Good Lord, this was quick? “You mean I’ll be ready before Lord Gilbourne is?”
“Oh, he’s been ready since dawn,” Buttons said breezily. “Rumor has it, he doesn’t even allow his valet to shave his whiskers, preferring to do everything himself.”
“But if he’s been up for hours… are we keeping him from going down to breakfast? Or has he already done so, and I’m to dine on my own?”
“Neither. Milord does not permit himself a single morsel of food until he has responded to all of his correspondence and completed any outstanding tasks related to his committees in the House of Lords. I shouldn’t be surprised if you find yourself the one waiting on him.”
But when Matilda emerged from her bedchamber, the earl was indeed standing alone and ready in the small parlor where she had last seen him. His jaw was freshly shaven, and his hands clasped behind his back. Unlike the previous night, Lord Gilbourne was not in evening wear, but the lack did nothing to hide his handsomeness or diminish his larger-than-life presence.
His boots were spotless, the shiny black leather rising almost to his knees. His powerful thighs were encased in skintight buckskins. His wide shoulders and thick arms, tailored to perfection in a well-cut coat of olive green. A sliver of emerald waistcoat was visible beneath the sharp white folds of his cravat, above which…
Well, above which, scowled the earl.
His face was just as arresting as it had been the night before. Now that broad daylight replaced the flickering candles and evening shadows of the crowded ballroom, Matilda could see every detail all the more clearly. A strong jaw and stubborn chin. Cheekbones to die for. Dark brows slashing beneath a wide forehead. A web of raised scars stretching across half of his face. Firm lips, unsmiling… But, as she knew from personal experience, that cynical mouth was eminently kissable.
He gazed at her impassively, his eyes not dipping once to review her shabby-genteel attire, nor raising up toward the towering cornucopia of ringlets befitting a royal princess. His gaze did stray to her lips, ever so briefly, as if he too recalled in perfect detail the stolen minutes in which their mouths had been locked together.
“Come,” he commanded. “We shall take breakfast in the dining room.”
“Thank you,” she blurted out. “I know you didn’t ask for a ward, but you’ve already provided more than I ever expected. My room is lovely, as is Buttons. She’s my first full-time lady’s maid, dedicated just to me, and the sensation is rather—”
His jaw flexed. “Are you always this loquacious?”
Her teeth clicked together in shock. She’d anticipated his discomfort with her thanks, but to not even offer a polite It was my pleasure… Very well, she must simply be conversationalist enough for both of them.
Loquacious? He had no idea what she was capable of.
“What a beautiful day,” she chirped, despite the rain coming down in torrents and the wind rattling the panes of glass in their whitewashed wooden frames. “I adore spring above all seasons, not just because of all the flowers that blossom and bloom, but also because it feels like the world itself begins anew. We get to watch it grow and thrive.”
He stalked toward the stairs. “It’s a miserable day.”
She hurried to keep up. “It reminds me of you.”
At this, he did send her a sharp look over his shoulder. “Are you calling me miserable?”
“You’re the one who said today was miserable,” she replied blithely. “I said it was beautiful. The skies may be gray now, but they won’t be for long. There’s already open pockets between the clouds where the sun is starting to poke through. I’d wager we won’t even need an umbrella by the time we’re through with breakfast.”
“Proper young ladies don’t wager,” he said tersely.
“I’ve always yearned to be wildly improper,” she said dreamily. “This might be my best chance. Before, I rarely had occasion to leave our small farm. Aunt Stapleton resides in a much larger house in a much larger town, but as I was in mourning, I never left my bedchamber. This is the first opportunity I’ve ever had in my entire life to—”
At the bottom of the stairs, a Blushing Maid Inn footman stood at the open doorway to the busy public dining area, hovering at the ready to show guests to their seats.
Matilda curled her fingers around Lord Gilbourne’s elbow.
He jerked out of her grasp as if she’d doused him with acid.
“Rule one,” he said coldly. “No touching. Rule two: You do as I say, not as you please. Need I repeat the rules again, or has your provincial brain understood this time?”
Matilda’s throat tightened as she dropped her hands back to her sides. “I understand.”
“Good.” He turned to the inn’s footman. “Two, please.”
“There was no need to come down to make the request,” stammered the footman. “It is no problem at all to send up an extra meal.”
“That is kind of you,” the earl replied, as if he were currently being filleted at knifepoint. “However, we shall break our fast in the dining room this morning, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh. Oh. Of course.” The footman’s eyes widened as though having difficulty parsing the earl’s words, but he quickly collected himself. “If you’ll come with me, milord.”
