The Scandalous Diary of Lily Layton

Lily flushed. Of course, no one would think it odd a man and his servant had been alone for several minutes. Clearly, it did not even occur to him that people might wonder if they had been improper. “People may still comment,” she warned.

“I do not dally with workers in my household.”

She gasped and shot him a glare. “I did not ask.”

“Ah, I knew what you were thinking. Your eyes are very expressive,” he said with a slight frown, as if he were uncomfortable with his assessment.

“And if I weren’t part of your household?”

They both froze at her uncensored and improper question. “Forgive me, my lord, I overstepped.”

He captured her gaze, and in his eyes, she spied a challenge. “There is nothing to apologize for, Mrs. Layton. I appreciate candor in a woman.”

“Even if she is only a servant?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

He considered her for an infinite amount of time, as if she were a perplexing puzzle he was trying to piece together. She dearly wished he wasn’t considering answering. It would be too humiliating to listen to his gentle explanations of why he would never have looked at her even if he had encountered her elsewhere. Lily was already aware of the numerous reasons—she was too plump, she had no connections, nor anything particular to recommend her, and she was barren. Dear God, what had possessed her to be so silly with her tongue?

She glared at the slashing rain, which seemed as if it had no intention of relenting soon. She needed to be away from the marquess. She could not dismiss him from any part of her awareness.

“You are a frightfully attractive woman.”

She swiveled around at that proclamation. “I… Empty flattery is not needed. I will not wilt away if you are honest.”

He chuckled ruefully. “If you knew some of the thoughts I’ve had of you, Mrs. Layton, I believe you would happily leave my mother’s employ.”

She stared at him in mute delight. Lily had longed to be admired by a man who saw her in the light of day. If her mysterious lover were to see her now, it didn’t correspond that he would still want her. It was a truth she had not dared whisper to herself until now. “Such as?”

“Nothing fit for the ears of a lady such as yourself.”

She scowled. “I’m not a prude.”

“You are the widow of a vicar.”

“And does that mean I am not a woman?”

He dealt her an arrested stare, then Ambrose lifted a brow in challenge. “Are you implying that you have hidden depths?”

A decidedly charged tension permeated the air. She wet her lips. “Most assuredly,” she drawled, trying to affect a nonchalant and worldly mien.

He stood with fluid grace and prowled over to her, his eyes stripping her where she sat. Lily fancied he could see the wanton desires in her soul. The marquess peered down at her, a thousand questions in his eyes.

“How deep?”

His tone was more curious than anything else, and she prayed she wasn’t blushing.

“I…I slept without a nightgown last night,” she said, not wanting to admit to him the far more scandalous thing she had done with her stranger.

Disappointment flashed in his eyes and his shoulders relaxed. “How scandalous.”

His mocking drawl had her narrowing her eyes. “I suppose sleeping in the nude is common to a man such as yourself?”

“I daresay it is common among at least half the ton, but of course the wife of a vicar would think her naked backside against a silken sheet was appalling.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face and moved away, but she heard his muttered curse, which was much filthier than what she had been thinking.