A Matchmaking Mismatch (Romance Retold #3)

Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

R uth read the note brought around to the townhouse in Upper Brook Street on Saturday with a gush of nerves. Lord Oxley had returned, and he wished to meet as soon as Ruth was available—that very evening if possible.

The thought of spending the evening with him made her heart knock about—something she was certain owed only to the very novel prospect of being alone with a gentleman in his home at such a time of day. She would have felt the same way no matter the identity of the gentleman in question. Her silly attraction to Lord Oxley in those brief moments when she had seen his face had been a ridiculous reaction. It had only taken a few days for her to come to that conclusion. Of course he was more attractive through clear vision than he had been as the nebulous blob she had seen through Topher’s glasses.

But when she arrived in Brook Street that evening, the sight of the viscount was enough to make her knees wobble—enough that she glanced down at them to ensure the sensation wasn’t visible. Dresses could hide shaking knees in a way pantaloons could not.

Through her new spectacles, Ruth had seen dozens of men walking and riding about Town over the past few days, and there was simply no denying it: none could compare to Lord Oxley—the viscount who believed she was a man. Who believed she was the man who would help him win over Miss Devenish.

And it all made perfect sense. In physical beauty, wealth, and status, Lord Oxley and Miss Devenish were equals. If any two people were meant for each other, surely it was them.

It should make Ruth’s work easy enough. Theoretically.

Lord Oxley smiled widely upon her entrance, and her heart stuttered slightly at the welcome sight. He wore no coat over his broad, muscular shoulders, and his hair was slightly disheveled, a lock draping across his forehead. His brows went up as he rose from his seat in the drawing room. “What in heaven’s name are those?” He strode over and narrowed his eyes, inspecting Ruth’s face so shamelessly that she blushed.

“What, are these meant to intimidate me?” He touched the rim of her glasses, and she pulled back, afraid he might remove them.

She took one step back, reining in her reaction. “ Do they intimidate you?”

He chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. “No, I am afraid they do not. They remind me too much of a panda. Perhaps you should change your name. Do pandas mate for life?”

“Pandas?”

“Yes. Exotic creatures that live in the Orient? They look much like bears but with white faces and large, black circles around their eyes.” He nodded to indicate her. “Much like you.”

She wasn’t sure how she felt about being likened to a beast. She was still trying to come to terms with looking like a man. “And you look like a…a…”

“Greek god?” he suggested, though his mouth trembled.

She pursed her lips, annoyed that his playful suggestion was near the truth. “No,” she said flatly. “But if you insist on Greek mythology, Narcissus seems an apt choice.”

He grinned. “What happened to the other spectacles?”

“They were giving me headaches,” she answered honestly.

Oxley gripped her by the shoulder and ushered her toward the small fire in the grate. “I am glad you are here. I admit I had worried you might have thought better of your decision to stay in Town. I am happy to be wrong.” With a smile, he indicated a large chair by the fire for her to sit in.

Fiend take that dashing smile! Perhaps she should have brought Topher’s glasses, after all. A continuous headache might be worth regaining the fuzzy Lord Oxley rather than this clear view of him.

She gave herself a mental slap. This was the man who was paying her two hundred pounds to help him win over another woman. He was a man who knew what he wanted. And he wanted Miss Devenish.

“Always happy to prove you wrong, my lord,” Ruth said genially.

Lord Oxley looked at her with a raised brow as she took her seat. “I thought I told you to call me Oxley.”

“You did,” Ruth acknowledged, reveling in the softness of the chair. “But you failed to mention that I should be calling you Lord Oxley. All this time my colleague and I had been referring to you as Mr. O. ”

He chuckled. “Well, that was by design. I hadn’t any idea how discreet you were when I was corresponding with you. And once I met you, it seemed silly to stand upon ceremony. Besides, I did tell you I was titled, didn’t I? And paid you a half sovereign for the honesty. But I do like Mr. O . I certainly prefer it to sir or my lord . Brandy?”

Ruth shook her head, fumbling for an excuse. “No, thank you. It is my policy when meeting with clients to keep a clear head on my shoulders.” Oxley was regarding him with a slight frown, and Ruth saw that he required more than her flimsy excuse. “While I am sure that my appearance gives every indication that I could drink any man under the table, I am afraid the truth is otherwise.”

Lord Oxley laughed, and Ruth throttled her heart to prevent it from soaring at having elicited such a pleasant sound.

“You may not be able to drink as much as I with your smaller build,” Lord Oxley said, “but I imagine you experience some benefits to make up for it. The lack of need for shaving, for instance?”

Ruth smiled. “Indeed. You would be astounded if you knew how much time and money I save.”

