Page 64 of The Trick of It

“You’ve nothing to worry about,” Rhys said again, not because Errol deserved it, but because it was true. “You can go back to Starling’s Rest assured that I’ll be more of a gentleman than I ever was, and you should still be less of one than you’ve always been.”

“What does that mean?” Errol demanded as Rhys picked up the valise with one hand and Seph’s bag with the other.

“Get home safely,” Rhys said, turning to go back into the house.

“Rhys!” Errol barked. “What the bloody hell does that mean?!”

Not answering gave Rhys a significant wave of satisfaction. What business did Errol have defending Seph’s honor, anyhow? Irish pride?

If Rhys had had half the opportunities with Seph that Errol had enjoyed during a lifetime with Ruby, he’d not still be shuffling about, trying to express love through giant turnips and carnivorous flowers. That was for damned certain.

Behave himself.

Please.

He would treat her like a lady, all right. Like a princess, even.

That thought made him smirk to himself.

“You’re plotting something,” came Nini Winterstone’s voice as he approached the staircase. “I can hear the murmurs spilling out your ears.”

Rhys startled, whipping around to face her where she lounged against the wall, sipping a chilled glass of something that looked very bloody refreshing, actually. “You, madam,” he said to her with a sniff, “are a troublemaker.”

She grinned at him, her face splitting into delight. “Why, yes, I am,” she said. “Thank you for noticing.”

He gave her a good glower—and then a crisp nod. “I like you.”

“I know you do,” she said, turning to flounce off to whatever trouble she had in store for whomever she stumbled upon next.

He wanted to hold that against her but couldn’t find it in himself to try. He was smiling as he scaled the stairs and navigated to the farthest right-hand corner of the second floor hall. The master suite’s doors were hanging open and he could feel the cool breeze whirling down the hall from its open windows.

Seph was arranged on the floor just past the entry, her brown skirts spread out in a pool around her and bordered with an assortment of things she had withdrawn from the open trunk in the center of the room. Silk flowers, gradients of kerchiefs, waxed ropes, and little, metal fasteners dotted around her like mushrooms in a fairy circle.

Off to the side were several bolts of folded black velvet and an assortment of hollow tin tubes sitting atop them.

He paused, dropping the luggage, and simply watched her for a moment as she examined one of the silk flowers held in her palms.

“You can come in,” she said, blinking twice and glancing up at him as she discarded the burnt orange silk rose next to its matching dahlia, carnation, and lily. “How was your farewell with Errol?”

“Tedious,” Rhys answered, stepping inside and drawing the door shut with the hook of his foot. “He made me promise to be a gentleman while we’re here.”

She frowned, tucking the little wisps of golden hair that had escaped from her chignon behind her ears. “Well, you didn’t, did you?”

“Seph!” he blurted out, wide-eyed.

She simply raised her brows and crossed her arms over her very distracting chest.

He wasn’t sure what else to do but give a nervous laugh. “I did promise, as it happens,” he said, holding a finger up when her mouth opened to comment upon that, “but I have my own set of parameters for what that word actually means.”

“Of course you do,” she tutted, leaning back and bracing her hands behind her on the floor. “Have you seen Merlin yet?”

He shook his head, kneeling down just outside her little fairy circle and running his fingers over the matching silk kerchiefs layered atop one another, forming a slow gradient from red to orange to yellow. “Nini said he was poorly.”

“Yes, she did say that,” Seph agreed, “but she also said she asked everyone if they were willing to share their rooms, and I don’t believe she actually did.”

“She didn’t say she asked them,” he corrected, glancing up at her with half a smile. “She said they would or wouldn’t be willing. Different thing entirely. At least for someone like her.”

“A pot stirrer?” Seph suggested, giving a twist of her lips at his laugh. “She’s my first American. Are they all like that?”