“Obviously.” She stepped farther into the room, leaving the door wide behind her. She itched to pick up the pens and arrange them in their place and pull the ink-bedabbled cloth for washing. And, heaven above, someone needed to organize the books. “At least, I presume you wouldn’t have spoken to me or any of my sisters in that way if you knew.”
The windows that flanked his desk were obstructed by long curtains that allowed little light to emerge, but the other windows at the far end of the study were partly uncovered. This gave the chamber an unbalanced look.
“How can you work when it’s so dark in here?” she asked, beginning to cross toward the nearest window.
“Leave it,” he snapped as she reached for the drapes. He sat up straighter in his chair as her hand fell back to her side. It wasn’t lost on her that he hadn’t risen to his feet at the presence of a lady. “I have already told Mirabella and Crewston to see to your needs. If you have a complaint about your accommodations, I suggest you speak to my sister.” He looked back down, but she noticed he didn’t pick up the pen.
“My lord,” Maia said, eyeing the window with a frown. How could he even see the writing on those pages? It was dark and cramped and looked centuries old. “I wanted a moment tospeak with you. Things have happened very quickly since the Lundhames’ ball and?—”
“So at first, I did not respond quickly enough to your peremptory message, and now I have responded too quickly? Devil take it, Miss Woodmore, do make up your mind.”
Maia, who had long ceased to be offended by bad language thanks to Chas’s undisciplined tongue, merely tightened her jaw and pursed her lips. Her sisters would have recognized that as a clear warning, but of course, the Earl of Corvindale hadn’t been thus educated. Yet.
“My lord. I would sincerely appreciate it if you would look at me while I am speaking to you.” She was proud she kept any bit of quaver from her voice.
Corvindale didn’t frighten her so much as annoy her. He was certainly imposing, and his brusque manner made him unpleasant to approach. He wasn’t boldly handsome in the way Lord Dewhurst was, or her own Alexander, but he was…striking, she supposed. In a hawkish, austere sort of way, with the slender blade of his nose and high, prominent cheekbones.
But a man like him—whose anger at whatever it was simmered barely below the surface of his mood—didn’t frighten her.
It was the people who concealed their darkness and indecency with smiles and charm. They were much more frightening than the brashly annoying ones.
Her brother had always spoken of Corvindale with respect and perhaps a bit of reverence. Anyone who could inspire reverence in Chas Woodmore must be very trustworthy indeed. But she’d be lying if she didn’t admit her own annoyance with her brother for leaving them in this state.
Now, as she waited in his shadowy study, the earl paused for a moment and then, reluctance in his very being, looked up. Right at her.
For an instant, Maia felt…wobbly. A bit light in the head. And then he shifted, his dark gaze changed, and she was able to draw in air again.
Pie-faced worm. No reason to glare at me like that.
“Thank you,” she said instead, and folded her hands properly in front of her, tamping down her own annoyance. How many times had Chas gone off to Paris or Vienna or Barcelona for weeks or months without word, and left his sisters and Mrs. Fernfeather to themselves? Why had he been so insistent Corvindale get involved this time?
“What. Do. You. Want. Miss Woodmore.”
“Our chambers are very comfortable,” she said in a rush, feeling her cheeks warm.Really.“Mirabella has been exceedingly helpful, and so have Crewston and Mrs. Hunburgh. My sister and I are very appreciative that you’ve agreed to our brother’s request to take on our guardianship.” She actually managed to sound sincere. “As I mentioned in my letter, I didn’t realize he’d made such arrangements with you until he went missing. We’ve always had Mrs. Fernfeather and her husband when Chas has been gone. Regardless…I do not wish to impose upon you—your household any longer than is strictly necessary.”
“That is one thing on which we are in agreement, Miss Woodmore.”
She straightened and her lips pursed again. “And so I wanted to make you aware of our plans to repair to Shropshire as soon as arrangements can be made for the house there to be opened. My fiancé will be arriving from the Continent in short order, and once we’re wed, you’ll no longer be responsible for me, of course. My sisters, including the youngest, will come to live with me and?—”
“An odd time to be planning a wedding, with your brother missing, Miss Woodmore. Or are you in such a hurry to marrythat you intend to get the deed done before you even learn what has happened to him?”
Maia drew in her breath slowly and with great deliberation. How even to respond to such rudeness? She chose an oblique path. “My fiancé, Mr. Alexander Brad?—”
“I am fully aware of the identity of your fiancé, Miss Woodmore.” His voice cut in coldly. Corvindale pursed his lips, then continued. “Over the years, your brother has been remarkably conscientious in providing me with whatever information I might need should this occasion—that I am needed to step in as your guardian—arise. I am only sorry it has done so.”
For the first time, there was a lessening of the chill in his voice. Or perhaps she was imagining it, for nothing else about him showed any indication of softening. Of course, his regret was most likely due to the fact that his life had been inconvenienced and not that Chas had gone missing.
Well, that made two of them being inconvenienced. And she was about to put an end to it as expediently as possible.
Maia looked over at his ink-spotted fingers, the outside of his left palm smeared with black. Too impatient to let the ink dry fully before writing over it, of course. Something she, as a left-handed scribe, had needed to learn. At that moment, it struck her that she couldn’t recall ever having seen a man’s bare hands before, other than Chas’s or her father’s. Without gloves, they seemed so much more powerful and elegant than when encased in white fabric.
She blinked and looked up, realizing a few moments of silence had passed. He was looking down at the ledger again, and Maia drew in a breath of relief that he wasn’t staring at her, waiting for her to speak.
“When Chas went off to Paris on this latest trip,” she said, walking toward the sunny end of the study, “he did somethinghe’d never done before. He left us instructions of what to do if we didn’t hear from him in a fortnight. Almost as if he feared something might happen. He left a sealed envelope to be opened only if that occurred—which, of course, it has done. His letter directed us to contact you immediately after two weeks without contact from him, my lord.”
“So your letter stated, Miss Woodmore. And so you’ve already?—”
“I was hoping perhaps you might have had word from him. Or…knew something. He never tells us anything about why he travels so much, or what he is doing. I don’t even know… I don’t even know how you are associated.” Maia had to struggle to keep her voice steady. She brushed her curled fingers over a table as she walked past.
