No good could come of any relationship between them, no matter how platonic and benign. Yet the more fervently she resolved to keep her distance, the more irresistible the idea of him became.
Was he not perfect in almost every way? Clever and kind, handsome and happy, popular and powerful. It was that last point where things got sticky. Even without the shameful secret she must keep from him at all costs, his title elevated him well out of her grasp.
And yet, her sketchbooks overflowed with moments they would never share.
“Perhaps I should stay here,” she suggested. “Didn’t you say he was working on something for you? I’m sure you don’t want anyone to overhear.”
“Come, come,” Lady Roundtree said in bafflement. “A servant can put away the playing cards. You are meant to be accompanying me.”
Nora rose on unsteady limbs. Yesterday, she had become “Miss Winfield.” Today, she wasnot a servant.
Mayhap it was not quite the same thing as “cousins” but it was an acknowledgement so much greater than Nora had ever hoped for.
Even if such praise was only in private, it meant more to Nora than brand new boots and pretty gowns. For a baroness like Lady Roundtree, money was meaningless. Until recently, Nora had been meaningless, too.
Today, she mattered more than before.
After ringing for footmen to help the baroness with her wheeled chair, Nora nervously smoothed the soft pink percale of her day dress.
Mr. Grenville was waiting on the other side of the townhouse. He might think of Nora as Lady Roundtree’s servant, but he had never failed to address her as Miss Winfield. As if she deserved the same courtesies as any other young lady of his class.
How she wished it were true. That she were of his class, that she werelikeall the other young ladies.
Instead, she was a simple country girl with a complicated double life. A secret that would erase the warmth from Mr. Grenville’s hazel eyes forever.
As she followed Lady Roundtree and the footmen from the room, Nora glanced at the Ormulu clock upon the mantel. Her reputation, such as it was, only mattered for the next month or two. Yet she must guard it carefully in order to maximize this opportunity for her family. Time was limited. She could not risk exposing the truth—or her heart—to Mr. Grenville. Yet the pull was impossible to deny.
When they entered the front parlor, he was standing at the bay window looking out, bathed in sunshine. Her heart sang at the sight. Tousled brown hair, crisp white cravat, well-made coat, form-fitting buckskins, gleaming black boots.
Nora could spend the rest of her life drawing gentlemen’s fashion plates based on nothing more than memories of how perfectly Mr. Grenville filled his tailored clothes. He was exquisite.
At the sound of their wheeled approach, Mr. Grenville spun to greet them. A delighted smile spread across his face when he realized the baroness was not alone.
“Lady Roundtree, beautiful as ever.” He swept a formal bow, then turned to Nora. “Miss Winfield, stunning as always.”
She opened her mouth to ask if this was how he greeted all the young ladies.
But before she could utter a word, he added with a warm smile, “I cannot decide if you are a rose or a ruby. Pink truly does suit you, you know.”
Nora’s teeth snapped shut as a blush crawled up her cheeks. She doubted he compared anyone else to a ruby. Perhaps his compliments had never been empty after all.
Perhaps he really did find her beautiful.
“Thank you.” She found herself babbling like a featherwit. “I’m not sure which I’d rather be. Roses have thorns and jewels are sharp and cold—”
“I meant nothing of the sort,” Mr. Grenville’s gaze was heated. “I meant as precious and beautiful as a ruby, as soft and delicate as the petal of a—”
“That’s enough. We can’t have Winfield’s head getting too big.” Lady Roundtree instructed the footman as to which settee she wished to recline upon. “Any new gossip about the caricaturist?”
Mr. Grenville forced his gaze from Nora with obvious effort. “Not yet, but it shan’t take long. The despicable villain will be unmasked in no time.”
Nora choked at the word “despicable.” So much for her brief experience with romantic banter. Already she missed the warmth of his gaze. She far preferred Mr. Grenville to think of her as precious and soft than a villain to be reviled.
“Are the drawings so terrible?” she asked timidly.
Lady Roundtree sighed. “You haven’t seen them for a reason, child. I would never pass around such filthy gossip.”
Nora refrained from mentioning that almost all of the drawings were moments she had heard about secondhand from the baroness’s lips.
