How to Marry an Earl (A Cinderella Society 1)

Conall blinked at her. He was at a loss for words that even snatching her out of midair or saving her from falling urns hadn’t managed to accomplish. He took the letter from her, and she was suddenly acutely aware that it was warm from her body heat. From being tucked between her breasts. She absolutely refused to blush. Ladies who hunted down traitors with handsome accomplices did not blush. “I had to be sure it would be safe,” she explained.

“I see.” He didn’t sound dignified or amused any longer. She liked the slight catch in his voice, making it faintly hoarse. He skimmed the letter. “May I keep this?”

She didn’t want to let it go but she’d already made a copy of it. It was currently tucked in her shoe. One couldn’t be too careful. He didn’t have to know about it. “I suppose.”

“Thank you, Persephone.” That intensity was burning in him again. “You’ve helped me and the War Office more than half the men I know.”

She might have preened a tiny bit. Recognition and admiration were not often offered in her direction.

“Have your maid pack your things,” he added. “You’ll be Pendleton’s guest. No one will attack you in a duke’s house.” He paused. “But I’ll hire more footmen. I’ve a few in mind who can travel down from London on the next stagecoach.”

“I couldn’t impose.”

“It’s not an imposition. Nor is it a request.”

“You do have a dictatorial streak, don’t you?”

“It’s been said,” he murmured. “And of you, as well, so this should prove interesting.” He didn’t look displeased about it. “We shall have a betrothal supper, to cement our alliance. I want word to get out.”

“I don’t like lying to the duke. And anyway, if I am in danger—”

“You are. You can’t pretend otherwise. You were attacked twice, and your hermitage was tossed.”

Fury simmered again, instantly sparked at the thought of her broken artifacts. “If that’s true, then I am most certainly not leaving my grandmother unattended. Or bringing that kind of hazard to the duke’s doorstep. The man is seventy-two.”

“I wish I could say no one would think of harming your grandmother, but I can’t be sure. I’ve seen the result of this traitor’s selfishness.” His jaw clenched. It was a visible effort for him to unclench it to speak again. “Your grandmother will also come to the estate. There’s a festival, after all, a string of house parties, and a betrothal to celebrate. No one will think on it. And the duke is well protected. Not to mention that your grandmother’s dog is possibly the best protection there is.”

“Chartreuse?” Persephone said doubtfully. “She’s a spaniel obsessed with cheese.”

“But she will alert any footmen I station near your grandmother should anything go amiss.”

She relaxed slightly. Chartreuse was not shy about using her voice. “That’s true.”

Have you told Henry’s father?”

“Definitely not.”

“Why is that?”

She hesitated, realized there was no point in keeping it from him. It was common knowledge, after all. “The earl is not a…sympathetic man.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Not even when it involves his only son and heir?”

“Especially then.”

“I see. I do remember something about that, now that you mention it.”

“I once filled all of his snuffboxes with pepper,” she confessed. It was after Henry had sprained his wrist “falling” from a tree. She’d never been so angry and so filled with vengeance, even at thirteen.

Conall flashed her that grin, the one that made her belly tingle. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

“I’ve never seen anyone turn that shade of red, not before and not since.” She probably ought not to find such satisfaction in it, all these years later. But she did, there was no denying it. She’d do it again.

“Pack your things,” Conall said. “We’ll go as soon as possible, and I won’t be leaving your side until then.”

“They’ll never believe us, you know.”

He raised his chin. “And why not?”