He took off his jacket and laid it aside. Clad only in his white shirt and emerald waistcoat, he squatted down and began to place the logs on the fire one-by-one. His back was toward her and she stared at him egregiously, completely unable to stop watching the muscles work in his shoulders as he lifted each log.
Oh, dear. What was happening to her? She’d never had such impure thoughts about any man before, let alone a man she barely knew. One she should leave be for half a score of reasons.
Even though she told herself to turn and walk away, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. As a result, when he finally stood and turned, she nervously spun in a circle in an effort not to be caught staring. She nearly ran into the desk that she’d quite forgotten was directly behind her. With an oomph, she fell back onto the highly polished dark wood floor. She landed on her elbows and her bum; the breath knocked from her chest.
He was at her side in a flash, gently placing his hand on one of her elbows and helping her to stand. His deep voice sounded in her ear. “Are you quite all right, my lady?”
Several silent awkward moments passed before she was able to drag enough air back into her aching lungs to speak. “Ye…Yes, I’m fine,” she eventually managed. She pressed a hand to her throat and hoped that her blush didn’t make her too awfully red. “I’m more embarrassed than hurt, to be honest.” She gave him a tentative smile, which he immediately returned, his white teeth flashing.
She bit her lip and glanced away. “After last night and now this, you must think I’m terribly clumsy.” She smoothed a hand down her middle and then righted her skirts.
“Not at all.” He let his hands drop away from her and she frowned, continuing to stare at him.
He stood at attention; his brow furrowed. “May I help you with something, my lady?”
Dear heavens. Why did she have to be such a complete ninny in front of this man? She stared up at him at a loss for words, searching his handsome face as if she needed to memorize it. “No, nothing…. It’s just that… .It’s just that I . . .” She barely knew what she was trying to say and every second that ticked by made the whole thing that much more uncomfortable. “I wanted to thank you again for helping me yesterday,” she finally blurted, “in the bedchamber, I mean, and to apologize again for my atrocious behavior at dinner last night.” There. At least she’d managed to apologize again. Even if she’d just made a mess of the words.
His lips quirked. He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again promptly.
She narrowed her eyes on him. “What?” She turned her head to the side to watch him from the corners of her eyes. “What were you about to say?”
“Nothing, my lady.” He shook his head slightly, still standing at attention.
“No, please say it,” she prompted. Oh, dear, perhaps he wasn’t telling her because he thought she was silly. She couldn’t bear it if he thought she was silly. Anything but that.
“It’s not my place to say anything, my lady.” He continued his rigid posture, looking past her head toward the windows. The picture-perfect footman on the job.
Hmm. Obviously, she’d have to do some prodding if she were going to get him to tell her his true thoughts. No doubt he felt as if he couldn’t be honest with her because she was a guest. “You’re wondering why I caused you to spill the wine on purpose?” she prompted.
He inclined his head to the side. “I have my suspicions.”
She eyed him carefully. “Which are?”
He finally met her gaze, but his back remained ramrod straight and his arms remained folded behind his back. He stood with his feet braced apart, almost as if he were standing on the deck of a ship. “My guess is that you were eager to leave the room,” he said.
She couldn’t help the smile that popped to her lips. “Was I that obvious?”
He inclined his head. “You seem to have quite an aversion to Sir Reginald, my lady.”
Frances laughed. She’d never had such a candid and inappropriate conversation with a servant, but for some inexplicable reason it felt as if it was the most normal thing in the world to be standing with this footman in his employer’s library discussing why she disliked the suitor her mother had chosen for her. She bit her lip. “I suppose you must think I’m terribly ungrateful.”
His chin inched slightly higher. “Why would I think that, my lady?”
She sighed. “Because Sir Reginald is an excellent prospect, or so my mother tells me. I should be flattered that he’s paying me attention, instead of fleeing from it.”
Mr. Lucas dropped his gaze. The look on his face was no longer one of amusement, it was more like…empathy. “I’m certain that’s not for me to say, my lady. But I will say that it seems to me it might not be the best choice to marry a man whose surname is the same as your Christian name.”
“That’s precisely what I’ve been saying,” she replied with another laugh, delighted that she’d finally found someone who agreed with her on the topic. “Mama refuses to listen.”
“Well, she should listen,” he replied. “It seems as if it could cause a variety of problems.”
She blinked at him as if he couldn’t be real. She’d never met a man who thought the way she did. The men she met tended to either say things she heartily disagreed with or things
