How to Woo a Wallflower (Romancing the Rules #3)(6)

What did he fear unleashing?

She told herself he was cold, unfeeling, but she’d glimpsed something more too. Only intermittent peeks. But now she saw it again. Sparks of fire beneath his icy facade. She couldn’t help but wish to break through.

They stared at each other so long that embarrassed laughter bubbled up Clary’s throat. She fought the impulse, but a sound escaped. Not quite a gasp, more like a gurgle. Mr. Adamson’s gaze dropped to her mouth, and her lips warmed under his scrutiny. Heat spread down her body, pouring across her belly like warm syrup, gathering at the center of her thighs. Her cheeks caught fire.

Then it was as if the rain battering the carriage roof had rushed in to douse all the fire in Mr. Adamson’s gaze. He turned away from her and retreated toward his side of the carriage.

Clary drew in long steadying breaths as all the heat between them chilled. Retorts stewed in her mind, from scathing to impolite. Instead, she tried on an imperious tone and informed him, “The when you speak of has arrived, Mr. Adamson.”

“Pardon?” His handsome face crumpled in confusion, and he frowned at her as if she’d gone completely dotty.

“Today is my twenty-first birthday. I may not be your master, but as of today, I am your employer.”

For a fleeting moment, she thought he might let his fearsome expression slip. That he might be jovial or kind. Offer her felicitations. Crack a smile.

But after a moment of dumbstruck confusion, his glower deepened, and he banged on the carriage roof. The vehicle immediately swerved before rattling to a stop.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving.” He pushed the door open and stepped out. “Good day to you, Miss Ruthven.” Just like that, he escaped her presence, as he’d proven quite skilled at doing.

“I thought you had an appointment,” she shouted.

“I’ll walk.”

“You’ll be late.” One hand braced against the open door, Clary leaned out to urge him back. Rain poured down in a steady shower.

“Then I’ll walk quickly.”

“You’ll be drenched by the time you arrive.”

“It’s only a bit of mist now,” he insisted, contradicting her, as he liked to do almost as much as finding fault with her.

Why did it matter whether he appeared at his meeting sopping wet? Nothing about the man was her concern. She settled back in the carriage and was just on the point of knocking on the wall to urge the coachman into motion.

She leaned out and watched Mr. Adamson rushing away. Perhaps he was, in some sense, her concern. She was his employer now. Learning more about Ruthven’s was one of her goals. Getting along with the man who managed the whole enterprise seemed a logical first step.

“I’m happy to take you wherever you wish to go,” she called to him.

“No.” He turned back. “Be on your way, Miss Ruthven. The driver will take you wherever you wish to go.”

“I’m going to my brother’s townhouse in Bloomsbury Square.” Clary scrambled out of the narrow carriage door before the vehicle could depart. “Would you like to come with me?”

His face shuttered, wiped clean of emotion, and then one dark brow winged high.

She’d probably come to regret it, but she couldn’t deny the value of ending the animosity between them. What if she offended him so thoroughly he quit? Kit would have no end of questions.

“My sister-in-law is planning a special dinner for my birthday. Would you care to join us?”

For a moment, she thought he might agree. The prospect set her pulse racing.

“No,” he finally said. “I have a prior engagement.”

Striding forward, he came close enough for her to see a scar she’d never noticed, a faded line running through his right brow. Then she spotted another, a tiny faint slash at the edge of his evenly shaped upper lip. How had she missed those flaws in his otherwise perfect face?

One more step, and they stood toe-to-toe. “May I offer you a piece of advice, Miss Ruthven?”

“If you must.” Clary braced her arms across her chest.

“Don’t go back to Whitechapel. It’s not fit for a lady such as yourself.” His accent changed, syllables spoken with different emphasis than his usual clipped tone. “Not sure the place is fit for any living creature.” He straightened, rolling his shoulders, and lifted two fingers to tug on the edge of his hat. “Good day to you.”

Without another word, he strode away.

“Like you, Mr. Adamson,” she called to him, “I am my own master and will go wherever I please.”

“As long as your brother doesn’t find out, of course.” The smirking glance he shot back at Clary pinned her in place, while he picked up his stride and carried on with his day.

Miserable, insufferable man.

His advice could be damned, along with his curt manner. He met the strict requirements of being polite without offering anything more.

Except for that flash of heat she’d seen in his gaze, the man was a devil to read. Had she truly offended him? Would he tell Kit he’d found her swinging a mallet at Mr. Keene? She wouldn’t put it past Gabriel Adamson to quit his job at Ruthven’s just to keep her from being his master, as he put it.

As she climbed back into the cab, Clary vowed that, in future, she’d exhibit more poise in her role as a freshly minted lady of business.