Page 5 of A Rose for a Rogue
“Oh, you’re probably worried about me ruining the boot leather.” She scratched her eyebrow, unease now crimping the edges of her expressive eyes. “I’m certain there must be someone in town who can care for them. Maybe not at this hour, though.”
Mouth pursed, she picked another bit of shell from the leather.
He pulled on his other glove and gave her a reassuring smile.
“You misunderstand me. There’s no need to fuss over them. I’ll clean and polish my boots this evening.”
A little furrow of surprise marred her forehead. “You will? Polish them yourself? But you’re a gentleman. I didn’t think . . .”
She sounded so incredulous, he wasn’t sure whether to be enchanted or insulted.
“I am, but I’m not above tending to my own boots.” He sketched a bow, more elaborate than the situation called for. “Manchester, Marquis of Sterling. And you are Miss Eden.”
She narrowed her eyes and raked her astute regard over him, from his beaver hat, down the length of his great coat to his soiled boots, and then made the reverse journey to meet his eyes once more.
His flesh reacted—the nerves and pores alert and expectant—with every slow inch of her perusal.
Did her thorough assessment mean she knew who he was?
It was hardly a secret.
She had him at a disadvantage then, for he hadn’t an inkling who Miss Eden might be.
“Not Miss Eden exactly,” she finally said, the amused sparkle returning to her eyes.
“No?”
She shook her head and that cloud of downy hair billowed around her shoulders.
Unusual to leave her hair down. Not the fashion at all, but he quite admired the shiny mass.
She chuckled, a lyrical warble, causing a weird flitting about in his chest again.
He really must leave off strong spirits if this was how they’d begun to affect him.
Or perchance the expectation of seeing his sire after a decade was causing his heart palpitations.
As she straightened, she passed Jane the soiled toweling.
“Eden is my middle name.”
She bobbed a curtsy that would’ve earned even Almack’s stern peeresses’ approval.
“Eglantina Eden Aster Haverden.”
Eglantina?
Chester couldn’t prevent his gaze from falling on the unbroken eggs.
Egg?
Zounds, why would anyone name a child that? He could well imagine the teasing her name had inspired.
A delightful laugh escaped her as she caught his reaction.
“I know, it’s uncommon. Mama says it means wild rose. I prefer my first middle name, Eden.” She dipped into a shallow curtsy. “I beg your pardon again, my lord.”
After another brilliant smile that left him blinking like a codpated buffoon, she picked up her baskets and whisked into the kitchen behind Mrs. Stewart.
