncertain stare matched all the other times he’d looked at her.
“I will consider your offer carefully, your lordship,” she said once she reached his side. She clutched the terrier tighter to her chest. “But perhaps you had better consider it yourself.”
He stared at her for a long moment before pulling his handkerchief out to hand to her. The small square would not suffice, and they both knew it.
With reluctance, she accepted it. “And while we are conversing about difficult decisions, how hard would it be to convince you to help me find the owner of this dog?”
Chapter 7
It was no surprise whenPaul Sheldon stopped by Ian’s London townhome demanding answers.
He took one look at the dog in Ian’s hand, folded his arms across his chest, and eyed him with a mixture of suspicion and concern. It was the look best friends gave when they knew something was completely and utterly wrong. “You did not respond to my letter, but you will not be able to avoid me any longer. Tell me truly. Are you engaged?”
Paul’s barrister tone amused Ian. Paul rarely employed it on Ian, and Ian was almost touched.
“Will you believe me if I say yes?” Ian asked.
“No.”
Ian chuckled, leading Paul into the drawing room. “I don’t blame you. I am still coming to terms with it myself.” After a little explaining, Paul would understand. It was common knowledge among Ian’s friends that he had always shunned the idea of marriage, but his conscience wouldn’t allow him to see an innocent woman ruined. He’d been backed into a corner from every foreseeable direction.
His drawing room was sparse compared to most of his station, but he didn’t have a need to impress anyone, especially since he rarely hosted anyone but his friends. He waved to the lone sofa—a muted gray floral with scrolled arms. “Take a seat, please.”
Paul stared at him, unmoving. “How are you not even angry about this? I knew your parents would force an arrangement on you sooner or later, what with your mother being the head of the Matchmaking Mamas and your father always griping about your lack ofheir, but I thought you would move to the Canadian colonies before you would agree to it.”
Ian went to the fireplace and straightened a small picture frame containing a watercolor of Brookeside. “My parents did not arrange it. I did. That’s the difference.” He couldn’t believe he was taking the blame in front of his own best friend, but he’d made his decision, and he would not speak ill of Miss Tyler.
“You’re starting to scare me.”
He was scaring himself. “What do you think of my new pet?” Ian crossed back to Paul and handed the immaculately clean Yorkshire Terrier to him. “Miss Tyler named him Tiny.”
Paul gingerly accepted the black-and-tan terrier no bigger than both his hands put together. “Your betrothed gave you a pet?”
Ian had known Paul since childhood, and Paul deserved a direct explanation—about the dog, at least. “After she rescued him, Miss Tyler insisted we inquire around the entire town for his owner. If anyone missed our rumored engagement, they couldn’t miss us yesterday. Tiny was unclaimed, and he, of course, must be cared for by someone.”
“And that someone is you?”
Ian shrugged. “The local farmer explained that people often drop animals off in the country when they do not suit. It quite upset Miss Tyler. She has a soft spot for, well, just about everyone. I know because at every stop we made in search of Tiny’s owner, someone had to tell me a story about how Miss Tyler helped them. She hasn’t lived in Chestervale long either.”
“Interesting. And she persuadedyouto keep the dog?” Paul shook his head in wonder. “I must meet her. This is not like you at all.”
“What do you mean? I like dogs.”
“Not lap dogs.”
“It wouldn’t be my first choice ... or my second.”
Paul scoffed. “And you never do something just because someone asked you. There has to be a good reason for it. Why do I feel as though you are ill or have recently been struck in the head?”
“Why would I make up something like this? I am more likely to pretend such an engagement doesn’t exist.” Ian collapsed back on his favorite Pocock-original reclining chair. It was a good decade old and worn in just the right places. And he needed to relax before he drove out to see Miss Tyler again this afternoon. Every meeting with her was more unpredictable than the last.
Paul hovered over him. The very man who respected personal space above all else. “What happened, Ian? The Rebels can help you if you’re in a bind.”
