“That’s the cognac, not me.”
“Really? Why on earth do men drink so much of it, then?” She raised her head for a moment, winced, and let it fall to his shoulder again. A silent laugh shookhim. Clearly she was a stranger to spirits. Something inside him relaxed slightly and he chuckled at the absurd situation.
“At least you’re easier to carry than your brother.” She did not reply, merely linking her arms around his neck. To his surprise, he enjoyed the soft weight of her body. Her chest rose and fell in a deep breath and he wondered if she had fallen asleep. He cautiously set one foot on the bottom step.
He nearly lost his balance as she burrowed her face farther into his neck and inhaled again. “You smell wonderful.”
“Thank you. If you don’t mind, it would be most helpful if you did not move excessively while I’m going up the stairs.”
“Mmmmmmmm.” She sighed contentedly, and he had hopes of getting her to her chamber undiscovered. If word of this escapade got out to society, both their reputations would suffer. A moment later, she lifted her head slightly. Risking a quick glance at her face, he saw her staring at the carved banisters with an intent expression.
“Do you know something?” She asked the question in a ringing voice, and he hushed her.
“No, listen to me!”
“Miss Quinn, I beg you not to awaken the servants.”
Obligingly, she lowered her voice. “I’ve always thought those carvings look like something from an overambitious wedding cake.”
“An apt observation. Pray be quiet.” A sheen of sweat broke out on his brow. While his fiancée weighed considerably less than her brother, he had not carried James up the staircase. His breathing became more labored as he neared the top.
“You sound like my mother. She never wants me to talk either.” Kieran felt a flash of sympathy for the woman as his fiancée whispered on. “Do you know, she picked out the banisters herself? In France. And the gargoyles. Hello, boys!” She sang out the greeting and waved at the statues. In the light from the foyer below, he could have sworn the damned things smirked at him.
“They are indeed revolting, but I must ask you to remain silent.” Having finally reached the top of the stairs, he set her on her feet and leaned on the nearest gargoyle, gasping for breath.
She stood staring at him, swaying slightly on her feet for several seconds. Then she slowly folded into a pile on the floor, looking up at him in confusion.
At least she remained conscious, he thought grimly. “Right, give me your hand.” He took the proffered appendage and pulled her to her feet, none too gently. “‘Once more unto the breach.’”
“Henry the Fifth, Act Three, Scene One.” She nodded sagely as he hefted her into his arms once more. “Do you care for Shakespeare, your lordship?”
“He’s tolerable.” A low ache began to spread across his back. “You appear to be familiar with him, however. Have you attended the play often?” He rolled his eyes at the ridiculous conversation.
She shook her head. “Oh no! Mother would never let me see one of Shakespeare’s plays. They’re dreadfully improper.” Her voice lowered at last. “She doesn’t know I read them. I stole the book from my brothers.” She giggled. “That was five years ago and they still haven’t noticed it’s missing.”
“Very clever of you, but we really must not wake up the rest of the house.” He whispered in hopes of encouraging her to do the same. At the sight of the footman outside her door, he stopped short. To his alarm, the girl failed to take his subtle hint.
“See, Eoghan, I said I’d be back!” He tried unsuccessfully to hush her. “Do you know, Lord Rossburn hates the banister, too.”
The servant met his eyes in horror. “Mary, God, and baby Jesus, I’ll be sent back to Belfast for sure.”
“Is there a discreet female you can fetch to help get Miss Quinn, er, settled in?”
“Wait here.” The stripling scurried off into the shadows.
He eased her back onto her feet, this time sliding an arm around her waist before she collapsed again. He strained to listen for any sign that they had been overheard. Thankfully he heard nothing until the brush of feet on the hall carpet and a circle of candlelight heralded the return of the footman.
His relief vaporized when he recognized Mrs. Helford. She came forward to assist her granddaughter.
“Granny!” His fiancée almost literally fell into her arms. “Lord Rossburn and I were enjoying some cognac in the library!”
The old woman pinned him with a ferocious glare. He held up both hands. “I assure you, madam, when I entered the library in search of refreshment, Miss Quinn was already there. In an advanced state of inebriation, I fear.”
She scrutinized him for several seconds before addressing the girl. “Diantha Susanne, is that true?”
She giggled. “I got into Papa’s best liquor, and there’s nothing he can do about it.” She tried to snap her fingers, then stared at her hand in bemusement when she failed. “It did taste odd at first, but I got used to it easily enough. Lovely stuff!”
“I doubt you’ll think so in the morning.” The dry tone of her grandmother’s voice sailed over her head. Mrs. Helford sighed and addressed him.
