“I was just about to bring in tea.” Mrs. Lovington dipped her chin. “And some of those small cakes you like. Just out of the oven.” A worried crease took up residence between the housekeeper’s brows. “I’ve used the pink icing,” she said hopefully.
“Don’t bother with tea. Lord Blythe won’t be staying.”
Beatrice marched to her cozy parlor and flung open the door, unsurprised to see the burnished gold of Blythe’s head hovering above the edge of the chair where he’d settled himself—herfavorite chair—a glass of brandy at his elbow.
“Good day, my lord. Did I invite you to enjoy my fire or my brandy?” Beatrice snapped at him from the doorway.
“Oh, you didn’t.” Blythe peeked around the side of the chair as if they were the closest of friends and his appearance was welcome. Spectacular, as usual. Hair, wind tossed by the gods. The merest scruff of beard lining his beautifully chiseled jaw. Though Beatrice couldn’t see the rest of him, she assumed Blythe’s riding breeches were expertly tailored, tight in all the right places so the masculine length of leg would draw the eye.
A flirtatious half-smile tugged at Blythe’s mouth.
The sight of those lips caused a slide of warmth along Beatrice’s mid-section. She winced at the sensation, willing it to stop. She was close to becoming yet another ninny undone by the Earl of Blythe.
“I grew concerned, Your Grace, as I waited for your arrival. The hour grows late.”
“My welfare is none of your affair. But as you can see, I’m well. Good day, Blythe.”
He didn’t move, damn him.
“While I waited, I entertained myself by looking through your books.” He nodded to a crate on the floor. “Quite an assortment of topics.” Another grin. “The fire is warm, your parlor exceptionally cozy, and there’s a chill in the air.”
A chill in the air. He compared her to a blast of ice.
Beatrice glared at Blythe. She strode into the parlor, taking off her gloves. “Why are you here, my lord?”
“I required a brandy.” He lifted the glass and took a sip.
Always so bloody sure of his welcome. And why wouldn’t he be? Blythewasmagnificent. Attractive without a hint of the snarling dominance of say...Castlemare. His appeal was nothing like the brooding handsomeness of the Duke of Granby. Or Haven, the only other friend of Blythe’s Beatrice had met. Haven was all coarse edges and seemed moments from engaging in fisticuffs. Instead, Blythe’s presence was akin to walking into a patch of sunlight.
Beatricewantedto bask in Blythe’s presence. Roll about in all that warmth.
“Surely, my lord, you have brandy at your own residence...or wherever it is you are staying. I leave you to seek out your second glass there.” She crossed her arms, tapping one foot, impatient for him to leave.
Blythe stood, regarding her with another charming smile.
She’d been correct about the breeches. They stretched taut across his thighs, clasping at the muscles and skin beneath. Indecently so.
Beatrice jerked her chin to gaze at the fire.
“You think I have a lover. In Chiddon.” The blue of his eyes flashed from beneath impossibly thick lashes. “Put aside your jealousy. It is unbecoming in a duchess. I’ve a hunting lodge just on the other side of Chiddon, though I don’t hunt. I rarely fish. But I do like nature.”
“I don’t care what you do with your time,” Beatrice bit out, imagining him tromping about the woods, charming the animals. “Only that you are intent on infringing on mine.” His unexpected appearance had unsettled Beatrice greatly.
Like hyacinth in the spring. That was the exact color of Blythe’s eyes. Blue with just a hint of violet. She’d never bothered to take note before. Or admire the dimple in his cheek.
Another spool of warmth curled up inside her.
“Your Grace.” The rich tenor was soft. Coaxing. It had undoubtedly lured many a female into bed. “Shall I pour you a brandy?”
“I bid you good day, my lord.” Beatrice pointed at the door.
“I don’t think so.” Blythe roamed over to the sideboard. “Let’s not argue, Your Grace. How is Mr. Gates today?”
He didn’t think so?
“If you are concerned with Mr. Gates, visit him yourself.” She smoothed down her hair, ensuring her neck and cheek were covered. “The audacity of coming here, where you are not welcome. Seducing my poor housekeeper—”
“I did no such thing, Your Grace.” Blythe held out a snifter of brandy. “I merely told Mrs. Lovington I wanted to ensure you were well after your tumble the other day.” He rolled his shoulders. “I may have mentioned my heroic rescue.”
