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, Mr. Sexton.” Will’s voice dragged. This wasn’t going to be good. Damn.
Damn, damn, damn.
“Yes, what about her?” Grey demanded impatiently.
Will looked up and down the corridor and then he lowered his voice to the barest whisper: “She’s on fire, sir.”
* * * *
“My driver, Pete, shall see you home.”
Grey’s terse, impersonal tone fell like cold rain over Beth’s passionate haze and she pulled the soft blanket over her breasts.
Picking up his coat, he didn’t glance her way. “Don’t worry, he’s discreet.”
“You’re leaving ?”
“Something pressing has come up.” At the washstand mirror, he picked up a silver-backed brush. In the reflection, the expression on his hard, angular face betrayed not one trace of the razor sharp passion of a moment ago. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
That last wasn’t a question. It was a command.
Her mouth fell open and she drew her spine straight. “I will not be spoken to in that manner.”
Smoothing his coal-black hair, he paused. Silver eyes met hers in the mirror. “What manner?”
“As if I were one of your lackeys, at your beck and call.”
“I merely expressed that I would like to see you again tomorrow.”
“I can’t come back until Saturday.”
He laid down his brush. “Why the devil not?”
“Because my brother thinks I am at Mrs. Bickle’s today, but I pled off work because my sister is ill. I work Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. I can only come on those days. Elsewise I cannot come here at all.”
His black brows drew together sharply and a deep vertical line showed between them. With jerking motions, he tied his cravat into a simple knot. “Then I suppose it must suffice.”
“Well, aren’t you too kind.”
He turned to face her. “Why the shrewish tone?”
“I don’t care for your terseness.”
“Madam, I’ve no time for this now. We’ll discuss it on Saturday.”
* * * *
As far as Beth was concerned, it was over between them. No one spoke to her as if she were some servile underling. Certainly not a temporary lover. That night, when the chores were done and the last of her nieces and nephews put to bed, she chased away her ire with a generous mug of rum and slept like the dead.
However, dusk settled uneasily on Friday, the air humid and heavy with an impending storm. Sultry and sweaty, she spent the night tossing and twisting, reliving the moment when Grey had held himself within her until the future of her sanity seemed to hinge on recapturing it in the flesh.
Morning found her tired and cross. By evening, it took all her concentration to project an outward expression of calm as her fingers twinkled over the keys at Mrs Bickle's. Inwardly, she was a mass of seething emotion. And to her shame, part of it was regret that she had not gone to meet with Sexton.
Some disappointment, too.
Well, she was just going to have to get over her dejection. She wasn’t going to meet with any man who thought he could speak to her as Sexton had done. And just leaving like that, likely on some middling matter of business—what a monumental insult!
No, Sexton had had his time with her and now that was over. In any case, she’d risked enough on his account. He was damned lucky to have had more than one assignation as it was.
Early supper guests trickled into Mrs. Bickle’s inn. The dining hall would be open until ten and her shoulders began to ache in anticipation of a long evening.
A peculiar prickling restlessness centered on her navel. Instinctively, she looked up to the entrance. Silver eyes fixed on her like a hawk spotting its prey. Lamplight threw his angular cheekbones and patrician nose into stark relief.
She sucked in her breath.
God, it was him .
Here.
How dare he invade her working life? How stupid of her to have told him where she played for hire. Resisting the urge to pound the piano keys, she forced her expression to be pleasant, a little distant, as though he were just another
Damn, damn, damn.
“Yes, what about her?” Grey demanded impatiently.
Will looked up and down the corridor and then he lowered his voice to the barest whisper: “She’s on fire, sir.”
* * * *
“My driver, Pete, shall see you home.”
Grey’s terse, impersonal tone fell like cold rain over Beth’s passionate haze and she pulled the soft blanket over her breasts.
Picking up his coat, he didn’t glance her way. “Don’t worry, he’s discreet.”
“You’re leaving ?”
“Something pressing has come up.” At the washstand mirror, he picked up a silver-backed brush. In the reflection, the expression on his hard, angular face betrayed not one trace of the razor sharp passion of a moment ago. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
That last wasn’t a question. It was a command.
Her mouth fell open and she drew her spine straight. “I will not be spoken to in that manner.”
Smoothing his coal-black hair, he paused. Silver eyes met hers in the mirror. “What manner?”
“As if I were one of your lackeys, at your beck and call.”
“I merely expressed that I would like to see you again tomorrow.”
“I can’t come back until Saturday.”
He laid down his brush. “Why the devil not?”
“Because my brother thinks I am at Mrs. Bickle’s today, but I pled off work because my sister is ill. I work Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. I can only come on those days. Elsewise I cannot come here at all.”
His black brows drew together sharply and a deep vertical line showed between them. With jerking motions, he tied his cravat into a simple knot. “Then I suppose it must suffice.”
“Well, aren’t you too kind.”
He turned to face her. “Why the shrewish tone?”
“I don’t care for your terseness.”
“Madam, I’ve no time for this now. We’ll discuss it on Saturday.”
* * * *
As far as Beth was concerned, it was over between them. No one spoke to her as if she were some servile underling. Certainly not a temporary lover. That night, when the chores were done and the last of her nieces and nephews put to bed, she chased away her ire with a generous mug of rum and slept like the dead.
However, dusk settled uneasily on Friday, the air humid and heavy with an impending storm. Sultry and sweaty, she spent the night tossing and twisting, reliving the moment when Grey had held himself within her until the future of her sanity seemed to hinge on recapturing it in the flesh.
Morning found her tired and cross. By evening, it took all her concentration to project an outward expression of calm as her fingers twinkled over the keys at Mrs Bickle's. Inwardly, she was a mass of seething emotion. And to her shame, part of it was regret that she had not gone to meet with Sexton.
Some disappointment, too.
Well, she was just going to have to get over her dejection. She wasn’t going to meet with any man who thought he could speak to her as Sexton had done. And just leaving like that, likely on some middling matter of business—what a monumental insult!
No, Sexton had had his time with her and now that was over. In any case, she’d risked enough on his account. He was damned lucky to have had more than one assignation as it was.
Early supper guests trickled into Mrs. Bickle’s inn. The dining hall would be open until ten and her shoulders began to ache in anticipation of a long evening.
A peculiar prickling restlessness centered on her navel. Instinctively, she looked up to the entrance. Silver eyes fixed on her like a hawk spotting its prey. Lamplight threw his angular cheekbones and patrician nose into stark relief.
She sucked in her breath.
God, it was him .
Here.
How dare he invade her working life? How stupid of her to have told him where she played for hire. Resisting the urge to pound the piano keys, she forced her expression to be pleasant, a little distant, as though he were just another
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