And he’d better damned well stop thinking such thoughts or he’d embarrass himself in the middle of Saint James’s Street. The poor darling spy was looking apoplectic, and he wondered what kind of excuse she was going to come up with for her delightfully shocking word. So far she’d been absolutely silent.
She took a deep, audible breath. “I do beg your pardon, my lord. I can only cite the extremity of the circumstance that caused me to utter such an inappropriate word. I’d almost been killed, and I was overwrought.”
“You only said it when you saw it was me, Mrs. Greaves,” he pointed out gently.
There was a faint stain of color on her cheeks. “Delayed reaction,” she said firmly. “As for where I heard the word, I must assure you that I haven’t lived a rarified life, and during my work with tradesmen and such I’ve heard any number of words, including some even you might not know. But it was unforgivable of me to have uttered it.”
He tucked her arm under his, not without a small fight on her part, and began steering her down the street once more. They were attracting a great deal of attention, and if it got back to Cecily she could make life miserable indeed for her housekeeper. “First,” he said, “it wasn’t unforgivable. I’m the only one who was the recipient of it, and I forgive you.”
She was regaining her amour propre, and she made the most quiet noise of derision possible. Damn, he liked this woman. “Secondly,” he continued, “I sincerely doubt you know any naughty words that I don’t. We can have a contest over dinner tonight, but it probably wouldn’t do to try it in the street. Someone might overhear and get the wrong idea.”
She gave a small tug, but he held her fast. “Don’t bother,” he murmured. “I’m not going to risk you taking a tumble beneath a carriage again. They drive much too fast down Saint James’s Street, and I’d rather not end up beneath the wheels of a coach while trying to rescue you.”
She gave up fighting, and he was almost sorry. Until he looked into her dark blue eyes and saw the fury she was trying to hide. “I wouldn’t think of bothering you, my lord. I’m certain you have a great many important things to do and you can hardly waste time shepherding a clumsy housekeeper through the streets of London.”
“It’s odd,” he mused, “but you never struck me as particularly clumsy. In fact, you have a certain delicious grace about you, the way you move, the way you scowl at me.”
She rose to the bait like a sun-dappled fish. “I don’t scowl!”
“You do, particularly when you think I’m not looking. The problem with that, my dear Miss Greaves, is that I always find myself looking at you.”
He could feel the tension in her arm, the way she tried to hold herself away from him. He could feel the slight tremor that washed over her at his words. So she wasn’t immune to him.
Then again, he already knew that. He knew women well enough to read the signs that they usually didn’t bother to hide. The faint wash of color, the sudden intake of breath, the heat of their bodies, even their scent. But Bryony Greaves wasn’t like those women, none of them, not the cheerful, inventive whores or the randy duchesses. He’d had a great many women, both before and after his disastrous marriage. He was a man of strong appetites, and carnality was simply a part of him.
He doubted his deceptive, innocent housekeeper had ever had a carnal thought in her life. At least, not until she met him.
“Mrs. Greaves,” she corrected in a frosty tone. “And you didn’t answer my question. Don’t you have more important things to do than find yourself consorting with a servant in the middle of Mayfair?”
“Is that what we’re doing? Consorting? Would that make you my consort? The idea has a certain appeal. I wonder if the Queen would approve of having both a wife and a consort.”
“You know perfectly well what I meant,” she snapped, all attempts at servility vanishing. “Even if you don’t have anything to do, I am not similarly blessed. Now if you will please excuse me, your lordship.” It was a good push this time, but he’d felt her muscles tense a moment before she shoved, and he simply tightened his grip.
“You’re on your way to Mr. Peach, the draper, to choose new coverings for my room, and it seemed only logical that I accompany you. I wouldn’t want to end up with poison green walls, and I imagine when you think of me the thought of poison dances longingly through your head.”
“How well you know me in such a short time.”
“I’m very discerning.” He was having the best time he could remember in years. She was such a delicious, contrary little bundle, and in truth, he wanted nothing more than to lead her into an alley, slam her up against a wall, and take her, hard and fast, breathless completion for both of them until they returned home to continue their mutual exploration in leisure.
That would have to remain a fond fantasy. For one thing he knew damned well she was a virgin, and you didn’t introduce a novice to the art of making love by hard and fast and semipublic. And she wasn’t ready to fall. She was at that delicious point where she didn’t know which end was up. She despised him, yet she trembled at his touch, and her eyes grew heavy as she watched him, and maybe the alley wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
“You’re woolgathering,” she said sharply. “You’re the one more likely to steer us both in the path of a carriage. Why don’t you return home or retire to your club or something while I deal with the draper? I promise I won’t put up anything worse than what’s already there.”
“You couldn’t find anything worse.” He steered her around the corner to the equally crowded Piccadilly. “And I find I have a sudden interest in what my bed contains.”
He thought he heard a low snarl coming from somewhere inside that horrible dress. She had her head down, trying to hide her face, and he took pity on her. “My dear Mrs. Greaves, you needn’t worry about anyone jumping to the wrong conclusion about my escort. You look like an ancient crone in that shapeless dress and oversize bonnet. People will simply assume I’m being a gentleman for once, and mistake you for an indigent relation.” His eyes narrowed. “In fact, that’s what that dress looks like. Not the sort of dress worn by housekeepers and their ilk, but more like a well-brought-up young lady in penurious circumstances, forced to earn her living catering to the insidious likes of me.”
“Bugger,” she said succinctly, deliberately. “That’s not a word proper young ladies know.”
“Oh, I don’t think you’re proper at all, Mrs. Greaves.” He made his voice low and caressing, and he could feel another shiver run through her. Delicious. “I think all you need is the right encouragement.”
“All I need is to get to the draper’s, take care of my business, and return to the house. The staff isn’t used to behaving like proper servants, and I need to keep an eye on them. In another month it should be so ingrained that it’ll be second nature to them.?
??
“Are you planning to leave us in a month?”
To his surprise she colored. “Of course not!”