The Gentleman Who Loved Me (Heart of Enquiry Book 6)(56)

When Andrew had announced his intention to alert Papa, however, she’d protested.

To no avail.

“Your life is in danger, and I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe,” he’d said in a tone that brooked no refusal. “My guards will arrive directly, and you will stay here and under their protection until I’ve made arrangements with your father. Do you understand?”

She’d bristled at his high-handedness, but his hard expression had warned her against arguing. His aggression reminded her that he’d earned his success in one of London’s darkest, most dangerous trades. Yet beneath his dictatorial manner, she sensed his fear for her, which had convinced her to comply.

That and the fact that he’d taken a bullet for her.

Luckily, the wound turned out to be a graze. Nonetheless, knowing that he’d risked his life for hers had melted her defenses. Thus, she’d said simply, “Yes, Andrew.”

He’d given her a terse nod and walked out with Revelstoke. That had been at dawn yesterday. Since then, Rosie knew that Andrew had met with Papa, the two of them devising a plan to protect her and her reputation.

“I can’t help fidgeting,” Rosie whispered back to Polly. “This business has me all aflutter.”

“Who wouldn’t feel that way after being shot at?” Polly said sympathetically.

“Oh, I’m not aflutter over that. With Papa and Andrew on the case, I feel perfectly safe.”

It was true. She had complete confidence in the two men. In fact, after the initial shock of the attack had worn off, she hadn’t been so much afraid as she had been infuriated. Just when the clouds seemed to be clearing from the horizon, why did fortune have to shower her with more slings and arrows?

Polly blinked. “What are you worried about then?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she said under her breath. “Papa and Mama are about to be in the same room as Mr. Corbett.”

Polly gave her hand a squeeze. After all, what could the other say about the awkward and fraught-with-peril situation of introducing one’s lover to one’s parents?

Why do these things always happen to me? Rosie was torn between mortification and worry. She prayed that her parents would treat Andrew with respect—and was prepared to rise to his defense if they didn’t.

The door opened to reveal her father and his partners, Mr. McLeod, a brawny Scotsman, and Mr. Lugo, an equally imposing fellow who hailed from Africa. The two partners, who had known Rosie since she was a girl and were like uncles to her, nodded silent greetings and retreated to the back of the room. Andrew came in next, his gaze finding hers, and a curious thing happened.

Her anxieties eased; his mere presence anchored her.

He approached, bowing to her and Polly. “Good day, ladies.”

While Polly smiled at him, Rosie tried to hide the fact that she felt as giddy as a schoolgirl. Andrew was a gentleman through and through, from his manner to his character to his impeccable looks. As always, his tailoring fit his virile form like a second skin.

She saw the bulge beneath the sleeve of his sage green jacket and blurted, “How is your arm?”

“’Twas but a scratch, my lady.” His tone was formal, but the warmth in his eyes made her heart skip like a pebble across a pond. With seemly courtesy, he produced a small box from behind his back. “With my compliments for your full recovery.”

“Oh. How kind.” She smiled at him. “What is it?”

“Open it.”

Untying the plain string, she lifted the lid. A petite loaf of gingerbread sat nestled in paper. Glazed with white icing and bejeweled with bits of candied lemon, it looked mouth-watering.

“How did you know that gingerbread is my favorite?” she said.

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “A lucky guess.”

Before she could thank him, her mother’s cultured voice cut in.

“Mr. Corbett, I have something I wish to say to you.” Mama approached Andrew, her demeanor somber as her grey cashmere dress. Her slim shoulders were rigid.

Andrew inclined his head, the gesture polite and edged with wariness. “Yes, ma’am?”

Rosie’s breathing suspended. Please be nice to him…

“Thank you, sir. For helping to save my girl,”—Mama’s voice cracked—“again.”

Seeing Mama’s anguish, Rosie felt heat well behind her own eyes. She would have gone to her mother, but Papa got there first. He wrapped an arm around Mama’s waist, and she leaned into him the way a climbing bloom does a sturdy trellis.

“Think nothing of it,” Andrew said quietly. “It is my privilege, ma’am.”

“We are in your debt, Corbett. I cannot, however,”—Papa cast a severe glance in Rosie’s direction—“approve of the circumstances under which this recent rescue took place.”

Rosie flushed, sneaking a peek at Andrew who remained at the side of her chair. His expression was entirely neutral. He said nothing, neither denied nor argued the charges. At the same time, his manner conveyed that he was going to continue doing as he damn well pleased.

How she wished she had his self-possession. His strength and sophistication. Instead, her confidence was as fragile as porcelain—and as for worldliness?

She was a girl who still collected dolls.

But you’re not a girl any longer, you’re a woman. For once, the voice in her head championed her on. You’re a widow who has the right to live an independent life.