“Mrs. Byng, will you be so kind as to take over the reading for me, please?” she asked, not taking her gaze from him, as though fearing he might disappear if she should. He wondered if she sensed his reluctance to remain.
A young woman with red hair seemed startled by the request. “Ah, Miss Trewlove, I don’t read nearly as good as you.”
“You read perfectly well, Mrs. Byng, and I’m certain the children would welcome a respite from my voice for a while. I would be forever in your debt.”
“Nonsense,” the young woman said, getting up out of her chair. “’Tis me wot owes you.”
He wondered exactly what her debt was. Probably a book she’d purchased on credit.
Miss Trewlove rose with such exquisite grace that she’d be putting a good number of Society’s ladies to shame the following week. Few matched her poise. After handing the book off to Mrs. Byng, she skirted around the children, patting a head here and there, before strolling elegantly toward him. It had been a long time indeed since he’d felt the pull of a woman. As much as he wanted to be nearer to her, he stayed as he was.
“Mr. Sommersby, I take it you received my message.” She sounded breathless, as though she’d run to him, and he envisioned how rushed her breaths might become as passion arced through her beneath his hand, his body. He resented that he felt a spark of envy toward the man who would introduce her to the pleasures to be found when bodies were joined.
“I did.”
“May we?” She indicated the hallway.
With a slight bowing of his head, he stepped back into it. She followed. It was more shadowed here, and he imagined the satisfaction to be found in luring her into the darkened corner and taking possession of that mouth that still harbored a slight smile. Not where his mind needed to travel. He nodded toward the doorway. “You have a way of bringing the story to life.”
She arched a brow, her smile turning teasing. “A compliment? The next thing I know you’ll confess to liking me.”
“I don’t dislike you, Miss Trewlove.”
“No? I wasn’t quite certain after things ended as they did last night.”
“I simply take exception to your hunt to marry a lord.”
“Would you take exception if I was born on the right side of the blanket?”
“The circumstances of your birth don’t signify. You’re chasing a title, and behind that title is a man.”
“Who will no doubt be chasing my dowry.” She crossed her arms over her chest, tucking them beneath her breasts, which served to bring them to the fore. His eyes should not have dipped in order to fully appreciate the lovely display, but they did, damn them. “Why do you care—”
Because they’re perfect, sized to fill a man’s palms without leaving him wanting for more.
“—whom I should marry?”
Right. They were discussing something else entirely. “I have respect for the aristocracy and for men in particular. I don’t like to see the male of the species tricked into marriage, no matter how comely the trickster.”
Now, she balled her fists and sent them to her hips, narrow hips if the way her skirts fell were a true indication. Miss Trewlove curved in and out in a most delectable manner.
“Whatever gave you the impression I would use deceit to gain a husband?” She sounded truly insulted, then rolled her eyes. “The letter? I can admire a man, a relationship, without using what I know of it for duplicity. Have you an encounter in your past that causes you not to trust women?” She gave him a long, slow, thorough once-over that made him feel as though she were skimming her fingers over every inch of his skin. Sympathy filled those eyes that reminded him of the finest chocolate. “Did she break your heart?”
What Elise had done, how naïve he’d been, was none of her concern. “If I’d realized it was your wish to spar and pry, I’d have not ventured from my residence.”
With a grimace, she squeezed her eyes shut. “My apologies. I wanted to ask a favor of you, and I’ve probably mucked things up to such an extent you’ll refuse me.” When she opened those large eyes of hers, they reflected such sincerity that it might be impossible to find the words to refuse her, whatever she asked. “I hope you won’t think me overly familiar, but I noticed last night, during the few minutes when you were actually paying attention to your book, that you seemed to excel at reading as you were turning the pages quite quickly.”
“As I said, I was educated. Oxford.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “I see.”
He didn’t know why he’d felt a need to impress her. Unwilling to elaborate further, he felt a fool for mentioning it in the first place.
“Then you’re perfect,” she said.
He scoffed. “I don’t believe that term has ever been applied to me.” Certainly not by Elise, at least not after they married. Before that, she had him strutting about like a bloody peacock, thinking every aspect of him pleased her, when it was only his title that held any significance for her.
“Well, for what I have in mind you’re perfect. My brother’s secretary, Mr. Tittlefitz—you might have met him when you leased your residence as he sees to those matters—and I hold a class for adults every Monday and Wednesday. We focus on teaching reading. As my nights are going to become quite busy once I am introduced into Society, I wondered if you might be willing to take over for me when I’m not available.”