“Ah, yes. Behold me consumed with envy.” More dashing smiles.

“How was your journey home?” she said, steering the conversation to safer avenues.

He disposed of himself lazily in his chair. It was strange to see a gentleman so relaxed in her company. She was accustomed to formality in the company of the opposite sex. But she liked seeing Oxley this way.

“The journey was pleasant enough, though it feels good to stretch my legs after all that time in the coach.”

She had so many questions—where was home? Did he prefer it to Town? What kind of master was he? Perhaps she would learn it all in the next couple of weeks. “Well, I tried to make good use of my time while you were away, and I was fortunate enough to come upon Miss Devenish in the Park the other day.”

Lord Oxley narrowed his eyes at her. “Stolen her from me already with your equation, have you?”

How in the world could Miss Devenish resist that little hint of a smile on his lips? Wealthy viscount or no, the man was charming, and even more so because he wasn’t doing it on purpose. He had no one to impress here. And he apparently thought himself in danger of losing a woman to Ruth. Ah, the irony.

“You have nothing to fear from me there—I promise you.”

Lord Oxley tilted his head to the side. “You were unimpressed by her, then?”

Ruth chose her words carefully. “Not at all. I quite understand why you have set your sights on her. My own tastes are merely different from yours.”

He looked thoughtful. “And if they were not? If you had fallen under Miss Devenish’s spell as so many other men have, would you feel yourself duty-bound to decline helping me any further?”

It was such a nonsensical question, given the truth, that Ruth hardly knew how to answer. “I am quite capable of separating business and personal interests.” It was more of a wish than anything, but it needed to be true, and she was glad for the accountability that saying it provided her. The entire topic was dangerous ground, so she shifted the conversation. “But I did learn some things of interest while speaking with her and Miss Parkham.”

“You spoke with her?” Lord Oxley said, sitting forward and staring at her with wide eyes, as if she had admitted to abducting Miss Devenish.

Ruth shrugged. “Yes. What of it?”

“What of it? It is the very thing I have called upon you to help me with, and yet you say it as if it were the most natural thing in the world—especially given that you’ve never been introduced to her. How did you manage it?”

Ruth was hard pressed not to laugh at the wonder in his eyes. “Without spewing lemon tart on her, thankfully, but it was a near miss.”

Lord Oxley dipped his head and held up his glass. “I felicitate you. You have successfully and irrefutably demonstrated your qualifications as the expert,” he said. “But really? How did you manage to gain an introduction?”

“Through unconventional tactics, I admit. I saw an opportunity and took it. She clearly had no desire to be kept in conversation with the gentleman speaking to her, so I interjected myself on the pretense of knowing Miss Devenish. I wondered if she might not send me on my way, but she was clever enough to play along until the man accepted defeat and left her be.”

Lord Oxley sighed. “She has a number of determined suitors.”

“That is good news, I think.”

He raised his brows incredulously.

“Miss Devenish seemed not to relish this man’s attentions at all, and if he continues to be assiduous in them, it may provide you with the opportunity to be cast in the role of deliverer.”

Lord Oxley stared at her. “You are far too wise for someone of twenty.”

She smiled. “I discovered another piece of useful information: Miss Devenish plans to put off her mourning in time for the Walthams’ masquerade, whatever and whenever that is.”

Philip blinked. “You are a wealth of information. The ball is in two and a half weeks. Did she give a reason?”

“Apparently it was inspired by the fact that mourning is inhibiting her ability to pursue further acquaintance with a gentleman.” Ruth wagged her eyebrows.

His jaw shifted thoughtfully. “Will you stay until the ball, then?”

Two and a half more weeks. With Oxley. For at least two hundred pounds. “If it is what you wish,” she said warily.

He nodded. “It is. But of course I shan’t compel you to stay.” And then he smiled in a way that compelled her.

She took in a breath. “No compulsion necessary. I shall stay until then. I thought tomorrow at church might be a good opportunity for you to put into practice some of the things we discussed earlier this week.”

Lord Oxley sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees and swirling the liquid in his glass. “That means attending at St. James’s.” He grimaced. “Very well. At least there is no threat of lemon tart.” His words were humorous, but by the way he didn’t meet her gaze, she suspected that he felt less confident than he sounded.

“No, indeed. And it is a chance for you to heed the advice I gave you on asking questions and listening. You can ask her opinion on the sermon, for example, and then employ the eighty-twenty rule we touched on.”

She watched him grow more tense. What in the world had happened to make the man so ill-at-ease in front of women? He had every reason to walk into a room and approach any woman present with full confidence, and yet he was a bundle of nerves at the mere mention of asking something as harmless as an opinion on the church service.

