“I understand. Though I can’t imagine how even a dainty creature like you can subsist on a meal like that,” he added, waving a hand at the sandwiches. “It isn’t even a meal, now that I think on it. It’s a snack.”
“I can bring you more in a few hours, after Mrs. Gibson’s gone to bed. That is, if you’re still here by then.”
“I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”
She smiled, and as always when she smiled at him like that, Rex felt the world slipping dangerously sideways.
He looked away, gesturing with his pencil to the sketches he’d completed. “You might look over those and tell me I’m on the right track,” he said. “Then I suggest you fetch a glass, if you can sneak it out from under your cook’s prying eyes. If not, we’ll both be swigging that champagne from the bottle.”
She complied, giving him the reassurance he needed to continue, then she went in search of a glass. Unexpectedly, she brought back two, because as she explained, champagne flutes were part of the crystal, and weren’t kept in the kitchen but in the china cupboard in the dining room. Mrs. Gibson wouldn’t miss them.
“Just be sure to wash them and put them back before morning,” he advised, “or heaven knows what your cook will think. Can you open it?” he added, gesturing to the champagne.
“I can try.”
She did, but once she’d removed the wire cage and begun working to free the cork, he decided he’d better intervene. “The last thing we need is to have the cork go flying, break something, and make such a racket it brings your cook swooping in to see what’s going on. Here, let me show you how it’s done.”
He moved to stand behind her, his arms coming around her to grasp the bottle, demonstrating how to open it and stealing for himself a few tantalizing moments of having her in his embrace. Once the champagne cork had popped, however, even his lame excuse for standing behind her with his arms around her was gone.
He didn’t move.
Neither did she, and he took advantage of it, turning his head to inhale the delicate orange-blossom scent of her hair. He closed his eyes, thinking how easy it would be to pull her back against him, to bend his head and kiss her neck...
Christ, he was making himself insane.
He lowered his arms and stepped back, stepping to her side to pour champagne, and he decided it might be best to start a conversation on a safe topic.
“So, you fired Mr. Beale. How did this momentous event occur?”
“I lost my temper, and before I knew it, the words, ‘you’re fired’ were out of my mouth. Words, I must say, that gave me great delight.”
He grinned as he handed her a glass of champagne and began to pour one for himself. “What happened to all that rot you tried to tell me about having no authority to give him the sack, doing one’s best to get along, and respecting your sister’s judgement?”
“I didn’t really think about any of that. He was abusing a member of the staff, and I just... let fly.” She gave a sigh. “I’m living with the consequences now, though, I’m afraid.”
He set aside the bottle and glanced at her, noting again the weariness in her face. “Which have been arduous, I see.”
“Well, as I told you once, editor is the most important position on the staff. I’m not accustomed to making these decisions. I knew how hard my sister worked, of course, but I never realized until now the burden of being in charge. I’ve never really overseen anything, you see. Most of my life, Irene has protected and looked after me. I’ve been quite sheltered.”
Rex couldn’t summon any regret that her paragon of a sister wasn’t hovering over her like a hen with one chick. Although as he shot a considering sideways glance over her, he appreciated that her current lack of a chaperone made the temptations tormenting him even harder to resist.
“And with Mr. Beale gone,” she went on, bringing his thoughts back to the matter at hand, “I’m in charge of everything. It’s rather daunting.”
“You’re doing all right so far,” he said and picked up a sandwich.
“Am I?” She rubbed her nose, looking doubtful. “I hope so.”
“Buck up. Paper’s getting printed, all’s right with the world.”
“I suppose that’s the only way to look at it at this point.” She paused and took a sip of champagne. “Has your father relented yet and reinstated your allowance?”
He shook his head. “Not yet, I’m afraid.”
“I only ask because our bargain might be in jeopardy. I may not be able to finish the season. If I don’t find an editor, I shall have to carry on here until Irene comes back. I doubt I’ll have time to do both, especially if this past week is any indication.”
“No applicants for the post?”
“We’ve had a few. They all seem qualified, but none seem right.” She paused, considering. “I don’t know if that’s true, actually, or if I’m just terrified of choosing wrong and I’m procrastinating over the decision out of fear.”
