“I’m giving you amusement.”
“There’ll soon come a time when that’s not enough.”
“Spoken like a true male. Why, then, am I disappointed? Perhaps it’s time for me to move on, since my true value—that is, getting you Wentworth—has proven not such a great asset since I’m not going to speak to Sir Roderick and risk my neck for anyone.”
He sobered a moment, then laughed again, though less convincingly. “I never pretended to be better than I am. Perhaps I’ll just call in that kiss you promised, especially if I’m likely to find you gone in the morning and nothing more on offer, given our last conversation.” He pulled her back into his embrace, murmuring with his face inches from hers before he kissed her, “See if I can persuade you to stay.”
She was easy to win over, she knew. The touch of his lips upon hers, the sensation wrought by his fingertips upon her heated flesh was incendiary. She had no shame or compunction in surrendering to the moment, albeit briefly. She’d had little enough warmth and affection in her life.
But they were in the parlor. Mrs Withins was quite likely to enter without knocking, and Phoebe was not going to compromise herself to such a degree.
“By God Phoebe, but you know how to send a man wild with wanting,” he ground out as he kissed her neck.
“I’d…best place a chair against the bedchamber door tonight then, sir.” Phoebe tried to make her breathing soundless as she watched Mr Redding gazing at her with a mixture of desire and frustration after they’d broken apart. She was aware she was nearly at the point of doing something unwise, and her head spun as she gripped the table ledge for balance. She must ensure he did not notice her discomposure. Let him think she held all the cards. The moment he realized the extent of her attraction toward him, then her power was heavily diluted.
She cocked her head in the direction of the passage, smiling brightly as Mrs Withins entered the room. “Ah, perfect timing, Mrs Withins, as I needed someone to admire my new gown. Do you like it?”
She cast an impish look at Mr Redding and saw that he appeared as breathless as Mrs Withins though did not have the excuse of having climbed a set of stairs.
“That’s a gown fer a lady, and though it mightn’t be me place ter say it, reckon people are goin’ ter wonder ‘ow ye came by such a thing, Phoebe,” she muttered, swinging around to present her with her back and to ask her master, “I take it ye’ll be dinin’ alone this evenin’, sir?”
Mr Redding looked past the red-faced retainer and licked his lips as he contemplated Phoebe.
“There’s been a dearth of ladies’ company to enjoy, Mrs Withins, and as you rightly point out, young Phoebe here is doing a fine job of pretending the role and now even looks the part. I think I might indulge her just this once and see if she knows how to hold a knife and fork. I suspect her deficiencies might mock her if I put her through her paces.”
Mrs Withins gave a short nod. “Aye, well, if ye want entertainment, I’m sure Phoebe don’t ‘ave any scruples that’ll get in the way, sir.”
Phoebe gasped as she positioned herself in front of the rude servant. “I demand an apology this instant!” she said in her most cultured accent. “Mr Redding?” she entreated when no apology was forthcoming.
Mr Redding shrugged his shoulders as he sent her a look of shame. “I rely on Mrs Withins to feed me and keep me in comfort, Phoebe. I wouldn’t dare. As for you, I’ve funded a new dress with nothing in return.”
At least he made this point clear to his housekeeper, thought Phoebe, though the housekeeper looked skeptical. To push it home, Phoebe added, “Yes, you rescued me, and I’m grateful. I shall have to consider what recompense is appropriate.”
Mrs Withins put her apron up to her face. “What a den of vice the good miller’s house ‘as become. If I ‘ad anywhere else ter go I’d be packin’ me bags on the instant. In fact, it mayhap’ll come ter that if that baggage ain’t gone soon!” she added with a baleful look at Phoebe.
Phoebe watched her scurry out of the room, transferring her despairing look from Mrs Withins’s departing back to Mr Redding’s amused face.
“Well, you made your intentions very clear to the servants, didn’t you, Phoebe, promising me I’ll soon get what I want in return for your fancy finery.”
“She thinks I’ve already bartered my soul for a new gown.” Phoebe shrugged. “Perhaps I have.”
9
“I have nowhere to go, Mr Redding. Certainly not while Mr Wentworth is on his murderous rampage.” Phoebe took a sip of the wine which a mutinous Mrs Withins had been prevailed upon to serve Phoebe at the dinner table. “But this afternoon, I’ve come upon a plan.”
“I imagine you’d always have a plan, Phoebe. And another plan in case the first one failed.” Mr Redding raised one eyebrow, but Phoebe could see he was intrigued. Intrigued by her or intrigued by her potential plan? Preferably both. Phoebe needed some security to know he was not going to suddenly evict her or, if he chose to take a more gentlemanly approach, deposit her in the village she professed to come from.
“Pray, do not keep me in suspense.”
“I know things about Mr Wentworth that my mistress told me and which I believe the magistrate—no, the government—would be interested to know about.”
“Why didn’t you say?”
The truth was, Phoebe had been dismayed by her lack of knowledge regarding anything along these lines, though she’d trawled through her memory in case Wentworth had mentioned anything that might constitute felony.
Mr Redding needn’t know this though. He just needed to think she knew enough to be useful, so he’d keep her safe until she’d somehow come upon a solution to her terrible conundrum as to where she could possibly go when she had no money and only one dress.
When Phoebe glanced up, however, she saw though that his look was not nearly as interested as before. He snorted.