And now, thanks to what Angelique had said—Derring had no imagination at all—she knew both that she was not at fault and that imagination, such as it was, seemed to be important.
Did shewantto know what he knew, and what Angelique knew? When she knew full well how easy it was to come to grief, or to be used or savagely hurt? Did she want to know simply to have the experience, for the reason one visited Kew Gardens and the like?
Did Captain Hardy have an... imagination?
Why shouldthisdifficult, arrogant, taciturn, dryly funny, condescending man so occupy hers? Apart from the fact that all of these qualities came so thrillingly packaged in a tall, hard body. Handsome, well-formed men abounded in London. It wasn’t as though they were an entirely new species to her. Not one of them had made her breath hitch with a single glance. Obviously, it was because she was perverse and ironic and complicated, precisely the sort of person her mother had feared she’d grow up to be.
Somehow, this realization didn’t bother Delilah.
So. He was not a gentleman. He’d been shot. He seemed well-nigh implacable.
But tonight he had spoken to her, one human to another, about feeling expendable. It was the sort of conversation she’d never had with a man. Or another human, for that matter. It was the sort of thing that one didn’t typically discuss with anyone, any more than one whipped off one’s stays because they were confining, or went into battle without armor.
All exchanges between men and women tended to amount to transactions in the end. They seemed to be means to ends. And how weary she was of being an object in any fashion, and how luxurious it had been to just be a person here among other women at The Grand Palace on the Thames.
But she’d also seen the look in his eyes when he’d stood on the threshold of that room tonight. As if he wasn’t certain he was welcome. Until his eyes met hers.
Did he know how his pupils flared hotly? Even now she could make her breath come short picturing it. Did he care whether she noticed?
And his face had gone undeniably soft, just for an instant, when she’d told him she didn’t have a child.
Captain Hardy was neither rock nor trebuchet.
But one moment of softness didn’t mean he wasn’t hard.
Whether or not it was wise, it was this soft expression—surprised, careful, vulnerable, human—not his thighs, that lingered like a lullaby before she drifted to a restless sleep.
His plans to pick the lock on the first floor were daunted by a full moon and a cloudless sky. The door was lit up like a stage. He woke at dawn and decided that charming his way into the Mysterious Room via one of the maids-of-all-work who crept into the rooms, built fires, and ferried away chamber pots, was his best option for getting into it.
But when he arrived on that floor, a woman was already backing out of the room.
“Captain Hardy!”
“Lady Derring. And now that we’ve identified each other, good morning.”
“Good morning.”
And then, for an awkward instant, during which they both missed the appropriate window for bidding each other good-day and getting on with their business, they merely looked at each other as though they’d each happened upon an interesting, somewhat puzzling view.
It was increasingly apparent that the laws of gravity were suspended when she was near. Which perhaps accounted for his reluctance to leave her, or to watch her leave. In her presence, whatever force pressed him down to earth, or settled the weight of responsibility onto his shoulders, relented. Stepping away from her was increasingly similar to stepping back into a cage.
“Perhaps you’ve forgotten,” she said gently, after a moment, “butyourroom is on the second floor, right above Mr. Delacorte’s.”
“How could I forget, Lady Derring? Were you aware that Delacorte snores like a dragon with a head cold when you put me in that room?”
“You know, I truly wasn’t aware,” she said, with wide-eyed mystification. “I suppose it’s just serendipity.”
He tried, and failed, not to smile at that.
A soft pink flush moved into her cheeks. She looked down, and her hands absently fussed with the keys at her hip.
He savored knowing he could disconcert her with a smile. He could throw smiles like kindling onto whatever was simmering here between them.
She looked up again swiftly. “We can move you to any other available room at a moment’s notice, if it truly does prevent you from sleeping,” she added hurriedly. Remembering she was meant to be hospitable, no doubt.
Speaking of serendipity. He seized upon her offer as an opportunity and a bit of a test.
“Well, that could be a solution. May I see all the other available rooms before I decide?”
