Miranda swallowed hard. “Yes.”
He took a step back, leaving her feeling oddly bereft as he swept into a courtly bow that would have been far more at home in a ballroom than in her small office. “I will send the remainder of the information you require along with the payment. If you should need anything, only ask it of me. Otherwise, I shall see you in Hertfordshire.”
He straightened, turned, and began striding from the chamber with the same casual elegance he had used to enter it. She watched him go, fraught with a worrying sense of foreboding.
Just as he reached the door, he stopped, glancing over his shoulder at her with a look that could have sent her silk gown up in flames. “Oh, and Miss Lenox? I fully intend to do everything in my power during that week to persuade you to change your mind.”
Without awaiting her response, he left, the door clicking closed behind him.
“I won’t change my mind,” Miranda declared to the paneled mahogany.
If only she felt as certain of those words as she sounded.
CHAPTER 3
Miss Miranda Lenox.
Countess of Ammondale.
Lady Miranda Lenox.
The Fallen Countess.
So many names for just one woman. But regardless of what one called her, Rhys had one more to add as he drummed his fingers on his knee and glared at the door to the Lenox School of Cookery.
Late.
He reached into his waistcoat and extracted his pocket watch to consult the time. Ten minutes late, to be exact. Rhys slid the watch back into its pocket. He had told her when his carriage would arrive for her. He had already overseen the collection of every ingredient and utensil she had required of him in the lengthy, enumerated lists she had sent his way since they had parted last.
And now, here he was, sitting in his bloody carriage, getting a sore arse before their journey had even begun—and despite the relative comfort of the leather squabs—all because the lofty proprietress whose services he had employed had not deigned to appear. Had she changed her mind? If so, she might havesent round word to him—and far sooner than the day they were embarking to the country.
He had done everything she required of him, even using an unmarked conveyance to meet her at her place of business so as to maintain strict secrecy and professionalism. Of course, she couldn’t know, and she didn’t need to know, that this little display of decorum for her benefit would end the moment she entered this carriage. For if he had his way, she’d be bouncing on his cock by the time they reached the outskirts of Town.
As Rhys was no fool, he very much doubted he would have his way. His Miranda was quite firm in her belief she could remain impervious to his rakish charm. He would happily prove her wrong. But doing so would require patience. Effort. What better way to shake the ennui he had been suffering since well before Beatrice?
He was about to throw open the carriage door and storm the damned school himself when at last Miranda emerged, dressed in a travel gown of muted gray that was every bit as demure as everything else he had seen her wear, a handsome matching hat covering much of her inky tresses.
Two sins, in Rhys’s opinion. A woman as beautiful as Miranda Lenox should not be swathed in the same subtle shade as a plump little dove. She ought to wear bold emerald to heighten her eyes, deep red to bring out her lush lips, brilliant blues and purples and pinks. Anything but gray.
Also, in a perfect world, she would be naked. Not on the street for thehoi polloito see. But in his presence alone, her curves would be on full display, his to admire instead of swathed in too much fabric and boning, a veritable sea of undergarments to hide her glorious body from him.
The carriage door swung open, emitting light and a burst of air that smelled of impending rain. Also, the faintest hint of orange blossom. She was handed up into the carriage, headdown to watch her step, her hat obscuring his presence from her until the last moment when she was already within and the groom was snapping the door smartly closed.
A gasp tore from her parted lips, and she collapsed onto the bench seat opposite his. “You!”
Not precisely the reaction he’d hoped for, but hehaddeliberately misled her about the carriage arriving to take her to Wingfield Hall. He had known, of course, that she would flatly refuse if she knew she was meant to share the confined space with him.
“Me.” Rhys grinned at her now, feeling like the dangerous cat who had chased the saucy mouse into a corner from which there was no escape. “Good day to you as well, my dear Miranda.”
Her dark brows snapped together, and she clutched her reticule before her as if it were a shield. “I have not given you leave to be so familiar, Your Grace. What are you doing in this carriage?”
He shrugged. “What wouldn’t I be doing in this carriage? It is mine after all.”
“You promised me an unmarked carriage to take me to Hertfordshire,” she reminded him sharply.
“Yes,” he agreed, quite pleased with himself for his cunning. “But I did not say I would not be in it. Now, did I?”
“Oh! You…you…scoundrel!” she sputtered, twin patches of color rising on her cheeks.
