Page 60 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

Chapter Fourteen

Keir’s coachman took them to Spinster House. The bridge was all sleet and frozen mud as they crossed the river to the north side. It would have been dismal to cross on foot, even if the falling snow was pretty. The cold would have easily gripped her, set her ankle to aching, her mind to running in jagged circles.

Instead, she was back inside a warm carriage with Keir as if it was a perfectly normal thing for him to see her home from horse races and secret missions during musicales.

“Thank you,” Sybil said, her feet perched on the wrapped warming brick. She still liked the cold sneaking in through the sides of the door, pinkening her cheeks. But she no longer cared for it to touch the rest of her for too long. She was going to have to work on that.

But not tonight.

Tonight, she was comfortable and pleased with her success and sitting across from a ruggedly beautiful man who, although too serious for his own good, had helped her at some cost to his dignity.

And dignity was everything to a Montgomery.

They might not know Minos’s true identity, or how he knew so much about them, or even why he was coming after them. They could guess that they had foiled one of his plans, but it was just a guess.

But they could help Miss Venetia. And Miss Maddox. And any number of other ladies in the meantime. And it was all the sweeter now that each victory was a thumbing of their noses at their unknown attacker. It was worth every insult, every disdainful sniff, every loud mutter about her lineage, or lack thereof.

Although Keir, it seemed, did not agree.

“Don’t ask me to sit by again while they treat you like that,” he said. “I would have an easier time carrying a house on my back. And the way you bowed your head meekly…” He shuddered. “Look at me, I’m sweating.”

She had to smile as the carriage pulled to a stop. He was adorable. Somehow, stern, solemn, inscrutable Keir Montgomery was also adorable.

That didn’t seem fair.

“I didn’t think marquesses were allowed to sweat. I’m sure it’s a rule.”

“Clearly, a rule made by someone who has never met you.”

She bit her tongue on a highly inappropriate suggestion about other ways to make him sweat. He was not for her and she was not for him.

It was getting harder and harder to remember that.

Spinster House waited, with lamplight at the windows, welcoming in the swirls of snow. One of the footmen had already shoveled the walk. It would smell like flowers and fire and warm, delicious things cooking in the oven. It was home.

And yet she wanted to linger in the carriage, which was not quite large enough to fit Keir, with melting snow dripping from her cloak and hair. His eyes were on her. She licked her lower lip and his gaze flared. An answering tingle sparked low in her belly.

“I’ll walk you to your door,” he finally said.

Some things were simple enough.

She enjoyed Keir’s company and did not wish for him to say goodnight just yet.

If it was torture of a kind, she was only torturing herself.

“Would you like some tea? And shortbread? We have a cook who makes shortbread like your Scottish granny.”

He smiled briefly. “My Scottish granny did not make shortbread.”

“Oh.”

“But surely, had she done so, it would have far surpassed anything made by your English cook.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Absolutely.”

She was grinning as she led him inside the house. He frowned at the empty hall, the oil lamp burning on a marble-topped table with carved peacocks. “Where’s your butler?”