“Mess?” Della looked about the room. It was spotless. She’d seen him move nothing more significant than a notebook and a tie pin. “I’m glad you never came to my bedroom. The sight would have given you conniptions.”
Why on earth did you say that?
If she’d resolved not to proposition Lord Ashton, reminding him of her previous (and still recent) proposition wasn’t the best beginning.
He blinked, pressed his lips together for an instant, and thenlooked quickly to the desk, “Please, sit. Will this be enough space for you?”
Della obeyed, happy to have something else to focus on. “Yes, I should think so. But what about you?”
“I can sit there.” He motioned to a little settee in the opposite corner. It was far from the light of the window and there would be no place to set down his pages or ink to write, unless he braced his work on his lap.
“You won’t be comfortable. Do you have another chair? We can fit two at the desk.”
“If you’re sure…” Lord Ashton’s doubtful gaze rested on her a moment, then he went out into the hall and returned with a dining chair that he set beside Della.
It was a bit cozy for two people, but they were able to fit both their notebooks side by side. She would just have to ignore the way every rustle of Lord Ashton’s sleeve made her want to lean his way and trace the faint stubble on his jaw with her mouth.
The book. You asked him to come here to write your book. You need to finish this if you’re ever going to get more members for Jane.Despite everything, she could still do one thing right.
Della sat a bit straighter in her chair and set to work. She’d brought all her notes with her, though now that it was time to assemble them into a coherent whole, she rather regretted her habit of jotting down ideas on whatever was handy when they came to her—the back of a letter, the borders of the morning post, and only very rarely in the notebook she’d purchased for precisely this purpose. She’d shoved it all haphazardly into a bundle when she’d left her house and had a devil of a time getting it back in the proper order now. Once she’d finished organizing her things and actually started writing, though, she found the words came quickly. The chapter on the views was easy. She recalled the way the city hadstretched out before them and the pure delight she’d felt at the sight of so many steeples and rooftops bunched together, each hiding an entire world within. Not only for herself, but for Ashton too. The sight had brought a warmth to his eyes that she’d wanted to fix there forever. The lines of strain around his lips and eyes had softened, and she’d known it must be something worth writing about if it had impressed him.
Once she’d captured the feelings of that morning to her satisfaction, Della rounded out the chapter with some of the other vistas she’d explored since. Fleet Street, but also Primrose Hill, Parliament Hill, and the view of the city looking out from the upper stories of Saint Paul’s Cathedral. Though none were as exceptional as the bridge, she searched for some pretty language to dress them up. When she’d finished, she set down her pencil and noticed that her hand was all cramped up. She flexed it for a moment, trying to ease the stiffness in her knuckles.
Lord Ashton looked up at the movement, watching her in silence.
“How long were we writing?” she asked. She hadn’t thought to check the clock when they’d arrived, and she’d lost all sense of time this morning after being up most of the night.
“A little under two hours.”
Most encouraging. She normally didn’t get that far without an interruption at home. If only she hadn’t been gripping her pencil quite so tight in her excitement.
Lord Ashton was either a mind reader, or he’d grown tired of watching her flex and unflex her fingers, for he took her hand in his and began to massage her palm.
“Oh.” Heat flooded Della’s whole body, but she didn’t pull her hand back. She wasn’t sure that she would be capable of it even if she’d wanted to. Neither of them wore gloves, and the rasp of his fingertips over her skin combined with the gentle pressure everywhereit hurt nearly made her moan. She bit her lip and kept her dignity, silently relishing every minute.
“How did it go?” Lord Ashton asked.
“Very well, I think. I’ve finished the chapter on views, and I plan to start on theaters and nightlife just as soon as I’ve had a little break.”
But Lord Ashton only asked, “Do you need anything? Would you like to stretch your legs and walk for a while?”
You might kiss me, if you like,she nearly answered. That would be a lovely way to reward herself. But she managed to hold her tongue. It was only his kindness after the rotten day she’d had that made her thinking so muddled.
He was still massaging her palm.
“I suppose we can’t exactly stroll around Pimlico together,” Della said regretfully. She might have liked to explore his neighborhood if they’d been properly chaperoned. She’d never been to this part of town before. But it wouldn’t be wise to be seen coming out of the same lodgings.
“No,” Ashton confirmed. He finally released her hand, and Della clutched it to her chest with a faint sense of loss. “I can offer you a turn about the room. If you go slowly, you may stretch it out for two or three whole minutes.”
Della laughed at the jest, but decided to take him up on the offer. She rose to her feet and wandered to the bookshelves, peering at the titles. She was curious to see what they told him about his character and interests.
Mostly reference materials and scientific journals. Languages, histories, and a touch of economics.Ugh, how boring.But wait! Here were a few lonely novels: Dickens, Balzac, and most encouragingly, George Sand, whom Della admired. So there was hope for Lord Ashton yet.
He watched her investigation from the writing desk, unperturbed.
Della returned to her place beside him and wrote for another hour or so, a sense of urgency driving her onward despite the fatigue that dulled her brain. She had returned to the passage on gambling clubs, determined to secure the reputation of Bishop’s and make all of this worthwhile. Ashton was so silent, she could almost forget he was there, but for the soft rise and fall of his breath and the occasional brush of his knee against hers when Della shifted positions. It was her stomach that finally made her stop. Though she hadn’t even noticed that she was hungry while she was immersed in her text, an embarrassing gurgle from her midsection reminded her that between her distress this morning and her flight to Ashton’s residence, she hadn’t eaten all day.
“I’m rather hungry,” Ashton announced, gallantly pretending not to hear her. “Shall I go fetch us something to eat down the road? I won’t be more than a quarter hour.”
