“And the rest of the party?” George asked.
“The ladies have just retired. Your father and Mr. Hollyoak are still in the dining room.”
George thanked Thornsby and headed off in search of his quarry. When he found her five minutes later, a surge of affection rose inside him.
Asleep in a chair and with the biggest book the library had to offer resting in her lap, Miss Hollyoak looked small and vulnerable. A powerful urge to guard her - to keep her safe from all harm - assailed him. It was utterly unexpected and yet, it could not be denied.
A smile pulled at his lips as he approached her, his footfalls steady on the parquet. It was odd, this sense of rightness he felt when he was near her. They weren’t well acquainted, but in her company, he felt playful and exuberant - as if all the seriousness he was forced to face on a daily basis as heir could be set aside in favor of pure, unguarded amusement. It was a feeling he’d not enjoyed since he was a boy, this complete lack of pretense. Even when he met with his friends - men who’d known him most of his life - he kept his role of future viscount in place.
It was expected. He’d gotten accustomed to it. But he’d not realized until yesterday how exhausting it actually was or how much he missed just being himself.
Shifting his gaze from Miss Hollyoak for a moment, George considered the vase filled with ostrich plumes and peacock feathers his mother had collected. His smile widened and he immediately reached to snatch one up. Taking a step back, he extended his arm and allowed the tip of the feather to brush Miss Hollyoak’s cheek.
When her nose twitched, he repeated the movement. She shifted her position and made a small sound of annoyance. George chuckled, then ran the feather over her ear. She raised her hand in response and gave herself a good swipe before turning her face in the opposite direction. George merely ran the feather along the length of her neck.
Her eyes sprang open, annoyance deepening in her gaze the moment it settled on him. Next thing he knew, he was dodging a missile. The tiny cushion she’d hurled at him barely glanced off his shoulder before tumbling onto the floor with a gentle thud.
“You!”
George executed a flamboyant bow. “At your service, Miss Hollyoak.”
She glared at him so ferociously, he believed she’d have leapt upon him with every intention of seeing to his immediate demise had it not been for the massive book in her lap. “I was sleeping.”
“I know.”
“And yet you decided to wake me. Why?”
“Because I missed your delightful smile.”
The twitch of her lips was almost imperceptible, and yet he did not miss it. In spite of her best effort to the contrary, she found him amusing. “That’s not an acceptable excuse.”
“Very well. I missed you as a whole. And besides, there’s something I’d like to show you. Something that really can’t wait.”
“I really don’t—”
He snatched the massive book from her lap, set it aside, and pulled her upright. “Come on. We have to hurry.”
“Mr. Townsbridge!” Heedless of her protest, George drew her along expeditiously. They left the library and made their way to the stairs. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“Mr. Townsbridge, I really must protest.”
“Must you?”
She huffed a breath. “Your behavior borders on the improper.”
“Then I’m living up to my reputation, am I not?” He glanced over his shoulder at her and winked. “Or at the very least the reputation you believe must be mine.”
“Reputations are based on action. What people do, how they behave, will invariably determine how others see them.”
“Has it never occurred to you that this view may be skewed?” Having reached the top of the stairs, he led her down the hallway to the right, toward the door at the end. “I’m sure there are plenty of people who do abominable things behind closed doors while appearing as paragons of Society when in public.”
“Possibly.”
“Similarly, I’m sure there are those Society would brand disreputable even though they might in fact be deserving of praise.”
“And I suppose you consider yourself to be one such individual?”
