She favored him with a regal smile of acquiescence. “Very well, nephew. I can see how much this means to you. I shall renovate your Miss Crewe, and you shall renovate my home.”
“Take the afternoon and evening off. Go and begin arrangements for the renovations.” He escorted his aunt out of the house, relieved he’d managed to find a way to keep her as chaperone.
And now to douse the next conflagration threatening his once tranquil home.
Dex found Miss Crewe in the ballroom commanding a crew of reluctant duelists, who were arranged in formation on the shining oak-and-walnut floor. She was barking orders and waving her arms in the air, like an orchestra conductor about to box the ears of a second violinist with lamentable timing.
“Seconds! Where are my seconds? You are to stand behind but to the side—here and here, so that you may observe your friend’s actions and avenge as necessary. No, no—Mr. Appleby! You are the second to Mr. Smythe. You must not turn your back to him, however will you see the action?”
The poor Mr. Appleby shuffled shamefully around to face his assigned duelist, whose face wore a look of aggravated martyrdom. “Now you (yes, Mr. Smythe! You!) raise your pistol, Mr. Harkins same, yes that’s it. That looks right. Hold them steady, you’ve only got one shot to defend your honor! Now, lower your arms, take aim and—”
“Miss Crewe!”
She jumped, spinning around guiltily.
“Are you really forcing my footmen to duel? You do realize that I actually need footmen who are alive and unmaimed to maintain my house?”
She gave a trill of laughter. “Only a mock duel! And infinitely necessary, so that I may describe the scene more fully in my novel. It was difficult to pinpoint the relationship between pistol and principle without seeing it in the flesh. The pistols aren’t loaded, of course,” she added, reassuringly.
“Of course.” He turned to the footmen, who were frozen to the parquet in embarrassment. “You may go. Surrender your pistols to McArdle and continue about your day,” he told them, as the four slunk by in procession. He caught a glimpse of ornate scrollwork on the handle of Harkins’s gun, held cautiously away from the poor ex-duelist’s body between thumb and forefinger. “Please tell me they weren’t using my own personal dueling pistols.”
“I meant to have them back in your study before you returned.”
He glared at her in amazement.
“Miss Crewe, what am I to do with you? Aunt Glynis just threatened to quit her post.”
A wide smile, swiftly replaced by mock concern. “How very sad.”
“Don’t look so pleased with yourself. I bribed her to stay. I’m now on the hook for a whole new apartment’s worth of overpriced furniture and draperies.”
“Did Aunt Glynis think of that? I’m surprised! I was certain she had no imagination whatsoever. She doesn’t understand me, or my quest for knowledge. Her world is very narrow, especially where young ladies are concerned.” She laid her hand on his arm. “I believe that worlds should be widened, not narrowed. Life holds so many possibilities, it’s positively dizzying.”
She was constantly in motion. Her hands making descriptive gestures as she spoke, flying high, punctuating her point, touching him to make sure he understood what she was saying. That soft touch of her fingers on his forearm and he had to steel himself, clenching his jaw in concentration.Don’t reciprocate. Don’t reach for that hand.Touching her anywhere, everywhere, was beginning to occupy an alarming quantity of his thoughts.
It put him off-balance, and he didn’t like being off-balance. It was time to restore order to this household, and to his heart. It would be helpful if the daylight reflected in the chandeliers overhead stopped setting those shimmering blazes in her hair. Hard to set his world to rights with nature actively plotting against him.
“Perhaps my aunt lacks a certain... verve, but she has an impeccable reputation, which is what you badly need to cement your own respectability during your debut.”
“I appreciate that she’s attempting to make me palatable to society, but it will never work. I’m a redheaded—”
“Spitfire of a hellion... so you’ve said, and so I’ve observed.”
“A hellion can’t change her stripes.”
“I wasn’t aware hellions had stripes. Are you mixing your metaphors?”
“Tiger, then! Head-to-toe stripes. And this one’s completely unable to change hers.”
He had the feeling she’d be sticking out her tongue at him if his back was turned.
“But she can use her keen intellect to ascertain when it’s in her best interests to obey her guardian.”
The cavernous ballroom with its wide windows and high ceilings felt somehow small with her in it. No matter how far awayfrom her he was, she seemed close by. It was her energy, her sparkling life force, creating an intimate pull on all his senses.
“I would be more willing to obey if said guardian allowed said hellion—tiger,a modicum of freedom now and then.”
“You’re no prisoner.”