Arabella dragged her eyes from the patch of chest exposed by his undressing. “None needed,” she reassured him, fighting the blush threatening to give away her feelings. “I am sorry to be in your way.”
“I was on my way to see you, actually. But I’d wanted to change first.” He grinned and lifted his arm to his nose. “I fear I smell of the stables. I’m just back from Tattersall’s with one of my men and a new horse. I was on my way to change just now.”
She swept her gaze over him and liked what she saw. Even though he appeared slightly rough around the edges, the air of vitality brought about by exercise and likely excitement over the purchase suited him well. “I see that.”
A throat cleared nearby and when Arabella peeked around Rothwell’s broad shoulders, she found Holland waiting on a lower stair.
Rothwell grinned again. “Where will you be in twenty minutes?”
“Downstairs, if that is all right with you.” She waved the book in her hand. “I need a new book.”
“Perfect. By all means, help yourself to anything you like. I’ll join you shortly if you’d enjoy company.”
She nodded quickly. It had been a long, slow day with only her own company for amusement. Rothwell’s eyes glowed with pleasure and he leaned just a little closer—just enough that the scent of horses did reach her. She couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose.
He eased back quickly. “Do excuse me.”
He passed her by quickly without another word, leaving Arabella standing with only Holland for company. The older man nodded to her, his gaze speculative, and then followed Rothwell at a more sedate pace to his bedchamber.
When the door shut with a solid thud, Arabella hurried down the remaining stairs. The more time she spent with Rothwell, the more she wilted beneath those smoldering eyes, which caused her no end of blushes.
As she’d noticed before, the household was a quiet one, but there were masculine voices coming from parts of the house sure to be servant’s quarters. She paused to listen. In the days she’d been here, there had been few whispered conversations to be overheard. Rothwell’s servants were quick and efficient and, to her surprise, rather happy in his service. As she thought about that, she discovered a surprising fact. She’d only ever heard male voices in the town house. There might be no other women beneath this roof aside from herself.
As she remembered from her arrival, a door to the right led to a drawing room where she’d warmed herself by the fire. That room had not contained any books that she remembered seeing, so she turned beneath the staircase and made her way to the rear of the house. There was a closed door at the end of the short hall and she leaned her ear to the door. After listening a long while and hearing nothing, Arabella released the latch and let herself in.
She smiled at what she found—an empty room but for the books behind glass doors and dozens of rare orchids littering every other space. Rothwell had said he dabbled, but this was so much more than dabbling. He truly had a green thumb.
She inspected each plant gently, smiling at the variations he’d chosen to cultivate. So very pretty and not at all the type of plant she’d expected a man like Rothwell to have. She shook her head. The man was a walking contradiction. Wicked in public, proper in private. At no time had she thought he might fall on her in a passion.
She turned next for the nearest bookcase and tugged at the door. Locked. She glanced around uncertainly. No sign of a key anywhere. Rothwell had said she might read anything she liked in his collection. He’d never mentioned needing a key to get to them though.
She eyed the desk as doubt filled her. Should she disturb him or attempt to find the key herself? It was not on the desktop or around on any other surface. That left inside his desk to investigate, although she was not sure he’d meant her to do so. Arabella bit her lip as she slid open a shallow upper drawer. A folded note lay on top of a stack of papers, but she could just make out the edge of a metal key hiding beneath. Arabella lifted the note and claimed the key quickly, casting a nervous glance at the door.
Snooping through Rothwell’s papers hadn’t been part of her plan. She was just about to close the drawer when curiosity got the better of her. She flicked the large note open and then stared in shock. Rothwell had a special license to marry, though the bride’s name had not been filled out.
The paper tumbled from her numb fingers. Good grief, when would she learn to mind her own business and ask permission first? The discovery answered her questions and raised yet more still. Rothwell was always going in and out in a rush, but given her recent isolation, she had no idea who he was planning to marry. She’d never suspected he had formed an attachment to anyone in London. Which meant her presence in his home was indeed an imposition.
“Ah, good. You found the key?”
Arabella looked up, sure that guilt was writ large on her face. Instead of a scowl, Rothwell stood at the doorway with his arms folded across his chest, smiling in a way that immediately set her heart racing. Instead of angry, he looked quite delicious. Maybe he hadn’t seen her reading his private papers. She hoped not. It would make her seem an ungrateful wretch, given his current generosity. She quickly nudged the drawer closed and moved away from the desk. “Yes, just this moment.”
She glanced at him and then paused as she took stock of his appearance: neatly pressed, boots gleaming, gloves and top hat in hand. He was devastatingly handsome in a finely tailored navy-blue coat and embroidered waistcoat. Her awareness of his appeal multiplied. “Are you going out?”
His finger dug beneath his cravat to loosen the starched material as if he wished to be rid of it entirely. “To the park in an hour to meet with an acquaintance.”
Was he courting a woman she knew? “You look very fine.”
“Thank you.” He leaned against the bookcase, a grin twisting his lips. His gaze roved over her body and caused a tremble in her legs. “You too look quite lovely, in fact.”
“Thank you.” A blush warmed her cheeks and she turned to the bookcase to unlock the door, willing her hands to cease their fumbling. She stared at the volumes before her, not really seeing them. Her mind raced at the notion that Rothwell was hunting a bride. The idea of him marrying had never occurred to her, although at his age he would have considered the necessity of taking a wife to acquire an heir long before this.
At that moment, Holland joined them, apologized for interrupting, and then crossed the room to check if the spirit decanters on a far table needed refilling.
“I’m glad to see you making yourself at home.” He pointed to the man across the room and smiled. “Holland’s been fretting again about your lack of company. Anyone would think he’s your father the way he’s been carrying on, and I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Do you have any family left? I’ve never heard mention of anyone from you or from Grayling in the past years.”
Arabella winced. “My parents died a year after I married. My mother first, and then my father very soon after, as if he couldn’t go on without her. The loss of them broke my heart because they were my whole world too. They were older when they had me, you see, but had married quite young and were never far apart. Any cousins or aunts I might have had are unknown to me. All we had was each other and our neighbors, but that was enough for them.”
“I’m so sorry.” Rothwell’s gaze softened and he reached out to squeeze her hand.
Rather than feel uncomfortable relating the impact of the loss that felt as fresh today as all those years ago, Arabella felt better. She hadn’t spoken of them in a very long time.
Rothwell turned away suddenly. “If only that were the case for me. I find it nearly impossible to escape my family.”