Making sure none of her thoughts showed on her face, she gave a nod. “Very good. Please inform Cook to prepare a tray and have it taken up.”
“I already stopped in the kitchen. Mrs. Tremble is toasting bread and poaching eggs right now. His lordship said he wants to take his meal in his study. Then he asked particularly for you.”
A drop of black ink splattered across the white menu, ruining the careful writing on its surface. “For me?”
“Yes, ma’am. Said he wants a full board and for you to bring it to him.”
She tried to speak past the painful lump in her throat. Instead, all she could do was nod and pray Jasper understood that he could now withdraw.
Clearly taking her meaning, he stepped back and closed the door behind him.
The instant he departed, Sebastianne slumped back into her chair, a fine tremor radiating over her skin.
Zut alors, she thought. Drake remembers!
Exactly what he remembered, however, remained to be seen.
Reaching the ground floor, Drake paused to rub his fingers over his eyes, massaging the faint headache that lingered just behind them. He ought to have taken breakfast in his rooms, he supposed, exactly as Waxman suggested. But he had matters to which he wished to attend, and, frankly, his valet’s concerned hovering had been driving him mad.
“Good morning, your lordship,” Stowe said, looking up from where he stood polishing the brass decoration on the front door. “I trust you had a good night?”
Good didn’t begin to describe the night he’d just had, but he wasn’t about to share all the unexpected details with his butler.
“It was . . . tolerable,” Drake said, deciding that was an innocuous enough answer. His head throbbed briefly, reminding him of the first of the important issues to which he wished to attend. “Stowe, if you’ve a minute, would you come into my study?”
The older man paused, then set down his polishing cloth. “Of course, your lordship.”
Without waiting a moment more, Drake strode into the room and went across to his desk. Feeling far wearier than he ought considering what time he’d gone to sleep last night, he sank into his desk chair. Stowe followed, coming to a halt on the opposite side of Drake’s desk. Quietly, the servant waited.
“I had a glass of port last night. Where did you obtain the vintage?”
Stowe’s brows rose upward. “Berry Brothers, as usual, my lord.”
Berry Brothers was a highly reputable establishment with an impeccable reputation. As wine and spirits purveyors to the Regent himself, they were above reproach. Still, there had been an odd flavor to the wine last night. Perhaps it had simply gone off, then again . . .
“Have you noticed any problems with the wine lately?” Drake asked.
“No, my lord. Is there is a problem? If so, I shall certainly say as much to Mr. Berry himself.”
“No no, don’t trouble him over it. I’m sure I am just being particular.”
But even as he said the words, Drake felt certain there had been something wrong with the wine. Was that why he’d grown so extraordinarily sleepy. Had someone tampered with the bottle? He remembered the break-in a few weeks ago. What if the two events were associated somehow? What if the French were trying a new set of tactics? Even so, it made little sense since no one had tried to burgle the house. Mayhap he was merely suffering from a case of paranoia.
Glancing to his side, he looked at the painting on the wall that hid his concealed safe. Everything appeared to be in order. Nevertheless, he would have to check again to make sure, paranoia or no paranoia.
“And the delivery?” Drake continued. “Were there any new men on the route?”
Stowe frowned. “Well, it’s generally the same fellows who do the deliveries, but every once in a while there’s a different man. I’d have to check the date to be certain when those bottles of port were put into the cellar, but even then I couldn’t be certain. Maybe Lyles or Jasper might recall. Shall I inquire?”
“Yes, if you would. We don’t happen to still have last night’s bottle by any chance?” Drake asked.
“No, my lord, I decanted the wine as usual and as I recall that was the last of it. I washed the decanter out myself only last night. Shall I check to see if we have another bottle of the same in the cellar?”
“All right, yes,” Drake agreed slowly. Still, he knew that the other bottles of port would taste exactly as they were supposed to taste—like good-quality wine and nothing else.
Stowe departed soon after.
Once he’d gone, Drake relaxed back in his chair and closed his eyes, the slight ache in his head making itself known once again. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he wondered if he ought to have stayed in bed.
Memories of silken arms and sultry kisses flooded over him, his pulse speeding faster while his shaft hardened with abrupt longing.
And this, he thought wryly, is the reason I could not remain abed. There wouldn’t have been any point, since he wouldn’t have gotten a minute’s sleep—not with Anne on his mind.
Suddenly, he caught a faint hint of violets drifting on the air, and his eyes sprang open.
And there she stood, framed in a warm pool of sunlight that made the red and gold in her hair burn like fire and the fine strands of grey gleam as if they were polished silver. She didn’t meet his eyes, he noticed, her concentration apparently centered on the heavy tray in her hands.
“I’ve come with your breakfast, my lord,” she stated in a businesslike tone, her voice holding none of the passion he’d heard as she’d lain in his arms.
Had it only been last night? Had it really happened as he thought it had? Yes, he was sure of it, despite her calm, efficient demeanor. Still, pieces were missing here and there. At one point he thought they’d had a conversation in his bathing chamber of all places. He couldn’t recall what had been said. And had they started kissing there? He rather thought they had.
