Page 7 of The Countess Caper

His neck tensed. “No, thank you,” he replied, equally politely.

“Ha,” she returned, well vindicated. “Then I don’t see why I should feel any differently.”

She would have said more—a lot more—but Noni’s apprentice came through the door, rain dripping from her curls. Beth was short and stout, with a gentle smile that could soothe the fussiest soul. “I saw the fancy carriage,” she said. “Oh, Lady Tessa. It’s you.”

Tessa nodded. “Marigold’s just inside.”

“Excellent.” Beth traded her cloak for a white apron. “Not to fear—we’ll have her sorted in three shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

It turned out Beth was not exaggerating.

In the time it took for Tessa to thank Roarke and send him on his way, Beth went into the room, the door cracked open to the sounds of grunting and swearing, and one choked scream, followed by the wail of a newborn baby, and then she was poking her head back out. “It’s a girl.”

Tessa grinned. “She knew it would be. Are they…?”

“Perfectly well. You got here just in time, it seems.”

Tessa ducked inside to smile at her sweaty, red-faced cousin and her equally red-faced baby. “Look what you did!”

Marigold beamed, proud and exhausted. “I hated every second of that. And it was worth it.” Her eyes drifted shut as Beth took the baby and then toweled the rain from Marigold’s plait.

“She’ll stay here for a couple of days,” Noni commanded. “You can fetch her on Tuesday. Maybe Wednesday. I’ll send word to the house.”

Tessa squeezed her hands. “Thank you.” She’d sell something else or steal it between now and then to cover the costs. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t done before. She intended to send the viscount the bill just as soon as she could. If only she knew someone suitably massive and intimidating to make her point.

Someone like Roarke.

Who was waiting outside.

For her.

“That was quick,” he said from inside the carriage as she came out. The rain continued to fall, but the lightning seemed less inclined to seek them out personally.

“It is, sometimes. Although I expect Marigold would punch you for saying so.” She frowned at him. “What are you still doing here?”

“I’m waiting for you.”

Surprise, an unexpected rush of warmth. Then suspicion. This was Roarke, after all. She had known the earl since her debut, but always at the fringes of conversations. She had been a social butterfly, determined to make everyone at ease around her. She had only managed to entice him into a single grunt in response to her attempts at light conversation. And a remark about redheads, of course.

“Why?” she asked.

“You’re not walking home in this monsoon.”

She shrugged. “I’m already wet.”

He swallowed. “Just get in.”

She climbed in, after sighing loudly to be heard over the raindrops on the roof. “There’s no need.” Not that she had been particularly looking forward to the wet slog through the fields. Her breeches were already sticking to her legs.

Roarke kept his eyes very carefully on her face. Interesting, that.

“I’m heading to Magpie House as it is,” he replied.

“It is customary to wait to be invited,” she pointed out drily.

“I was invited.”

She narrowed her eyes. “To my house.”