The Perfect Lady Worthe by Rose Gordon Read Free Book Online Page B

good idea, however.
    From the hall he could hear a commotion of footmen moving furniture. Good. Soon her room would be ready and he could put some much-needed distance between the two of them.
    “Miss Cavanaugh’s bedchamber is ready, my lord,” Potter intoned from where he stood flanked by two footmen in the doorway of the drawing room.
    “Thank you,” Gareth said, moving aside the ottoman she’d been using as a footrest moments before.
    The two footmen started toward them and in the low light of the room, Gareth saw Jane’s face tense.
    “No need, Cecil. Ramsey.” Gareth gripped the wooden bar that crossed the top of the back of her chair. “I’ll do this part. Wouldn’t want the lady to think I was ungentlemanly, after all.”
    He couldn’t be sure but it sounded as if Jane said a soft “thank you.”
    Not wanting to question her about it, and not daring to question his own sanity at the moment, he guided her chair toward the door, careful not to hit her legs or feet on any of the furniture.
    Avoiding the curious stares of his staff, Gareth pushed her surprisingly heavy chair to the library and froze.
    A bed was set up near the fireplace just as he’d requested. But how was she going to get into it?
    He peeked down at her from beneath his lashes. “Would you mind if…”
    “Please do,” she said tucking the edges of her lap blanket securely around her legs.
    Not allowing himself a chance to mull over the severe consequences of what he was about to do, he wrapped his right arm around her shoulders, snaked his left arm under her knees, then lifted her and carefully set her down on the bed.
    “Thank you.”
    “You’re welcome.” Gareth said, moving her chair.
    ~*~
    Michael was going to kill her. She was certain of it.
    First, she’d been far too forward and disrespectful to his lordship and then he had to order his whole household about to make a room ready for her at half-past dark-as-death o’clock. Surely he’d write to her brother as soon as the sun came up and demand he come retrieve them.
    Charlotte.
    Charlotte didn’t deserve such a fate. No matter. Michael could explain to her why it was best she just go straight onto London to have a real Season. It’d be for the best. But what of a match between Charlotte and Lord Worthe?
    Jane had a hard time believing Lord Worthe was the dishonorable scoundrel he’d have her to believe, thus making him the perfect match for her sister. But if she wasn’t there to help push that match… Mrs. Fairchilde. She smiled. Of course, Mrs. Fairchilde was his cousin; she’d ensure that Charlotte and Lord Worthe saw more of each other once he got to London.
    Relieved to have that important matter settled, she could go to her death tomorrow satisfied that Charlotte would have her very own happily-ever-after.
    “I’m just going to hang this over here…” He paused. “I think it’ll be a perfect reach.”
    Jane’s eyes flew open. Why was Lord Worthe still in her room? And what was he hanging and where?
    She craned her neck to see a shadowed man with a billow of loose fabric surrounding him standing at the tall poster at the head of her bed.
    “What did you say you’re doing?”
    As if he’d just used up his daily allotment of words, his warm hand found hers and he lifted it up toward the poster until her fingers collided with what could only be described as soft silken strap.
    Chills ran down her spine. “Wh—what is this?”
    “A bell pull,” he said simply, releasing his hold on her wrist and gripping the fabric of the middle of his dressing robe. “The velvet chord by the door wouldn’t reach so I tied the sash to my dressing robe to the end to make it longer.”
    Had he just confessed having removed the only thing that kept his dressing robe closed, thus concealing his likely unclothed body, to any other lady, she’d have been scandalized.
    Not Jane.
    Tears pricked the back of her eyes and she tightened her grip on the cool fabric. Never had