Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
I raise my eyebrows and return to admiring the view, ignoring her question, but am disturbed from the challenge of pretending she isn’t here when she starts shifting in her seat. I peek out the corner of my eye, watching her, as she rootles in the top of her dress. What is she doing? I gulp, my eyes rooted on the creamy flesh of her chest, until she eventually pulls something out and unfolds it. She settles again, pulling a pencil from her pouch, and starts tilting her head back and forth, concentrating as she studies the paper, taking the pencil in every so often and flicking it here and there. I frown, craning my head to see what it is she is doing.
Her hand stills. She glances up. And I quickly redivert my attention to the view. I can feel her smiling eyes on me, and I sigh, looking at her, making her aware that I am aware of her tactics, though why she is doing this is beyond me.
I scowl and she smirks. My God, she’s infuriating. I try to settle, I try so hard, but I continue to fidget terribly, the tension thick. Sexual tension?
‘So,’ she says, and I blink, snapped from my brief silent wondering. ‘What do you think to this marriage between my brother and your sister?’ she asks.
‘Is it not a trifle too late to be asking for opinions on this joining?’ I don’t look at her.
‘Perhaps,’ she muses. ‘But do you think it is a good coupling? I love my brother dearly.’
‘As I love my sister, too, my lady.’
‘Well, my brother is a duke. Our family is renowned.’
It is as if she thinks it her responsibility to look out for her brother. For Christ’s sake, her brother is an athletic, six-foot four-inch bison of a man, and she is a petite, slender, willowy female with, I realise now, an air of self-importance about her. ‘Your family, my lady, were renowned for being dead.’ She flinches, as do I. Did I just say that?
‘I beg your pardon?’
God damn me. ‘I mean …’ Hell, what do I mean? ‘My sister is a beautiful woman inside and out.’ I level Lady Taya Winters with a serious look, forcing myself to withstand the beauty which is now glaring back at me. ‘Our family owns the most successful newspaper in London, and soon beyond.’ How dare she question our position. Our worthiness. We’ve worked hard for it. I inwardly wince. Papa has worked hard for it. Eliza has worked hard for it. Me? ‘Stop the carriage!’ I yell, making Taya shoot forward abruptly when the horses skid to a stop.
‘Oh my!’ she shrieks.
‘Hell!’ Sampson shouts from the roof.
I catch Taya and ease her back onto her seat. ‘I think I shall walk from here,’ I say gently, getting out of the carriage, feeling suffocated by both the enclosed space and who is in it, and by my apparent shortcomings.
‘Mr Melrose, I didn’t––’
‘Good day to you, my lady.’
‘Where are you going, Melrose?’ Sampson yells, righting his splayed body on the roof.
I slip on my hat and start the long walk home, pulling my story out of my inside pocket and reading it for the thousandth time, getting tingles from top to toe once again. Imagine, I think, as I wander alone, how new eyes will feel reading it for the first time if I myself am awed?
This is better. Air to breathe freely. My focus reset.
The nerve of that woman.
Dislike her. I must dislike her, and she has given me good cause.
It will be a hell of a lot easier than lusting after her.
Chapter 3
As the bridal party took a little detour around the royal park en route to the house, they are only just arriving when I round the corner into Belmore Square, which is alive, loud and bustling, talk of the newly wedded couple now venturing off to lands far and wide fuelling the excitement. I go to the first carriage and offer my hand to Mama, who breezes down as if she is floating, her chin high, daring anyone on the square to question her status, for, let it be known, Florence Melrose has arrived, and she is not going anywhere. The fact Lady Tillsbury and Lady Blythe, both respected ladies of the ton, have become rather fond of my bright, chatty, unconventional mother has helped her cause, no doubt as well as her eldest daughter’s marriage to a duke. Ladies of the ton want to be friends with ladies in the know, and Florence Melrose, wife of the owner of the most successful newspaper in London, is certainly in the know. Who needs a gossip paper when we have Florence Melrose?
‘Thank you, Francis,’ Mama says, linking arms with Father, who is waiting for her on the cobbles, and letting him lead her up the steps to our home. They are both floating now, and they both look so very happy. It is a new era for the Melroses, one without stress and financial pressures. One where I shall step up.