Ruthless (The House of Rohan 1)

Elinor would have a fit if she knew Rohan’s daily largesse included French livres. Nanny had enough sense to confiscate the money before Elinor noticed, and she’d built up a tidy little nest egg, enough to cover some of the small pleasantries of life.

The great market of Les Halles was only a brisk ten-minute walk away. Lydia could almost feel sorry for poor Jacobs, struggling to keep up with her. She slowed her pace, ignoring the energy that felt ready to burst free. She’d been kept bottled up for too long, like old champagne, and soon enough she’d be put back in, to molder away. Right now she wanted to dance, to breathe, to run through the streets…

She came to an abrupt stop, her empty basket still swinging on her arm. She glanced behind her, but there was no sign of Jacobs—she’d managed to out-pace him again. And directly ahead of her, staring up at a row of buildings that overlooked the busy street, was Mr. Charles Reading.

She had absolutely no doubt it was he, even though she’d only seen him on that one, brief occasion when she’d been so worried about her mother and Elinor she shouldn’t even have paid attention to him.

But paid attention she had. She’d looked up into his scarred, beautiful face and felt something she’d never felt before, a treacherous softening inside her, an urge to move closer, to touch his face, to…

For his part, he’d seemed to barely notice her. Oh, he’d been politely flirtatious when he’d first arrived, but she well knew what lay behind men’s eyes when they looked at her. She’d known Etienne’s covetousness from first glance, she’d known Rohan’s lack of interest, and she knew just how respectful or licentious men’s glances were.

But Charles Reading eluded her. He’d said all the right things, smiled at her so charmingly, and yet when she’d tried to look into his dark eyes she saw nothing familiar.

What a delicious irony, she thought. She was so used to men falling all over her that she simply accepted it as her due, and the first man who didn’t was the first man she wanted.

Nanny Maude would tell her, if she were fool enough to talk to her about such a thing, that she was a silly, vain girl, and the only reason she was obsessed with him was because he didn’t care about her. Elinor would be practical and tell her that Mr. Reading probably only enjoyed the company of other men, carefully skirting the issue. So she didn’t bother discussing it with anyone. Which probably made his hold on her imagination even stronger. If she’d simply been able to talk about her feelings she might have moved past them days ago.

And now, here he was, staring up at the rooftops across the way as if he’d find the Holy Grail up there.

She was half tempted to turn and walk the other way. She could feel an unexpected flush rise to her cheeks, and she put one gloved hand up to cool it. She was being ridiculous, she told herself. It was a very good thing that he had no interest in her. It meant she could talk to him without being worried about untoward advances.

Maybe he did like only men.

Lydia squared her shoulders, put her bonnet more firmly on her head and started toward him, a determined smile on her face.

He must have sensed that someone was approaching. He spun around before she reached him, and one hand had gone instinctively to the sword that hung at one hip. Most gentlemen wore swords as part of a fashionable toilette. She had the strong feeling that Mr. Reading knew how to use his. And then he recognized her.

“Miss Lydia,” he said, sweeping off his hat. “This is an unexpected pleasure. ” His voice made it sound anything but. “How did you find me?”

She curtsied, wishing she’d listened to her first instinct and gone the other way. “Mr. Reading,” she murmured. “In fact, I was heading for the market. I had no idea you would be anywhere near here. ”

“No, of course you didn’t. I beg your pardon. ” An uncomfortable silence fell.

“What were you looking for?” she said. “Perhaps I could help you find it?”

“Unlikely,” he said, replacing his hat. She wished he wouldn’t—in the bright sunlight it put his face in shadow, the ruined beauty of it, and his eyes were unreadable. “Lord Rohan was shot when he was driving through this area. I was trying to figure out where the shooter stood. ”

“He was shot?” Lydia said, panicked. What would Elinor do? What would they do without his charity? Thank God Nanny had squirreled away the money. “Is he dead?”

“Of course not. Didn’t your sister tell you? It wasn’t much more than a graze. It happened over a week ago, just after we left your house, and he’s already mostly healed. He thinks it was an accident. I’m not so certain. ”

“He has so many enemies, then?”

“Enough. ”

Another uncomfortable silence. Lydia knew she should move, should say something, should ignore this exceedingly uncomfortable pull that was drawing her to him.

Clearly he despised her. He wouldn’t even look at her—his gaze was focused somewhere past her shoulder. Nanny would tell her this was good for her. At that moment it felt like pure misery. “I should continue to the market. It was a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Reading,” she said, wishing she could sound as unruffled as Elinor.

Something in her voice caught his attention, and he frowned. “Surely you aren’t out alone, Miss Lydia?”

She glanced around her. Still no sign of Jacobs. “Of course not. Jacobs is somewhere behind me—it was such a beautiful day that I’m afraid I was a bit too exuberant in my walking, and I lost him. I’m certain he’ll catch up with me by the time I reach the market. ” She held out her hand. “Good afternoon, Mr. Reading. ”

He took her hand, but didn’t release it. “I’ll accompany you to the market, if you’ll permit me. ”

“There’s no need…”

“I’d be remiss in my duties as a gentleman if I allowed you’d to continue alone,” he said in that polite, distant voice. “A young lady as beautiful as you shouldn’t be traveling alone. I would be desolate if anything happened to you. ”