Read Online An Affair with Mr. Kennedy by Jillian Stone - Free Book Online
Authors: Jillian Stone
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the mirror above the pedestal sink. Cassie stepped into the bath and caught a misty reflection of her nude body. She paused to make a brief appraisal of her figure. Plump breasts, pleasing enough in shape. Turning sideways she noted their upward curve and rosy-beige tips. She cupped their roundness with her hands.
Sinking into the bath up to her chin, she lay back against the smooth slope of the tub. She closed her eyes and inhaled the spicy, restorative scents skimming the water’s surface. Carnation oil and Epsom salts. Cassie smiled at her pretty French maid, who took more of an interest in styling hair or perfuming baths than dusting.
She changed the subject of her thoughts to a newly stretched blank canvas that rested on an easel downstairs. An image had begun to form in her mind, one which called rather persistently for the touch of her brush. She envisaged the tableau with a woman she thought … or perhaps a male model?
Her reverie drifted to the enigmatic gentleman next door. Could he be at home? There were times when she experienced a squeaking of floorboards and the slightest tremble beneath her feet. Was he pacing in his study? The idea of him striding up and down seemed to fit, for he struck her as a brooding, contemplative fellow.
And that fascinating locked door on the second floor. It must adjoin Mr. Kennedy’s residence, where else could it go?
She plunged a sea sponge underwater and conjured an image of a naked Yard man. Would he have much body hair? Yes, she would give him some. The artist in her sprinkled a light dusting across his chest and a narrow trail of fuzz down a muscled torso.
Cassie squeezed the sponge. She had made a promise to herself. No involvements with men. None. Least of all with one’s neighbor.
What would happen if she decided she didn’t like Mr. Kennedy in the least—loathed him in fact? He would still live next door. Worse yet, he was her landlord.
She sighed. This afternoon in the carriage, she’d practically thrown herself at him, asking him quite directly to escort her to a charity ball. No doubt he thought her a wanton and would try to take advantage.
Come to think of it, he had asked a number of rather personal questions about Gerald. Questions she found to be somewhat intrusive. She wondered if this was Yard man behavior—meddling and rather brash about it.
Cassie bit her lower lip.
She recalled the much more pleasant gallop with Mr. Kennedy down Rotten Row and her awkward dismount from Daisy. Falling against his body, she had brushed up against a hard bulge.
Cassie moistened her lips. She had to admit, she was curious. One button at a time, she freed the beast inside those breeches. After all, she was no blushing virgin, she knew how to handle a large, twitching—
Or did she? Nearly two years had passed since she had lain with her husband. Good God. Sitting up straight, she picked up the waterlogged sponge and scrubbed.
She remembered her ride with Mr. Kennedy in the morning. Would it be possible to look him in the eye without blushing?
ZENO CONTEMPLATED HIS most recent observation of Mrs. St. Cloud’s alarming secret behavior as he urged his mount into an easy canter alongside the provocative young widow. He had clearly seen her from the rear window of his study. She sat on a painted iron bench in the garden puffing away on a good-sized cheroot. Might she prove to be one of those shameless modern women of independent means who thought the rules did not apply to them? Oddly enough,he found the idea enormously attractive.
Certainly, her flagrant disregard for social norms could lead to odd affiliations and causes. A liberated woman might easily fall in with a radical group of anarchist sympathizers. But thus far he could find no evidence to connect her to the Bloody Four, other than she happened to be an unfortunate relation to Gerald St. Cloud.
Besides, he found her … tempting.
He adjusted his reins and exhaled. Oh yes, Mrs. St. Cloud was quite
Sinking into the bath up to her chin, she lay back against the smooth slope of the tub. She closed her eyes and inhaled the spicy, restorative scents skimming the water’s surface. Carnation oil and Epsom salts. Cassie smiled at her pretty French maid, who took more of an interest in styling hair or perfuming baths than dusting.
She changed the subject of her thoughts to a newly stretched blank canvas that rested on an easel downstairs. An image had begun to form in her mind, one which called rather persistently for the touch of her brush. She envisaged the tableau with a woman she thought … or perhaps a male model?
Her reverie drifted to the enigmatic gentleman next door. Could he be at home? There were times when she experienced a squeaking of floorboards and the slightest tremble beneath her feet. Was he pacing in his study? The idea of him striding up and down seemed to fit, for he struck her as a brooding, contemplative fellow.
And that fascinating locked door on the second floor. It must adjoin Mr. Kennedy’s residence, where else could it go?
She plunged a sea sponge underwater and conjured an image of a naked Yard man. Would he have much body hair? Yes, she would give him some. The artist in her sprinkled a light dusting across his chest and a narrow trail of fuzz down a muscled torso.
Cassie squeezed the sponge. She had made a promise to herself. No involvements with men. None. Least of all with one’s neighbor.
What would happen if she decided she didn’t like Mr. Kennedy in the least—loathed him in fact? He would still live next door. Worse yet, he was her landlord.
She sighed. This afternoon in the carriage, she’d practically thrown herself at him, asking him quite directly to escort her to a charity ball. No doubt he thought her a wanton and would try to take advantage.
Come to think of it, he had asked a number of rather personal questions about Gerald. Questions she found to be somewhat intrusive. She wondered if this was Yard man behavior—meddling and rather brash about it.
Cassie bit her lower lip.
She recalled the much more pleasant gallop with Mr. Kennedy down Rotten Row and her awkward dismount from Daisy. Falling against his body, she had brushed up against a hard bulge.
Cassie moistened her lips. She had to admit, she was curious. One button at a time, she freed the beast inside those breeches. After all, she was no blushing virgin, she knew how to handle a large, twitching—
Or did she? Nearly two years had passed since she had lain with her husband. Good God. Sitting up straight, she picked up the waterlogged sponge and scrubbed.
She remembered her ride with Mr. Kennedy in the morning. Would it be possible to look him in the eye without blushing?
ZENO CONTEMPLATED HIS most recent observation of Mrs. St. Cloud’s alarming secret behavior as he urged his mount into an easy canter alongside the provocative young widow. He had clearly seen her from the rear window of his study. She sat on a painted iron bench in the garden puffing away on a good-sized cheroot. Might she prove to be one of those shameless modern women of independent means who thought the rules did not apply to them? Oddly enough,he found the idea enormously attractive.
Certainly, her flagrant disregard for social norms could lead to odd affiliations and causes. A liberated woman might easily fall in with a radical group of anarchist sympathizers. But thus far he could find no evidence to connect her to the Bloody Four, other than she happened to be an unfortunate relation to Gerald St. Cloud.
Besides, he found her … tempting.
He adjusted his reins and exhaled. Oh yes, Mrs. St. Cloud was quite
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