Noelle. Diana Palmer

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      “Mice?” He looked around irritably. “I had no idea…Keep the cat then. I detest mice even more than I detest cats!”

      “Thank you, Andrew.”

      He noticed her adoring glance and it took some of the sting out of Jared’s intervention. He moved closer to Noelle, a soft smile on his face. “You’re very pretty, little cousin,” he remarked. “Very pretty, indeed.”

      She smiled affectionately. “And you are very handsome,” she replied, almost choking on the pleasure of having him pay her compliments.

      “You’ve had little entertainment since you arrived. Would you like to go to a dance with me Friday night? It’s a charity affair, very elegant.”

      “I’d love to go!” she said fervently.

      “Then it’s a date,” he promised her. His hand touched a wisp of hair at her cheek, making her tremble with pleasure. He chuckled at her ready response and dropped his hand. “And I insist that you dance only with me.”

      She sighed. “That’s a promise,” she said dreamily.

      “Oh,” he added, “I left some handwritten orders on the desk in the study. You wouldn’t mind typing them for me, would you? I have to go out this evening…a dinner party.”

      “Of course I’ll type them for you,” she said fervently, as if she’d walk on hot coals if he wanted her to.

      Her devotion made him strut. “Thanks, Noelle,” he said, with a wink. “You’re a sweet thing.”

      She walked on clouds all the way out of the room, her fingers brushing the cheek he’d touched. She knew her face must be flushed. Andrew was taking her to a dance!

      Then as she gained the hall, it occurred to her that she had no dress grand enough to wear to a society dance. Most of her clothes had been at home in Galveston when the flood struck, and there had never been very many. Since then, she hadn’t had any money to buy fabric to sew new things, and her plain skirts and blouses would hardly do for a large social gathering. Andrew wouldn’t want to be seen with her in anything she had in her closet. He was impeccable in his attire and expected everyone around him to be equally elegant. He had, in fact, been pointedly critical of her few dresses. What he had to say about her overalls was better left unsaid, and she did her outdoor work when he was out of town.

      But that wasn’t her only problem. Andrew watched her at the table when she ate, grimacing when she didn’t hold her fork right, when she forgot to put her napkin in her lap. Often he grimaced and she didn’t know why. She had no knowledge of proper table manners, although she tried to emulate the others at table. She wished she knew how a proper lady was supposed to behave.

      Even if she had, it didn’t solve the problem of the dress. She didn’t have one that wouldn’t disgrace him. So she wouldn’t be able to go with him, after all. And it felt as if her heart would surely break.

      Chapter Three

      Andrew’s handwriting was atrocious, Noelle thought as she sat before the Remington typewriter at the big oak desk in the study, trying to make out the scrawls on pieces of paper as she typed up his brick orders. She was still slow, but at least her work was professional-looking. Her spelling skills were adequate, and actually much better than Andrew’s, she mused.

      She was peering down at the pad and didn’t notice the door open until she heard the knock of Jared’s walking stick against it.

      She looked up, startled. “Hello,” she said shyly.

      He moved into the room, leaving the door open. “What are you doing?”

      “Andrew’s orders needed typing up, and he was going to be out this evening,” she said, with a faint smile.

      He didn’t smile back. “And I thought slave labor had been outlawed,” he drawled.

      She stiffened in her chair, looking as starchy as her high ruffled collar. “I most certainly am not slave labor,” she said haughtily. “I’m doing Andrew a favor, that’s all.”

      “How often do you do this favor for him?”

      Every other night, but she wasn’t telling him that! “It’s little enough to do, since I’m not paying room and board.”

      He leaned heavily on the stick. “You aren’t naive enough to think my stepbrother pays the bills?” he taunted.

      She flushed to her hairline. It embarrassed her that she was living on Jared’s charity. And certainly she wasn’t doing his typing.

      Her scarlet blush made him feel guilty. His lean hand shifted against the cane. “That wasn’t kind of me, was it?” he asked. “You earn your crust of bread.”

      She brightened. “Thank you. I could…type for you, when you open your office, if you like,” she offered.

      His eyebrows levered up. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. He would have an office, surely, but in New York, he and Alistair had employed a male secretary. He wasn’t certain that it was quite respectable to offer the job to Noelle. Or that he’d want her that close.

      “We can discuss that some other time,” he said. He moved toward the desk, so that he could see her handiwork on the white sheet of paper. He took out his glasses case and perched his reading glasses on his nose. He leaned forward and frowned. “You’re very accurate,” he said.

      She hadn’t seen him in his glasses before. They seemed to emphasize all his vulnerabilities. They softened her toward him even more. “You sound surprised that I can spell,” she said, with an impish grin.

      “So it seems.” He reached down to pick up one of the forms, his arm brushing her shoulder. She stiffened, and his eyes narrowed. He didn’t like her reaction. “Are you afraid that I might contaminate you with my touch?” he asked. His smile was mocking as he met her startled green eyes. “My taste runs to women, not to little girls playing dress up.”

      She was flustered. “Such a thought never crossed my mind,” she exclaimed breathlessly.

      “Not even with Andrew?” he taunted.

      “Andrew is different,” she said. He rattled her. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “He’s young and—and brave and kind. He’s very kind,” she repeated.

      “Oh, certainly. He’s everything I’m not,” he said dryly, and took off his reading glasses with a quick, efficient movement of his hands.

      “I didn’t say that.”

      “You meant it.” He leaned heavily on the cane, his eyes biting into her averted face. It irritated him that she didn’t think of him in the same category as Andrew. He could remember women looking at him with fascination, awe, even fear. But Noelle was the first to see him with eyes of pity. He’d noticed it even more when he’d had on his glasses. He wondered if she’d pity the man he really was as much as she pitied the distorted persona.

      She shifted delicately away from contact with his long legs. “You’re a good deal older than I am,” СКАЧАТЬ