She set the tray down on a nearby table, her back turned toward him. “Shall I pour you a cup of tea, your lordship?”
His eyes lowered to her hips and the rounded curve of her bottom. He had a sudden, vivid memory of stroking his hands over that particular span of creamy flesh as he pressed her near.
Clearing his throat, he shifted in his chair. “Yes. That would be most welcome.”
Steam drifted into the air as she prepared his cup, the clink of silver on porcelain as she laid a teaspoon on his saucer cutting across the silence that had fallen in the room.
Tea in hand, she crossed to him. She still did not meet his eyes.
Her grasp remained steady as she placed the cup and saucer on his desk. He waited only long enough for her to draw clear of the hot beverage before he reached out and caught her wrist inside his fingers.
Her gaze flew to his, her eyes a gleaming, burnished gold. Her hand trembled inside his grasp.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” he asked in a curiously composed voice.
“About what, my lord?”
Using the force of his will, he compelled her not to look away. “You know what. Or did I imagine doing a great deal more than touching your wrist last night?”
She trembled again.
“Why were you in my room?” he shot in a near whisper. “How did you come to be in my bed?”
For a long moment she said nothing, then she tugged her hand free.
He let her go, watching as she cradled her wrist in her other hand.
“I-I came to . . . look in on you. You seemed unwell, and I thought I might offer to make you a posset or some such.”
“A posset! In the middle of the night?” He paused, mulling over her words. Abruptly, he frowned. “I didn’t . . . force you?”
Her gaze flew to his again and she shook her head. “No, my lord. You were . . . insistent, but you never did anything I did not wish.”
He relaxed slightly, only then aware of the tension that had been riding him since he’d realized exactly how he’d spent the night. “Still, I suspect I owe you an apology of sorts since I’ve never before taken advantage of a woman in my life, especially a woman in my employ.”
Her shoulders drew straight. “No apologies are required, my lord. Now, you really ought to eat your breakfast before it gets cold. Mrs. Tremble will be most put out if you send back her food untouched.”
She moved to turn away again, but he caught her wrist once more, holding her in place. “Don’t be distressed,” he said. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Hell, I barely know what I mean this morning, everything is so mixed up. As you said, I wasn’t exactly myself last night.”
She tugged against his grasp, but this time he held firm.
Softly, he stroked his thumb over the tender skin inside her wrist in a way that elicited another quiver. “I liked what we did together in my bed. Rather more than liked. I find myself wanting to do it again. Badly.”
Then, before his next words had even fully formed in his brain, he was blurting them out. “Let me take care of you. I’ll give you carte blanche. A house and a carriage, clothes and jewelry, everything you could possibly desire. You’ll have a full staff to command as well, but not as housekeeper this time. Instead, you’ll be mistress, able to come and go as you please.”
He raised her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss onto the warm, fragrant silk of her palm. “And you’ll have me to show you the Town as you’ve only dreamed of seeing it. I’ll take you everywhere, balls and parties and on holiday to a host of magnificent climes. I promise you nothing but pleasure, both in bed and out.”
Sebastianne swayed, heart pounding in her chest, as a sharp longing pierced her like an arrow. He spun tales of a fantastical idyll, promising a life of luxury and excitement. She could almost imagine how it would be, spending her days as a pampered lady and her nights taking wanton pleasure in his arms. In such a fantasy world, she would be free to give her love, and if she were very lucky, find it returned as well.
How wonderful it would be.
“Say yes, Anne,” he whispered. “Tell me you’ll be mine.”
The sound of her false name on his lips shattered her reverie, returning her to reality with the same abrupt shock she would have felt if he’d tossed her into a wintry lake. Her heartbeat slowed to a dull rhythm, the weight of her duty and allegiances rushing back.
She pulled her hand away for a second time. “I may have shared your bed last night, Lord Drake, but that doesn’t mean I wish to become your whore. Besides, I believe you already have a mistress here in Town to see to your needs. I would prefer to keep house for you as your housekeeper, not as your light o’love.”
He said nothing, a new frown creating lines across his handsome forehead. She almost reached out to smooth them away but curled her hand against her skirt instead.
Suddenly, a fresh thought occurred. “Unless you want me to give notice?” she said, a frown gathering on her own brow. “Are you dismissing me?”
What if he demanded that she did leave? Without the cipher, she couldn’t afford to lose her position in his household now. What if sleeping with him had not only cost her her heart but her chance to finish the job that had brought her so far from home as well?
“Of course you are not dismissed,” he said gruffly. “Do you think I would turn you out simply because you refused my carte blanche? What kind of blackguard do you take me for?”
“Drake, I never meant—” she whispered.
“Your employment with me is secure so long as you wish it. And should you harbor any fears concerning a repetition of my advances, you may rest easy. You have made your sentiments plain, in spite of sharing my bed last night. I do not importune women who don’t reciprocate my interest. Now, I believe I will take my breakfast.”
