Hello Stranger (The Ravenels #4)(48)

“Tonight I’m Edward Randolph,” she heard him say quietly. “A builder from Durham.”

It took Garrett a moment to understand. Gamely she entered into the pretense. “Why have you come all the way from Durham, Mr. Randolph?”

“To persuade a few members of Parliament to vote against a bill on building regulations. And while I’m in town, I’m taking in the sights of London.”

“What do you most want to see? The Tower? The British Museum?”

His head lifted. “I’m looking at it,” he said, his gaze holding hers for a few searing seconds before he took her into the refreshments room.





Chapter 12




Relentless noises slurried the air: conversation; laughter; the creaking of the floor underfoot; the clinks of silver, porcelain, and glass; the rattling of trays, the snapping of fans. Guests surrounded the long tables in the effort to obtain lemonade or ices. As a footman entered the room bearing a tray of desserts, Ethan reached out to snatch one before the servant reached his destination. The movement was so deft and quick that the footman hadn’t even noticed it.

Drawing Garrett to a corner where a tall feather palm occupied a terra-cotta pot, Ethan handed the glass dish to her. It contained a frosty mound of lemon ice, with a tiny mother-of-pearl demitasse spoon tucked at the side.

Garrett received it gratefully and took a bite of the tart, icy fluff. It melted on her tongue instantly, luscious thin coldness sliding down her throat.

A sense of unreality drifted over her as she stared up into Ethan Ransom’s face. The severe perfection of his appearance was slightly unnerving.

After taking another bite of lemon ice, she asked hesitantly, “How have you been since we last met?”

“Well enough,” Ethan said, although his expression conveyed he hadn’t been well at all.

“I tried to imagine what you were doing, but I have no idea what your typical day is like.”

He seemed vaguely amused by that. “I don’t have typical days.”

Garrett tilted her head as she looked up at him. “Would you mind if you did? That is, would you dislike keeping to a regular schedule?”

“It would help if the job were interesting.”

“What would you do, if you could choose anything?”

“Something in law enforcement, probably.” His gaze swept the room, his expression inscrutable. “I have a hobby I wouldn’t mind spending more time on.”

“Oh?”

“I design locks,” he said.

Garrett regarded him uncertainly. “Are you speaking as Mr. Randolph?”

His lips twitched as he looked down at her. “No, I’ve meddled with locks since I was a boy.”

“No wonder you were so critical of my front door,” Garrett said, fighting the temptation to reach up and touch the dimple in his cheek. “Thank you for the improvements you made . . . the lock and hinges . . . and the lion’s-head knocker. I like it very much.”

Ethan’s voice was soft. “Did you like the violets?”

She hesitated before shaking her head.

“No?” he asked, more softly still. “Why not?”

“They reminded me that I might never see you again.”

“After tonight, you probably won’t.”

“You say that every time we meet. However, you keep popping up like a jack-in-the-box, which has made me increasingly skeptical.” Garrett paused before adding in an abashed tone, “And hopeful.”

His gaze caressed her face. “Garrett Gibson . . . as long as I’m on this earth, I’ll want to be wherever you are.”

She couldn’t help smiling ruefully. “You’re the only one who does. I’ve been in a foul mood for the past two weeks. I’ve offended nearly everyone I know, and frightened off one or two of my patients.”

His voice was dark velvet. “You needed me there to sweeten your temper.”

Garrett couldn’t bring herself to look at him as she admitted huskily, “Yes.”

They were both silent then, suffused in the awareness of each other’s presence, nerve endings collecting invisible signals as if their bodies were communicating by semaphore. Garrett made herself take the last bite of lemon ice, little more than a spoonful of slush, but her throat was so tight with pleasure she could hardly swallow.

Gently Ethan took the bowl from her and gave it to a passing servant. He escorted Garrett back to the drawing room, where they joined a circle of a half dozen ladies and gentlemen. Ethan turned out to be accomplished at drawing-room etiquette, at ease with the courtesies expected of a gentleman introducing himself. It hardly escaped Garrett’s notice that he drew every female gaze in the vicinity. Ladies fluttered and preened in his presence, one even brazenly fanning her bosom in the attempt to draw his notice. Although Garrett tried to muster some sophisticated amusement, the feeling was soon crushed flat by annoyance.

The small talk was interrupted as the Home Secretary, Lord Tatham, appeared at one of the drawing-room doorways. He announced that the ladies and gentlemen were now invited into the double salon for some musical entertainment. The mass of humid, suffocated bodies began to move as a herd. Ethan held back with Garrett, letting people push past them.

“There’ll be nothing left but the worst seats in the back rows,” Garrett warned, “if there are any left at all.”