voice.
Fiona handed over a folded sheet of paper. When Penelope turned it over, she gasped. There was the sensual, swirling handwriting of her mysterious admirer. Damn, it was another letter from him .
“Thank you,” she stammered as she jammed the letter behind her back. “You are dismissed.”
Fiona cast Jeremy a quick glance. “Good evening, Your Grace. It was very pleasant to see you again.”
Jeremy inclined his head politely, but there was no denying the curiosity and interest in his eyes as he murmured, “And you, Fiona. Good evening.”
The moment her maid had left the room, Jeremy turned on Penelope, a dark eyebrow raised in question. “Fiona is under your employ?”
Penelope straightened her shoulders. “Yes. She is my lady’s maid.”
Jeremy nodded slowly, then looked at her with a hint of wicked humor. “Is she any good at that?”
Penelope’s eyes widened in surprise. She hadn’t been expecting that question and found herself blurting out, “Not very.” She covered her mouth, smothering a nervous giggle. “But she is trying to learn.”
He laughed, and the sound was entirely pleasant. Deep and rich. She stared at him, despite herself. His entire face changedwhen he laughed. He seemed less the sensual devil and more just a man whose smile was…warm. Inviting. He had a little dimple in the corner of his lip on the right side of his face.
She blinked. Great God, what was she thinking?
“I, er, I would like to ask you not to mention Fiona’s presence here,” she said, forcing herself to maintain a very businesslike tone.
Jeremy stopped smiling. “May I ask why?”
She faltered, her doubts about the man before her rushing back. Fiona had told her terrible stories about the abusive anger of Anthony Wharton. Fiona’s past was part of why Penelope had continued on her quest, even when it felt like too much for her to bear. Was it truly possible that Jeremy wouldn’t be totally aware of Wharton’s abuse?
Or did he simply not see it as a problem, since Fiona was merely a woman—and a courtesan at that?
She pursed her lips at the thought that Jeremy would stand by while a woman was beaten. That she wasn’t certain what he would or wouldn’t do was a painful reminder that she couldn’t trust him.
“I simply wouldn’t want the people who come to my home to treat her with anything less than respect based upon her past indiscretions,” she explained. “It is the one favor I will ask of you.”
Jeremy shrugged. “I’m quite certain that the subject of the servants you keep will not come up in polite conversation, Penelope. But if it does, I shall not be the one to reveal that Fiona is under your employ, or the nature of her previous life.”
“Not to anyone?” she pressed.
He stared at her, his eyes lighting up with understanding. “Ah, do you mean Andrew Wharton, her former protector?”
She nodded slowly.
With a shrug, he said, “I see no reason why he should be told about Fiona’s whereabouts unless she chooses to tell him about them, herself.”
Tentative relief flooded her. Now she only had to hope that Jeremy would be good to his word.
“She brought you a letter,” he said with a little smile. “One you hid behind your back.”
Penelope darted her gaze to him, and her grip tightened on the letter behind her. “It is utterly impolite for you to point out something like that, you know.”
Jeremy laughed. “Is it? You must forgive me, I am still learning to be a reasonable man.” He hesitated, leaning to the side as if to peek at the missive she had hidden. “Is it a love letter?”
Penelope’s lips parted. Was it that obvious? Except, she wouldn’t really call it a love letter. What the man who wrote to her had said last time had very little to do with love. Desire, yes. Passion, certainly. Love…no.
“No, and even if it was, it would be none of your affair!” she snapped as she backed away from him.
He laughed again, and Penelope stopped backing up
Fiona handed over a folded sheet of paper. When Penelope turned it over, she gasped. There was the sensual, swirling handwriting of her mysterious admirer. Damn, it was another letter from him .
“Thank you,” she stammered as she jammed the letter behind her back. “You are dismissed.”
Fiona cast Jeremy a quick glance. “Good evening, Your Grace. It was very pleasant to see you again.”
Jeremy inclined his head politely, but there was no denying the curiosity and interest in his eyes as he murmured, “And you, Fiona. Good evening.”
The moment her maid had left the room, Jeremy turned on Penelope, a dark eyebrow raised in question. “Fiona is under your employ?”
Penelope straightened her shoulders. “Yes. She is my lady’s maid.”
Jeremy nodded slowly, then looked at her with a hint of wicked humor. “Is she any good at that?”
Penelope’s eyes widened in surprise. She hadn’t been expecting that question and found herself blurting out, “Not very.” She covered her mouth, smothering a nervous giggle. “But she is trying to learn.”
He laughed, and the sound was entirely pleasant. Deep and rich. She stared at him, despite herself. His entire face changedwhen he laughed. He seemed less the sensual devil and more just a man whose smile was…warm. Inviting. He had a little dimple in the corner of his lip on the right side of his face.
She blinked. Great God, what was she thinking?
“I, er, I would like to ask you not to mention Fiona’s presence here,” she said, forcing herself to maintain a very businesslike tone.
Jeremy stopped smiling. “May I ask why?”
She faltered, her doubts about the man before her rushing back. Fiona had told her terrible stories about the abusive anger of Anthony Wharton. Fiona’s past was part of why Penelope had continued on her quest, even when it felt like too much for her to bear. Was it truly possible that Jeremy wouldn’t be totally aware of Wharton’s abuse?
Or did he simply not see it as a problem, since Fiona was merely a woman—and a courtesan at that?
She pursed her lips at the thought that Jeremy would stand by while a woman was beaten. That she wasn’t certain what he would or wouldn’t do was a painful reminder that she couldn’t trust him.
“I simply wouldn’t want the people who come to my home to treat her with anything less than respect based upon her past indiscretions,” she explained. “It is the one favor I will ask of you.”
Jeremy shrugged. “I’m quite certain that the subject of the servants you keep will not come up in polite conversation, Penelope. But if it does, I shall not be the one to reveal that Fiona is under your employ, or the nature of her previous life.”
“Not to anyone?” she pressed.
He stared at her, his eyes lighting up with understanding. “Ah, do you mean Andrew Wharton, her former protector?”
She nodded slowly.
With a shrug, he said, “I see no reason why he should be told about Fiona’s whereabouts unless she chooses to tell him about them, herself.”
Tentative relief flooded her. Now she only had to hope that Jeremy would be good to his word.
“She brought you a letter,” he said with a little smile. “One you hid behind your back.”
Penelope darted her gaze to him, and her grip tightened on the letter behind her. “It is utterly impolite for you to point out something like that, you know.”
Jeremy laughed. “Is it? You must forgive me, I am still learning to be a reasonable man.” He hesitated, leaning to the side as if to peek at the missive she had hidden. “Is it a love letter?”
Penelope’s lips parted. Was it that obvious? Except, she wouldn’t really call it a love letter. What the man who wrote to her had said last time had very little to do with love. Desire, yes. Passion, certainly. Love…no.
“No, and even if it was, it would be none of your affair!” she snapped as she backed away from him.
He laughed again, and Penelope stopped backing up
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