Rogue in Red Velvet Read Free Page A

pardon and squeeze past. The narrow corridors that a moment ago had seemed quaint now took on a more sinister aspect.
    Another lady chased around the far end of the long hallway, no doubt determined to prevent any tete-a-tete. Good for her.
    “Ladies, would you both care to accompany me in a stroll around the gardens?” Acceptable, and he could make an excuse and leave them with each other. Perhaps they’d come to blows. A man could only hope.
    Alex considered himself an easy-going man but these two had driven him to distraction. So much that he’d left London and taken up the invitation for a quiet gathering, only for them to discover where he’d gone and follow post-haste. The Downhollands were too genial to turn them away.
    Even more reason to pursue the fascinating Constance Rattigan. He’d never met a woman before who drew him as she did. The fact that she was about to be married, or contracted anyway, made her safer than the two women who confidently came forward and took an arm each. Also infinitely better company. She conversed like a sensible woman, and while he tried to be a gentleman, he took note of her luscious figure and her lovely features almost without thinking.
    Strange feeling. Must be the Yorkshire air, he decided, as he made the necessary detour to the south entrance, heading for the gardens.

Chapter 2

    Alex had helped Connie with her tasks for three days now but that had been clean work, cataloguing and capturing family histories from the more salubrious parts of the house. Nobody had touched this storeroom for years, but she’d found it quite by chance when she opened the wrong door. To her this room was a treasure-trove. To anyone else, a dirt trap holding useless old books.
    Connie climbed down the ladder and banged two books together to get rid of the worst of the dust. She found the resulting cloud quite impressive but she drew breath at the wrong minute and coughed, dropping the volumes.
    Turning away, she fumbled for her handkerchief and discovered one thrust in front of her nose. Too overwhelmed to wonder who the newcomer was, she mopped up the resulting stream of tears, finished coughing and turned around, ready to thank her Good Samaritan.
    Before her, holding the books, stood Alexander, Lord Ripley. Although dressed simply, in a dark green cloth coat and fawn colored waistcoat, she would never confuse his garments with something produced by a country tailor and here she was, in the same old gown as before, only now it was covered in centuries-old dust and grime.
    Her breath quickened, her heart beat faster, exactly as they had when she’d first met her late husband. And look how that had turned out.
    One dark brow moved a fraction and he smiled, the warmth filling her with a sense of camaraderie. “Such a gentleman,” she murmured before she could stop herself. Then she clapped a hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry. My father always said I shouldn’t be allowed into polite society on my own.”
    He gave a sharp bark of laughter. “He was wrong. You’re quite right, ma’am. You nearly had had me in unseemly laughter twice at dinner last night with your drollery. You have a way about you, don’t you?” He turned and put the books on the large deal table that dominated this small room and flipped open the cover of one. His gaze sharpened. “My word.” He bent and examined the contents.
    Surprised by his interest, she opened the other and was similarly intrigued. She’d come here to unearth a few inventories but had become interested in the much smaller books that rested by the side of the larger tomes. Receipt books and notebooks from centuries ago, even older than the Jacobean books she’d discovered yesterday. She planned to clean them and take them to her room for some bedtime reading. What had begun as a way of keeping away from the tedium of the house party had gained a fascination of its own.
    That reminded her of her errand to this dusty storeroom. However interesting