Page 3 of Courting Claudia
“I see. It appears to me that no part of your position with this paper is appropriate. I find life is vastly more rewarding if you live your life as you like it rather than by what Society deems appropriate.”
Her eyes widened and her mouth formed a tiny O. “You must live a daring life, Mr. Middleton,” she said, her voice breathy. “A very exciting existence. If only I were so fortunate.”
He could certainly show her a more exciting life. And he’d start with peeling off that silly hat so he could see what her hair looked like. Then he’d probably want to kiss that silly little mouth of hers to see if she would make that ooh noise again. The muscles across his abdomen tightened.
This was ridiculous. “So when is it that you are getting married?” he asked to get the conversation back on track.
“I’m not sure.”
“You haven’t set a wedding date?”
“Oh, I’m not betrothed as of yet.”
As refreshing as he found her, she sent his mind spinning with her haphazard logic. “I think I’m confused again.”
“My father insists that I marry soon, and I thought now would be as good a time as any to resign, so that I could focus on securing a husband.”
“I see.” No, he really didn’t see at all. Perhaps Miss Prattley was mad—stark, raving mad. That seemed less likely considering she hadn’t screamed maniacally or set fire to anything. Perhaps this was just a ploy.
“Why exactly did you come all the way down here to resign when up until now our working relationship has been handled strictly through post?” Derrick asked.
“I thought about mailing you the letter, but since I am retracting a promise, I wanted to do so in person. To apologize for inconveniencing you.”
“Miss Prattley, I’m prepared to offer you more money. Your illustrations are important to my paper, and I am used to getting what I want. Name your price.”
“Are you quite serious?” she asked.
“I don’t joke about money.”
She eyed him for a moment. “I’m flattered, sir, but honestly, it isn’t money I seek. I really must marry. I shall finish up my last assignment to give you enough time to find a replacement.” She stood to leave. “Thank you again for your time.”
He caught up with her and placed his hand on her arm. “I do wish you’d reconsider, Miss Prattley.”
Her eyes fell to where his hand lay, making him all too aware of the impropriety of such a gesture. He pulled back.
“As much as I wish I could reconsider, I simply cannot. Please know that it has been a pleasure working for you, an experience I won’t quickly forget.”
With that, she exited his office. His day had gotten worse. The Society Fashion Report had become a most desired portion of his newspaper. What awful luck: just when he’d discovered a way to get his paper into the homes of the aristocracy, his best illustrator resigned. Miss Prattley’s drawings far exceeded those of his other illustrators, delineating every detail of ribbons and pleats. Her eye for the specific was incomparable.
Surely he could find a way to convince her to stay on. If not, he’d have to find a replacement, and getting one inside Society would be difficult, if not impossible. And without that inside eye, that section would never be the same.
Damnation!
Claudia climbed into the carriage and released the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. Gracious. Poppy had said she’d heard that Mr. Middleton was a dashing man. But good heavens. Dashing—that word seemed lackluster now that she’d met him. His presence was nothing short of mesmerizing.
Honestly. Thank goodness no one could hear her thoughts lest they think her straight from the schoolroom. Mr. Middleton was certainly handsome, sinfully handsome, but she had seen handsome men before.
Then again, his looks went beyond handsome. He wore his dark brown hair too long and had to keep pushing it out of his face. It gave him the look of a privateer. No, he would definitely be a pirate, not a privateer. His smile was easy, yet not one of great humor but more of secretive amusement—as if he alone knew the surprise of the joke.
But it was his eyes, Claudia decided, that made him so dashing. So brown they appeared black, framed with arching eyebrows that reflected his intelligence. Unlike most gentlemen, he had looked at her, really looked at her, eye to eye. Not terribly well-mannered, considering they had just met, but necessary under the circumstances. And it made her feel alive, noticed, important. As if he’d really seen her.
Feelings that no strange man should ever evoke in a lady. Gracious. More than his dashing good looks, everything about Mr. Middleton overwhelmed her. She had expected him to be furious at her deception and to refuse to pay her for her last assignment. But he’d scarcely blinked when he’d come to the realization that he’d hired a woman. Then he’d gone several steps further and praised her work and offered her more money.
It was ludicrous. Unheard of. Women were hired for factory jobs, not professional positions with newspapers. But he’d been quite serious. Name her price—as if her skill was something extraordinary and worthy.
Well, even if that were true, and she doubted it, she couldn’t continue her employment. But oh, was it tempting. In her life she couldn’t remember anything she loved more than illustrating. While she was quite accomplished with watercolors, illustrating was her true passion.
If only she could figure out a way to continue working. She’d managed to keep her secret for six months, but now that her father read the paper, too much was at risk.