His mouth turned down at the corners. “Interesting pastime.”
“It’s not a pastime.” There was that defensiveness again. “What you see here in these illustrations of statues is the history of fashion.”
He appeared to give her words consideration. “I never thought of it like that.”
“After my friend Nell taught me how to read a few years back,” she continued, “I took to books. They look dead boring from the outside, but it amazes the mind what they hold inside.”
She couldn’t help noticing how he was looking at her as she spoke.
How he always looked at her as she spoke.
Like he was interested, genuinely.
Another wash of champagne bubbles glittered through her.
Across the room, Isabel set her embroidery hoop down and stretched her arms over her head with a loud yawn. “I think it’s early to bed for me,” she said. “How about you, husband?”
“I have another article to?—”
Isabel cleared her throat. “You look tired, Percy.”
Lord Percival met his wife’s gaze for a full three seconds. “Right.” He folded the newspaper and came to his feet. “Good night, Tilly. Osborne, you know the way out.”
And with that, Isabel left the room with her husband—leaving Tilly alone with Lord Rhys.
The air felt different now that it was just him and her.
Though, why should it?
Except, simply, when a woman was alone in a room with Lord Rhys Osborne she noticed.
“I have a question I would like to ask you, Miss Birdwell.”
“You invited yourself here tonight to ask me a question?”
The smile he gave her brought out his dimples. “It wasn’t smoothly done of me, was it?”
“Can’t say it was.”
“I came here thinking I’d catch you in the kitchen at the evening meal.”
“Ah.”
“And to inform you of the date and location for my second noble deed.”
“You could’ve sent a note.”
“I could’ve.”
But he hadn’t.
That was what was left unsaid.
He’d wanted to come here.
He’d wanted to see her.
Lawks.
