A Gentleman's Guide to Save a Lady: Misadventures of the Heart
Page 24
Heads swiveled and Veronica nearly leaped from the stool but managed to remain as composed as a marble statue to his probing eyes. Her heart, however, beat at an alarming pace and she took a moment to catch her breath.
She’d seen a portrait of Daniel Crane but now believed it to have been of his father or perhaps an uncle, not this Greek god who towered before her. Tall, about six foot two in Veronica’s estimation, he boasted broad shoulders and a solid chest. His hair, the color of blazing fire, bespoke of a fiery temper and even from across the room Veronica could tell his eyes gleamed a vibrant shade of green. The freckles across the bridge of his nose and upper cheeks softened the hard lines of his jaw and afforded him a younger, boyish look. But for all his striking appearance, Veronica sensed this was not a man to be trifled with. No indeed, he may just be a force to be reckoned with. No matter. Her mind would not change.
Her eyes darted to her father who appeared by his side, regarding her entourage with a narrowed gaze. A fair amount shorter than the mountain hulking beside him, he was not less intimidating.
Veronica’s mouth twitched. She happened to be a master at mastering intimidating men.
“It would seem, Waverly, that we found the culprit who appropriated your servants,” Crane drawled, his eyes dancing.
At the amusement in his voice, Veronica flushed. “Appropriate is hardly the correct term, not to mention eavesdropping never did look good on a man.”
Crane rewarded her with a crooked smile.
“Veronica!” Her father boomed. “Show some manners, girl. Mr. Crane is a guest in our home.”
“Ah yes, the infamous hotel owner—Mr. Crane. My apologies sir, it is, of course a pleasure to meet the man my father has commanded I marry if I cannot find a more suitable match in a fortnight.”
His smile faltered.
Her father sputtered as his brows drew together.
Veronica did not bat an eye.
“Be that as it may,” she continued with a wave toward the wide-eyed servants, “I am merely informing the household that I may not be here for much longer but that they needn’t worry, there will always be a place for them in my home, wherever that may be.”
“What are you going on about?” her father asked, somewhat at a loss.
“Why if I marry, as you are forcing me to do.”
His eyes narrowed even more. “You are taking my cook with you?”
Veronica tilted her head with a small smile. “I am taking them all.”
“You will not!” he exclaimed, and then paused, fighting for composure. With a loud clear of his throat, he said in a more composed voice, “What I mean to say is, that is a matter for your husband to decide.”
“It will be the terms of negotiation with my future husband, yes,” she raked a superior glance over Mr. Crane, “whoever he may be, or you will just as soon wake one morning to find me married to the butcher.”
The low ringing sound of laughter burst from Crane. “You said she was an odd one, Waverly, you never said she possessed a flair for comedy.”
Comedy? For the first time in her life, Veronica found herself utterly speechless. How dare he laugh at her!
In a practiced art, she allowed her lips to curl in disapproval and her eyes to glare daggers at the red-headed Adonis. She exuded loathing and distaste, but on the outside remained remarkably calm and impressively unreadable. It was perhaps why, Veronica mused as she saw the laughter reflected in his eyes perish, people thought her cold as ice. She possessed the uncanny ability to appear completely unaffected, even while her insides raged with emotions.
Prepare yourself, Mr. Crane, for you are about to draw your blade on an expert swordswoman.
Crane’s eyes narrowed on the little viper’s calm air. He would be damned if he let her get to him with her saucy tongue and icy demeanor. Not one ounce of emotion broke through her veneer of stoic expression. But he wasn’t fooled. Great passion lay beneath her mask. He sensed it. Felt it even, as if it were radiating from her in waves of suppressed desires.
He’d heard people call her a curious creature, an oddity that preferred the company of servants to that of others. It had also been said that she was a cold fish. Daniel did not care for rumors.
His heart hammered in his chest as he envisioned plucking the pins from her hair. He imagined glorious shades of chestnut tangled in his fingers as she moaned into his mouth.
Bloody hell.
A whisper of a long ago memory echoed off the walls of his mind. A yellow morning dress, white daisies, lyrical laughter that lured him closer. Not a hint of recognition flared in her gaze as she stared at him in dispassion. Not even a morsel of uncertainty. Over the years he had caught glimpses of her in the village where he’d set up his first Inn and from what he could tell, she displayed no regard to the divide between rich and poor. She welcomed the opportunity to assist a person beneath her notice, exhibiting no care for the chasm in stations.
Reports of her beauty did not do her justice either. She was a bit too short, like a child, yet her womanly curves molded into an exquisiteness that removed any doubt of her being a young hatchling. Delicate brows framed intelligent, catlike eyes.
He’d wanted her from the moment he’d spied her in her yellow dress, daisies sticking out from her hair. Yet he was no lord and, at the time, possessed no means to support such a beautiful creature the way she deserved.
So he had worked. And slaved. And worked harder still. Until he’d built an empire so vast and wide no one dared look down on him.
Now, Lady Veronica was finally within his means and grasp. Her lack of suitors presented him with the perfect opportunity to stake his claim and Daniel preferred a woman with spirit. Lady Veronica Pebblesworth bore an abundance of spirit.
Yet she stood before him, almost eye to eye on that stool of hers, looking at him with such disdain and superiority, it set his teeth on edge.
She had no knowledge of who she challenged with her battle ready stance. Had no notion of what he’d endured to possess her. His eyes narrowed on her small, stiff form. Lady Veronica fancied a battle? He’d damn well give her a war.