She hesitated, wanting to explain her refusal but knowing she could not. How could she when doing so might expose the real reason for being in his bedchamber last night? She was fortunate he truly had been asleep when she’d copied the key and that he’d accepted her explanation at face value rather than questioning her further.
If he only knew he would be furious.
If he only realized, he would have no qualms about giving her the sack.
Instead, he would likely see her clapped in irons and led off to Newgate. No, it was better she had wounded his pride by her rejection. Better he would stay away.
So why did a wistful part of her wish it were otherwise?
Turning, she crossed to the breakfast tray, preparing to carry the plates to him. Before she could so much as remove the covers, he forestalled her with a wave of one hand.
“Do not trouble yourself over serving me, Mrs. Greenway. I shall see to matters on my own.”
She hesitated again, then linked her hands against her skirts. “As you wish, my lord.”
He didn’t acknowledge her further, her dismissal clear.
Chest aching again, she walked to the door.
Chapter 15
“Did your dog die or something?” Cade asked Drake three evenings later as he and his brother stood together on the balcony at the Pettigrews’ annual ball, each of them puffing idly on cheroots. “You’re as morose as an undertaker.”
Drake tapped a bit of greyish ash, watching the flakes scatter over the hydrangea bushes underneath. “My humor is fine. And as you’re well aware, I do not have a dog.”
“An omission Esme would be only too happy to correct. She believes everyone needs canine and feline companionship,” Cade observed, referring to their little sister, who was a great animal lover and kept a menagerie of beloved creatures at Braebourne. “Yet somehow I don’t think it’s a lack of furry friends that’s troubling you. A female have you in knots?” he added with uncanny perception.
Drake took a long pull on his cigar, the end flaring brilliantly red. “No,” he lied. “Just don’t know why Mama insisted on my attendance tonight when it’s clear I have no interest in any of the eligible misses. I’d much rather be working than dancing a cotillion.”
“At least you can dance,” Cade stated. “Every time I watch Meg stand up with some fellow, I wish she were dancing with me.”
Drake waved off the remark. “She loves you just as you are and doesn’t care a whit that your bad leg keeps you from standing up with her at balls. The men who partner her on the dance floor mean nothing, you know that.”
Cade’s eyes flashed. “I do know. If I thought otherwise, I’d forbid her from leaving the house and run all those would-be cicisbei through with my sword.”
“I’d love to see you forbid Meg from doing anything,” Drake said with a low chuckle. “She has the countenance of an angel and the heart of a Titan.”
“She is magnificent,” Cade said with obvious love and pride. “But we’re not talking about my wife, we’re talking about you.”
“Are we? I thought we were talking about dogs—Meg’s admirers included.”
Cade gave a snort, then took a puff on his cigar. With elaborate style, he blew a curling stream of smoke high into the night air. “Enough with the diversions. Tell me why you’re so blue deviled.”
Drake scowled.
Although he knew he could tell his brother anything—for Cade was a supremely trustworthy confidant—Drake wasn’t in the mood to share. Over the past three days, he’d done his best to forget his midnight tryst with his housekeeper and her rejection of him the next morning. What’s done is done, he told himself, and he was determined to put her aside once and for all.
Unfortunately, her presence in his house made the effort all but impossible. Every time he thought he’d mastered his emotions, the lilting strains of her voice would carry along the hallway. Or else he would catch the faintest hint of her scent, magnified by his senses, as if violets were bursting to life through
the floors.
He tried his best of avoid her, and when he couldn’t avoid her, to ignore her instead. But it was as though his brain was connected directly to his bollocks these days, leaving him with a persistent arousal that turned him irascible as a baited bear.
He ought to pay a call on Vanessa, he supposed, and slake his pent-up lust on her. She was his mistress, after all. By damn, though, he didn’t want Vanessa. And the thought of visiting one of the myriad bawdy houses that populated London’s less seemly addresses held even less appeal. Which left him in his present state—blue deviled and in a near agony of lust as well.
Because no matter his resolve to forget what had happened between him and Anne, he wanted her still. Knew he would take her to his bed again with the slightest show of interest on her part. But she’d denied him, and so he would abide by her wishes, even if it ended up turning him into a sexual cripple from lack of carnal satisfaction.
Torture, that’s what it was. Pure and simple torture. Lord above, save him. But in this regard, he didn’t think the Lord had anything to share.
“As I said before, it’s obviously a woman,” Cade declared, intruding into Drake’s thoughts. “Has it anything to do with Miss Manning?”
“Who?” Drake mumbled, his mind still full of lustrous autumn-hued hair and satiny white female flesh.
Cade shot him a quizzical glance. “Apparently not. Miss Manning will be vastly disappointed to know your visits were of no moment.”
“Well, yes, I was only being polite.”
“Is it Vanessa then? Has your affair come to an end?”
Drake’s brows drew even tighter. Vanessa, he realized, provided him with the perfect excuse. And Cade was right about one thing, Drake realized, his affair with her was over—at least for him. He would have to find a considerate way to break it off with her.
“Yes,” he stated. “Vanessa and I are through.”
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