“Which side are you on?” she asked softly.
“Benies. Father took me there solely so I could compare. It vexes him that I came to what he erroneously considers the wrong conclusion. Though, what I did not share with him was that I liked Benies on the whole better than anywhere else at the time, because I was fifteen years of age. And thus, I was thinking with only one part of my anatomy, and Beniesienne women have no issue exposing a grand expanse of décolletage.”
She smiled a small smile at him.
He took her hand, drew her nearer, and watched his gloved fingers fiddle with her own.
“We are all we had. Father made it so we made the most of it.”
“I know something about that,” she whispered.
Good gods.
She did.
He lifted his gaze to her.
“You can kiss me now, my lord,” she said.
Thank the gods.
He did.
He was drowning in her by the time the carriage stopped, and as he lifted his head, he saw she was the same.
She was desirable always.
Dazed by the desire he wrought on her, it was nearly impossible to resist.
“I think we should tell our driver to take a turn around the city,” she suggested.
“I think I do not wish to have you for the first time on a bench seat in a carriage with the curtains closed so it will not only be uncomfortable, but it will also be hard to see you,” he returned.
She frowned.
He touched his mouth to hers.
Her footman opened the door.
She was out, forgetting her hat, so it was he who carried it inside.
She was grinning at him, turned to look over her shoulder as she walked through the vestibule, hands lifted to the sides of her head and twirling, all while she teased, “I envision feathers and bows and streams and streams of tule flowing from my wedding hat.”
As a reply, Loren tossed the one he carried into the sitting room.
She laughed.
“Satrine, baby! Is that you?” her mother’s voice came from down the hall, and it struck Loren, never in his life had he heard a lady shout.
There was something… particular about that.
These women—both of them—were glorious and graceful, and yet artless.
It was astonishingly refreshing.
“Yes, Mom,” she called back.
“Come here, will you?”
She reached out a hand to Loren, he took it, and they walked to where the voice came from.
Her father’s study.
They stopped just inside, in unison, because they both, at the same time, were hit with all they were seeing.
Loren’s father stood at her back, just to the side, while Corliss sat at the desk, neck deep in ledgers.
Maxine was curled into a couch at one side of the room, watching the proceedings, a finger twisting in her hair, though not with nerves. Her mother was near, therefore she seemed quite content.
And what appeared to be the entire household staff (sans a groom and footman) stood at attention in a line across the other side of the room.
Corliss lifted her head when they entered and asked, “How did it go?”
“It went.”
Loren reported more fully, and he did this to his father. “Multiple charges. Abduction. Abuse. Extortion. Coercion. The magistrate is ruminating on bail, but the inspector says, considering Tor’s recent rulings on this kind of behavior for his nobles, it’s doubtful he’ll see light before his trial, and definitely not for some time after it.”
“Marvelous,” Ansley replied.
“Moving on!” Corliss declared, her gaze still on her daughter. She then stated, “Honey, did you know we’re rich?”
“Mom—”
“Like, filthy, stinking rich. Ansley says so.”
There seemed a curious warning note to Satrine’s next, “Mom.”
“So obviously, until he can get word to the bank to close his accounts to me, things need to be sorted. Ansley sent someone to check, and Edgar hasn’t had a chance to do anything yet. We’re still good. I’m withdrawing a chunk of change. Ansley says he has a safe and can keep the cash there for us. So no matter what, we’ll have that.”
Her hand still in his, Satrine took a step forward and tried yet again.
“Mom.”
But she’d lost Corliss’s attention.
“Carling,” she called.
Carling stepped forward and snapped his spine so straight, Loren felt a twinge in his own.
“Right here, my lady,” he stated the obvious.
“His grace has gone over the books with me, and he shares you’re woefully underpaid,” Corliss announced.
There was a twittering among the staff, but at a hiss from Carling, they quieted.
“Milady,” was all Carling said to Corliss.
“That will not do.” She looked down at the ledgers, then back to Carling. “I’m giving you all a one-hundred-pound bonus for your loyalty.”
No hiss was going to stop the twittering that caused.
“And the duke counsels me that you’re all paid at least fifteen percent less than the going rate for your positions. Each of you will be brought to the upper grade for your salaries. And I’ll be adding an extra ten percent to that.”