Page 29 of Forgotten No More

Ruby froze, straining to hear the approach of feet or the voices of servants as they rushed to investigate the commotion.

Harold laughed, his warm breath brushing against her ear. His arms tightened around her middle. “As I said, damsel in distress. Feel free to refer to me as White Knight.” With another hearty laugh, he flipped Ruby in his arms so they were face to face, their noses almost touching. If she tilted her head just so, Ruby would have to lean a mere inch toward him and their lips would meet. The room disappeared around her, leaving only them. And she wanted…she had no idea what she wanted. Just that she wanted.

The threat of discovery still high, Ruby breathed deeply, begging her heart to calm. “You can set me upright now.”

“Oh, that is not what happens when a fearless knight rescues the damsel, even if it is only from herself.” His brows rose in shock, his face serious. “Do I not deserve a thank you? Or, dare I say…possibly a kiss?”

It was only then that Ruby realized her hands—those devious things—clutched his shoulders—broad shoulders…muscular shoulders…shoulders made for rescuing damsels in distress.

“Can I help you both?” A feminine voice echoed through the room, breaking the spell that kept Harold’s arms wound tightly around her and kept her own hands firmly grasping him for support.

Harold’s eyes still bored into hers, unwilling—or unable—to let go of the moment. But Ruby pushed against him until he set her on her feet, her back to the door. She willed the floor to open and swallow both her and Harold. The strength to turn and face the woman in the doorway eluded her.

His brow raised once again in question.

Why had she let him tag along? Was it not enough that she’d jeopardized herself, but now had pulled Harold into it all?

Ruby’s eyes were probably the size of saucers. They’d been caught, and now Harold would receive the brunt of a punishment meant solely for her.

“What are you doing in the Marquis of Drake’s study?” the girl prodded.

Harold cleared his voice. “My apolo—”

“Please, allow me,” Ruby cut him off before he could incriminate himself. Straightening her shoulders, she turned to the figure outlined in the doorway. “I can explain our presence.”

Harold could not wait to hear how Ruby planned to justify their presence in Drake’s house. He doubted the truthfulness of her explanation, but he looked forward to her trying. Once the situation got out of hand, he would step in—again. It was becoming a trend he much enjoyed.

The woman—merely a girl, truly—stepped into the room. The dim light from the candles lining the hall made her hair appear as red as flames. Her frame was small, yet willowy. “Do not bother. I can see with my own eyes what is happening here.”

Odd that she had an idea of what was going on when he hadn’t the faintest clue. Even more peculiar was that he did not care what Ruby’s reasons were. Though he was justifiably suspicious of her actions, he still found it difficult to distrust her outright. Something more had to be behind her behavior—and beyond that, Harold found he enjoyed her company. Despite the circumstances, when he was called to return to take over for his father, she would be a distant memory of a better time.

“I am truly sorry,” Ruby mumbled. “It is just—”

“If you are looking for a tryst, here is not the place.” The girl’s hands settled on her hips, the posture oddly familiar.

He bent and whispered to Ruby. “Let me know when you’d like your white knight to take over and rescue you from this unfortunate situation.”

“Let me remind you that we would not be in this situation if you hadn’t scared the wits out of me,” she countered. Though she was the culprit for them being in the position for him to scare her, she didn’t think now was the time to accept that burden of responsibility.

“Not a tryst?” The girl paused to look them both up and down. “Mayhaps you are planning on relieving the marquis of his valuables? Nothing more than common thieves. I must admit, I have never heard of a female burglar, but one should not be surprised by the depravity of society.”

The girl didn’t have the look of a servant, her dress cut from fine cloth and her hair tied high with a matching ribbon. Her speech was cultured and refined. Possibly a relative of Drake’s, a niece or cousin. With the man’s reputation, Harold found it hard to believe any upstanding member of society would allow their daughter to live under the Marquis of Drake’s protection.

Whoever she was, however, Harold could not stand by and allow her to speculate any further. “I assure you we are not common thieves—only people who have lost their way, I fear.”

“Lost your way? Into the private study of a marquis?” Her voice conveyed her doubt. “That is highly doubtful and suspicious, do you not think?”

Harold looked to Ruby for insight, but her eyes only held panic. “My lady…” he started, hoping to at least draw the girl’s name or some other key to her identity.

A closer look told him she could not be more than sixteen, barely out of school. What mother would be so lackadaisical about their daughter’s reputation as to allow her to stay with the marquis, fabled to have fathered half of the youth in London?

The chit could be Drake’s own offspring. He hadn’t heard that the man actually claimed one as his own.

“We only came to consult with your father on a business matter of great importance,” Harold said. “Your servant showed us here to await his arrival.”

“He is not my father,” she seethed the words. “And furthermore, he is not home.” She crossed her arms, keeping her distance. Was the girl not fearful of them at all?

“Then we should be going,” Ruby said.