Snowbound With the Notorious Rake Read Free Page B

to the kitchen. Rose would have followed, but he shook his head.
    ‘You prepared the meal, madam, ’tis only right that you should rest awhile.’
    She sat back, glancing across the table at Sir Lawrence, who said, ‘I am in your debt, Mrs Westerhill, I do not know when I have dined so well. Since the rest of the house is so chill, I cannot suggest that you withdraw, so instead I will invite you to join me in a glass of brandy.’
    It was tempting—the glowing candlelight, the wine, the roaring fire—but Rose dared not relax her guard.
    ‘That is very kind, sir, but there is more work to do. We have yet to prepare a room for me.’ She spoke as if it was the most natural thing in the world for her to be sleeping in his house. Not by a blush or the flicker of an eyelid would she betray her nervousness. ‘Perhaps we could seek out the linen cupboard?’
    She tensed, half-expecting a knowing look or risqué comment, but Sir Lawrence merely nodded and pushed back his chair.
    ‘Come along, then. I am not familiar with MrsBrendon’s part of the house, but I am sure we shall find something.’
    The house was cold, dark and full of echoes. Rose kept close to Sir Lawrence, who was carrying the lamp. Too close. When he stopped suddenly she cannoned into him. His hand shot out to steady her, but his warm touch through the thin sleeve of her gown made her tremble even more.
    ‘I—I beg your pardon.’ Her voice was little more than a croak. ‘I stumbled. The uneven floor…’
    ‘Ah.’ His hand slid down her arm and he caught her fingers. ‘Then let me help you.’
    She did not pull away. It was only sensible to accept his support. And she felt so much safer with her hand tucked into his large, comforting grasp.
    They walked on in the little pool of lamplight until they reached a corridor with a series of cupboards built along one side. Lawrence began pulling open the doors. One was crammed with pewter dishes and an old dinner service, another held neatly folded suits of servants’ livery. A heady scent of summer herbs wafted over them as he opened a third door.
    ‘This is it,’ murmured Rose.
    Sir Lawrence stood to one side, holding up the lamp to display orderly stacks of white linen.
    ‘Very well, madam. Help yourself.’
    Rose stepped up. Soon she had a pile of sheets, pillowcases and bolster covers in her arms.
    ‘Let me carry those for you.’
    Rose shook her head at him.
    ‘No, no, they are not heavy. If you will just show me the way to the bedroom?’
    He placed his hand under her elbow and guided her back along the corridors.
    ‘I think you would be most comfortable in the Blue Room,’ he told her. ‘It is one of the smaller chambers, but that will make it easier to keep warm.’ He threw open a door. ‘Here we are.’
    Rose did not move from the doorway as he went around the room lighting the candles in the wall sconces. A large tester bed took up most of the floor, the mattress shrouded in a plain white cover.
    ‘It has no hangings, I’m afraid,’ remarked Lawrence, twitching off the dust sheet. ‘But there are plenty of blankets and an elegant cover, embroidered by some previous lady of the house, no doubt. And the mattress is very comfortable.’
    Rose found herself wondering how he knew that—what sort of guests had he entertained here before?
    Best not to think of that. She put down the pile of linen.
    ‘Thank you,’ she said briskly. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I will get to work.’
    ‘Can you manage on your own?’
    ‘Perfectly well, thank you. I am not such a lady that I cannot make my own bed.’
    ‘Very well. Then I will light the fire for you.’
    ‘Oh, there is no need. Evans can—’
    ‘Evans will have plenty to do checking on the horses before he retires.’ He added, ‘I am not such a gentleman that I cannot light a fire.’
    ‘No. Of course.’ She smiled at him. ‘Very well, then, thank you.’
    In a remarkably short time the bed was made and a fire was burning