For some unaccountable reason, it made Ruth like him all the more. She had always thought confidence the key ingredient in winning a woman over—the thing that could overcome deficiencies in wealth or appearance or even status. But as she looked at Lord Oxley, his lack of it only drew her to him. She wanted to understand it—to understand him.

“You are nervous,” she said.

He set his glass down on the table next to him and ran his hands down the legs of his pantaloons. “I told you. I am always nervous in the presence of Miss Devenish.”

“Why?”

He threw up his hands in the air helplessly. “I don’t know how to act, I suppose.”

“Why act at all?” Ruth said. “I imagine that, if Miss Devenish could see you here, talking with me as you have been for the last quarter of an hour, she would like you very well indeed.”

“But this is entirely different.”

“Is it?” What would he say to know that he had been speaking to a woman this entire time with no awkwardness whatsoever? She wished she could tell him—perhaps it would increase his confidence. But it would also destroy his trust in her—and any chance of receiving the two hundred pounds her family so desperately needed. Or, heaven willing, three hundred.

“Certainly it is. I don’t even need to think to carry a conversation with you. It is completely natural.” He sighed. “It is different with Miss Devenish. And with women in general.”

It was foolish to feel hurt by a man saying it was easy to converse with her. It should have been a compliment. And yet it stung.

“You needn’t change yourself merely because you are in the presence of a woman. Talk to her as you have to me. Remember what I said about forgetting yourself and focusing on her.” Ruth sat forward so that their faces were on the same level and looked him intently in the eye.

Good gracious heavens, as Lucy would say. He was close enough that she could see the light sprinkling of freckles across his nose. Close enough that she could smell the brandy—whether in his glass or on his breath, she didn’t know, but she knew an impulse to get nearer to determine which it was.

She clenched her jaw. It was time to focus. “This is where the blessed combination of asking questions and abiding by the eighty-twenty rule comes in. The more questions you ask of her and the more you listen carefully to her answers, the less you will need to scramble for conversation. I am not here to teach you how to become a different person to appeal to Miss Devenish. I am here to help you break down the barriers both you and Miss Devenish have constructed—whether consciously or not—to recognizing the best in one another.”

He swallowed and nodded. “And if I still manage to sabotage things tomorrow at church?”

“Then we get up and try again the next day.”

He let out a large breath laced with brandy then shot her a significant look. “You are coming with me, of course.”

“That I am most certainly not.” Ruth sat back.

“Why not?”

“Have you need of a nursemaid to hold your hand throughout the ordeal, then?”

Lord Oxley seemed to consider that. “Perhaps it is just what I need.”

Ruth laughed, heart fluttering briefly at the thought of holding his hand. “You had better spit an entire batch of lemon tarts at Miss Devenish than do that.”

Something much like a snort escaped Lord Oxley. “I shall never live that down, shall I? Besides, it was not a batch of lemon tart. It was a mere…morsel.”

“How very appetizing you make it sound.” Ruth stood up and took a book from the nearby shelf. “Whatever it was, I am not coming to church with you.” The last thing she needed was to spend more time with Lord Oxley than was absolutely necessary.

“Three hundred and twenty-five pounds.”

Her head snapped up.

Lord Oxley was smiling mischievously.

“For heaven’s sake, no!” Ruth snapped the book shut. “Besides being insufferable, you are utterly incorrigible.”

His eyebrow went up. “Three hundred and fifty, then?”

She drew her lips into a thin line. “You would bribe me to go to church?”

“No,” he said, feigning deep offense. “I am paying you to be on hand for any emergencies that might crop up.” He put a hand over his heart and closed his eyes. “I rely upon you to help save me from myself.”

“I thought you wished to be discreet.”

“And I do.”

“Then it can hardly be conducive to that goal to appear at church with the Swan.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Do others in Town know of your work as the Swan?”

She shook her head.

He looked relieved and gave a shrug. “Then there is no danger of it. You come as my friend Henry Ruth, and no one need know how we became acquainted.”

She held his gaze. He made it sound so simple. But there was nothing simple at all about this game she was playing.

He put his hands palm to palm, looking at her with a pair of pleading eyes that obliterated any resolve she had remaining.

“Fine,” she said in amused annoyance. “I will go with you. And I shall bring my”—she caught herself—“my colleague too. But only if you stop attempting to pay me more. I want none of your sacrilegious bribes. We agreed upon two hundred for my assistance, three hundred if you find success.”

Lord Oxley inclined his head penitently. “A small price indeed to save a pathetic, helpless man like myself.”

Ruth was beginning to wonder whether she might be the one who needed saving when all was said and done.