Page 29 of The Duke of Ruin
Diana was fairly certain it had been a rhetorical question, but Mrs. Woodlawn answered it nonetheless. “There’s a couple who arrived before you, and they’ve asked to have dinner in their room. It’s no trouble to bring yours up, if that’s what you prefer.”
“All the way up here?” Simon shook his head. “Absolutely not. We look forward to dining in the common room. Your hospitality is beyond compare, Mrs. Woodlawn.”
She blushed, and her chest seemed to puff up. “Thank you, Mr. Byrd. We’ll see you downstairs shortly—the mutton smells delicious!” She flashed them a smile as she took herself from the room, closing the door behind her.
Diana turned, warming her neglected backside. “You’re a kindhearted gentleman. I think that’s a rarity for men in your class.”
“Is it?” he asked softly. “I aim to be pleasant and unobtrusive.” He turned his attention to the fire, and she wondered if that was a hint of color stealing up his neck, or if it was merely a reflection of the flames.
He wanted people to like him. And why wouldn’t he when the majority treated him as if he carried the plague? “I find you quite pleasant,” she said.
When his gaze found hers, his eyes were intensely dark, the color of the coffee her father drank, with just a few of the gold flecks smoldering in their depths. The moment stretched between them until she felt warm all over and was fairly certain it wasn’t due to the fire.
Finally, she blinked and looked away. “Shall we go downstairs?”
“Yes, I think we must.” He opened the door for her and waited for her to pass, giving her a wide berth and trailing her down the stairs.
There were several people in the common room already. A couple in their fifties greeted them and introduced themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Emerson.
“I’m Byrd, and this is my wife,” Simon said, smiling, as they moved farther into the common room. His hand lightly grazed the small of her back, and she realized she’d become accustomed to his light touches. Just as she’d become comfortable with playing the part of his wife. If it weren’t for him calling her Miss Kingman when they were out of earshot of others, she might have forgotten that was really her name.
“Pleased to meet you,” Mrs. Emerson said. She possessed kind, light blue eyes and a warm smile. “You sound as if you’re from the south.”
Simon nodded. “Indeed we are. And you have the lilt of a northerner.”
“Leeds,” Mr. Emerson said, his still-dark brows in contrast to his mostly gray hair. “On our way to Birmingham to see our son for the holidays. Or we were until the snow put a stop to our journey.” He sounded a bit frustrated.
Mrs. Emerson touched his arm. “It will be all right. I doubt we’ll be stuck here long. In any case, it looks to be a happy group. Whom I’ve met anyway. Apparently, there’s a couple who aren’t coming down to dinner.” She pointed to a pair of women seated in the corner. “That’s Mrs. Haskins and her daughter. They seem lively. They asked if we played cards.” She blinked at Diana and Simon. “Do you?”
“Somewhat.” Simon cast a reassuring look at Diana. He hadn’t yet taught her to play.
“And those gentlemen over there are brothers,” Mrs. Emerson continued, inclining her head to the pair of men standing near the hearth with cups in their hands. “The Misters Pickford.”
The sound of several feet clambering down the stairs drew them all to turn their heads. “Ah, this must be the charming Taft family. Please excuse me, I must go see that darling girl.”
Girl? Diana only recalled the two boys, but perhaps she’d missed something.
Mr. Emerson pivoted toward the bar that ran along the back wall. “I’m going to fetch an ale. Do you want one, Byrd?”
“No, thank you.” Simon’s gaze was trained on the base of the stairs, where the Taft family had just emerged. Mrs. Emerson greeted them, much the way she had Simon and Diana. She immediately took a small girl, perhaps two or three years old, from the mother’s arms, and spoke to her animatedly.
The boys dashed off to one of the larger tables, where they sat down and pulled out toy soldiers. Diana started to take a step toward the family. “Shall we go and welcome them?”
He grabbed her arm tightly, almost painfully. “No.”
She turned her head and looked at him sharply. “That hurts.”
His eyes widened, and he blanched, dropping his hand from her immediately. “I’m terribly sorry.” The apology was soft and raspy, almost anguished.
Something about his demeanor worried her. It was worse than the concern he’d displayed earlier when the storm had started. “Let’s go and sit down, then.”
When he didn’t move, she gently touched his arm and guided him to turn. He allowed her to lead him to a table in the opposite corner from the Haskins’. She sat so that she could see the room, while Simon’s chair pointed toward the corner. Whatever was bothering him, hopefully he could put it out of his mind.
“Is it too late to have that ale, I wonder?” he murmured.
She’d heard him, and it only added to her growing alarm. She leaned across the table. “You want ale? I can get it.” She started to rise, but he reached over and briefly touched her hand.
“No, I wasn’t serious. I’m not going to drink any ale.”
