Read Online The Education of Mrs. Brimley by Donna MacMeans - Free Book Online

Chambers’s lips. He pulled himself upright, then braced his body while his head struggled to find balance.
    “I took the precaution of bringing your head remedy, sir.”
    “Thomas, you are a saint.” Chambers accepted the offered restorative and downed it quickly before the taste registered. Grimacing, he handed back the empty glass. “I’m getting too old for this.”
    “Nonsense, sir, you are in your prime.”
    “William would beg to differ.”
    Thomas poured hot water into the basin and stacked fresh towels by the bowl.
    “If the widow has returned,” Chambers said, following the progress of his valet, “perhaps she plans to accept my offer.” Why else would she return? His chest expanded with tingling anticipation. If his head didn’t already pound so much, he’d crow with triumph.
    “What offer is that, sir?” Thomas asked.
    “I’m attempting to barter her services as a model.” A smile tilted his lips in spite of the resulting throbbing at his temples. She was such a challenge, seducing her will be pure delight. I wonder if that pretty blush travels down to her toes. He stopped short. Where had those thoughts come from? He glanced to the pillow indented from his slumber. He must still be dreaming.
    He started an unsteady course toward the basin, the aftereffects of the previous night’s activities affecting his gait more than his weakened leg. “Naturally Thomas, I’m trusting the household to keep her presence here a secret.”
    “I shall remind the staff to be discreet. Do you need my assistance to dress for the day?”
    “No, no. Don’t tarry here.” Nicholas rubbed his hand over his chin stubble, anxious to hurry through the morning rituals. One didn’t squander precious daylight when there was painting to be done. Miss Brimley . . . rather, Artemis awaits!
    “Go pull the draperies from the studio windows. And Thomas,” he said, bracing his arms on the table supporting the basin, “do find the young widow something to eat. We have squirrels in the garden better fed than she.”
    “From all appearances, the widow Brimley has plumped since her last visit,” Thomas offered from the doorway.
    Nicholas winced. This was not a morning for sudden motions or deciphering riddles. “What exactly do you mean by ‘plumped’? She’s not a pigeon, Thomas.”
    “With your permission, sir, when Mrs. Brimley called two nights ago, I noted her attire appeared a bit large for her frame.”
    “Yes, I noticed that as well. She was drowning in all that ill-fitting black cloth,” Nicholas said, remembering his own desire to view her free of all that baggage. Heat flared in his groin. Seeking relief, he splashed water on his face.
    “This morning,” Thomas said, stepping back into the room to drape a towel over one arm, “she can barely fasten the buttons on the same garment.”
    Nicholas stopped his motions and glanced over his shoulder toward Thomas. He ignored the offered towel, preferring the stimulation of the water dripping down his chest. How could she fill that monstrosity of a dress in so few days? Even gluttony required time to pad one’s figure . . . pad ? Instantly, he recognized the reason for her “plumping.” The chit hoped to best him at his own game.
    Appreciation of her ingenuity pulled at his lips. It was no small wonder he enjoyed her company, a challenge at every turn. But if she thought she could thwart his purposes with his own terms, then she underestimated the extent of his desires. Now, what to do about it?
    He pulled a cloth from Thomas’s arm and turned back to the mirror, scowling at his reflection.
    “Did you place Mrs. Brimley in the front salon?” He watched the mirror for Thomas’s nod. “Is the fire lit for her comfort?”
    “Yes, sir, I prepared it myself.”
    “Excellent.” He smiled, blotting his face with the cloth. The plump pigeon was set for roasting.
    “I would like breakfast served in the salon. Please set the table for the widow and myself