The Rake's Enticing Proposal. Lara Temple
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fribbles, but at least he was amusing and neither of them appeared to want her to contribute which suited her, leaving her to stew in her own concerns.
When these became too depressing, Ellie turned her attention to the dining room. It was very grand, but from experience she recognised the signs of economy in the draughts whistling faintly past the warped window frames, in the threadbare carpet and in the creaking of the uncomfortable chairs. Lady Ermintrude might be a wealthy woman, but it was evident she kept the household on a short string. Ellie’s hopes that Henry might be able to save Whitworth, already sinking since her arrival, sank further—what were the chances of Lady Ermintrude giving Henry funds merely for the asking?
She was deep in her morose calculations, but her ears perked up when Fen leaned towards Mr Sinclair and asked in a whisper, ‘What was that book you mentioned, Cousin Chase? Is it very wicked?’
Ellie glanced at Mr Sinclair. Surely he wouldn’t? He met her gaze with a slow, speculative smile that drew her into full alertness. Just as in the Folly she was suddenly utterly present, her senses absorbing everything—the sound of cutlery on china, the whisper of the draught just touching her nape, the flicker of the fire piercing the ruby-rich liquid in his wine glass.
‘Is it, Miss Walsh? Wicked?’
The single word twisted out of its mould and became an entity in itself. She had read several Greek and Latin tomes from her father’s library that might be considered fast for a proper young woman, but she had never thought they deserved the label wicked. Now, under the force of that smile, she was no longer certain. Of anything.
‘No! Have you read it, Miss Walsh? Is it one of those books?’ For the first time there was a glimmer of respect in Fenella’s eyes as she turned to Ellie.
‘I don’t think your aunt will approve you discussing such matters, Miss Fenella; certainly not with Mr Sinclair.’
‘You have read it. Do you think there is an English copy in the library?’
‘If I remember correctly there is one in Latin, Fen,’ Sinclair answered. ‘It would do you good to apply yourself to something other than embroidery and gossip.’
Fen wrinkled her nose.
‘Aunt never allowed us to study Latin. Only a little Italian so we can sing. She says German rots the mind and French enlarges the heart.’
‘Good Lord. I had no idea Ermy was a student of medieval medicine. I’m afraid to ask what she thinks about Greek. Something unmentionable in polite society, no doubt.’
Lady Ermintrude swivelled in their direction, causing Fen to stifle her giggle and apply herself to her syllabub. Chase motioned to Pruitt to refill his glass, then turned to Ellie.
‘I was wondering what it would take for you to smile again,’ he murmured. ‘Don’t let Ermy see you do that too often. Her hopes to scuttle your plans will only intensify if she sees that smile.’
‘Thank you for your concern on my behalf, Mr Sinclair.’
‘Being called Mr Sinclair always reminds me of my uncle. Not a nice man. Call me Chase, or, if you must, Cousin Chase like Fen does.’
‘It would hardly be proper for me to call you Chase and we are not cousins.’
‘We will be soon and since we are apparently to work together over the next few days, I suggest you try. I don’t answer to Mr Sinclair.’
‘Oh, good. That means our time together is likely to be very quiet and I much prefer working without interruptions.’
He laughed.
‘I see your weapon of choice is the sharp rebuke of silence. I cannot remember if that is among Ovid’s suggestions to women in his Art of Love. Did you really read it or is that merely bravado?’
‘Did you really read it or is that merely braggadocio?’
‘My God, Henry has no idea what he is in for. And you are quite right—I only read the interesting parts and skimmed the rest. I particularly liked the segment where he suggests women take a variety of lovers of all types and ages...’
‘Cousin Chase!’ Fen gasped, her spoon halfway to her mouth and her eyes as wide as saucers, darting from him in the direction of her aunt.
‘You are quite right, Fen, this is not a suitable topic to be discussed at the supper table, certainly not while such horrible pap is being served. Miss Walsh and I will discuss it later.’
‘Miss Walsh would as soon spend her day practising cross-stitches, Mr Sinclair.’ Ellie replied.
‘Is that a euphemism?’
Ellie did her best not to smile. The more he talked, the more her discomfort faded. He might be the irreverent rogue Henry said, but to regard him as a threat was ludicrous. In fact, she could see the wisdom of Henry’s hopes that at least with him in the house Lady Ermintrude’s fire would not be directed solely at her. And helping him in the East Wing would be an improvement to further demolishing her fingers with embroidery.
‘All that energy you expend trying not to smile could be better spent, you know?’ he said and behind the humour she saw the same speculation as in the Folly. It was a strange combination. Discordant. As if he were two wholly different people, like the two-faced god Janus—half-rogue, half-jester. And something else as well...
‘What then could be said about all the energy you expend in maintaining your rogue’s mask?’ she asked, curious which aspect would respond to her thrust. He didn’t answer immediately, watching her as he raised his glass.
‘A mask implies something to conceal. I am not so complex a fellow. Just like Lady Ermintrude I possess no hidden depths, I’m afraid. Fen could tell you as much. She has known me for dogs’ years, right, Fen?’
He flashed his cousin a smile and she shook her head.
‘He is hopeless. Aunt says it is only a matter of time before he and Lord Sinclair end in gaol or debtors’ prison or worse.’
‘With a hopeful emphasis on worse,’ Chase added.
‘I thought Henry said your brother was recently married.’ Ellie said and his smile shifted for a moment, went inwards, and contrarily Ellie felt her shoulders tense.
‘Lucas was always the serious one in our family. As befits the eldest sibling.’
‘Besides, she is an heiress,’ Fen said, leaning forward conspiratorially. ‘Aunt Ermintrude says...’
‘Do tell us what Aunt Ermy says about my sister-in-law.’ His voice did not change, but the table fell silent. Even Pruitt stopped in mid-motion, Henry’s plate of uneaten syllabub hovering. The power of Chase Sinclair’s stillness was as shocking as a full outburst of fury might have been and Ellie’s curiosity sharpened.
‘N-nothing,’ Fen replied, her shoulders hunched, and Ellie threw herself into the breach.
‘Henry told me she employs a man of business to manage her extensive financial concerns. I am very envious.’
His smile returned, a little wry.
‘You like the idea of ordering men about, Miss Walsh?’
‘I can see its merits.’
‘You may always practise on me, if you wish. When you aren’t smoothing over troubled waters.’
‘Ah, the mask is back in place. And just in time for Lady Ermintrude to call a halt to our evening’s entertainment.’
They stood as Lady Ermintrude rose and announced the women would retire.
‘Goodnight, Miss Walsh. Cousin Fenella.’ Chase Sinclair bowed properly, but ruined the polite gesture by murmuring in Latin as she passed, ‘Spero autem frigus cor calida fovere somnia.’
She could not prevent the flush that rose to her cheeks at the suggestive