“That was before your hand was on my—”
“Your basket of scales, ma’am,” announced the out-of-breath maid.
“Thank you, Betty.” Diana arched a brow toward Cole. “Should she chaperone us for this conversation, or should I let her have a rest in the next room?”
“Have a rest and this shilling” He tossed a coin to the maid. “Whatever you’re paid, it isn’t enough.”
The maid bobbed a curtsy and slipped the coin in a hidden pocket.
“Come barging in if this parlor gets suspiciously quiet,” Cole warned her.
“Or don’t,” Diana suggested as she tossed the girl a matching coin. “Perhaps you’ll sleep so deeply, you’ll forget this visit entirely by the time my cousin wakes up.”
The maid turned back toward Cole with an expectant expression.
It took only a moment to realize what she was waiting for.
“What the…” He sent a disbelieving glance toward Diana. “Is this what you and Thaddeus do all day? Take turns bribing your own servants?”
She didn’t glance up from her tiny teacup of beer. “Hmm?”
Cole tossed the maid a half-crown. “Chaperone us. I’m a conscienceless scoundrel. Anything could happen.”
“He’s a duke,” Diana mouthed toward her maid.
The chit made an aggravatingly sympathetic expression, then abandoned them to do as they would.
“Impressive,” Cole said. “I brought you beer because entering my tavern would ruin your reputation, but I’m starting to fear what spending an hour in this parlor is going to do to mine.”
“Mum’s the word,” she reminded him. “It’ll be like it never happened. Now, take off your clothes.”
A startled laugh burst from his throat. He held out his hands. “Give me that barrel. Two ounces of ale is clearly more than you can handle.”
“A gift’s a gift,” she said with a chiding wave of her finger. “Why are you really here?”
Because he wished therewasa way.
He liked her and he wanted her to like him. She brought a fresh perspective to things he thought he knew inside and out. He desired her, and well knew she desired him right back.
Yet he didn’t know how to make it something more. Somethingshewould agree to.
“Is it true that one out of every four women never marries?” he asked.
At this, she did glance up from her beer in surprise. “I wouldn’t cite a number if I wasn’t certain of my facts.”
“That right there,” Cole told her. “That’s why I’m here. Ibelieveyou. You got the numbers from somewhere—”
“Several somewheres,” she assured him. “I have at least a dozen journals dedicated to the composition of England’s continuously changing population, with sources clearly notated beneath every fact.”
She would, he realized. She probably had a journal dedicated to highhanded dukes who gave unsolicited advice and repeatedly stole kisses. He decided not to ask.
“Most girls collect Ackermann’s fashion plates,” he teased, using a voice as priggish as possible to indicate his deep disappointment at this flaw in her character.
“Like many women,” she countered, “I own the complete collections of both Ackermann andCostumes Parisien. Research is research.”
He blinked. “Then why are you always…”
“Outrageously frumpish?” she asked with a smirk. “How polite of you to point that out.”
