These were not the words she had expected from him. More subtle suggestions, more practiced wooing, yes. Trueunderstanding, perhaps even contrition, however? Decidedly not.
She shifted again, uncomfortable on the squabs for a new reason entirely. His kindness—seemingly genuine—made a rush of longing sweep over her before she could help it.
Summoning her bravado, she forced a smile. “You need not pity me, Your Grace. I have found that I would rather know the truth of the world around me. It’s far preferable to mistakenly believing in a falsehood.”
“It isn’t pity I feel for you,” Whitby said, his voice low. “Not at all.”
Miranda swallowed hard. Part of the ice inside her was melting already, and she didn’t like it. Couldn’t allow it.
Before she could say anything more, the carriage slowed to a halt.
Whitby leaned forward, peering through the slats of the blinds. “It looks as if we’re to have a little break in our travels. Just in time. I’m ravenous.”
The look he sent in her direction made molten heat pool between her thighs, pulsing like an echo in her sex. Miranda had a feeling he wasn’t merely speaking about food.
But that was too bad. He wouldn’t be getting anything from her during her time in Hertfordshire other than her desserts.
CHAPTER 4
“Here we are.”
Rhys stopped at the door that would be Miranda’s bedchamber for the duration of the house party. He had intentionally chosen one that adjoined his, in a wing where none of the other guests would be in residence. Naturally, she didn’t yet know that his room was connected. She also didn’t know the manner of house party he was hosting.
He could only imagine the tongue-lashing he would receive when both discoveries were made.
“This is where I am to stay?” she asked, a frown furrowing her brow.
“Yes.”
The efficient servants were at work with the unpacking, and because the domestics at Wingfield Hall were charged with their discretion—and the Wicked Dukes Society paid them a pretty penny for it too—the housekeeper kept her distance unless specifically called for. In her place, Rhys had escorted the delectable woman at his side to her room.
“But I expected to be situated belowstairs,” she said. “This is wholly unnecessary.”
“You are a lady,” he countered, angry on her behalf for the way everyone in her life had apparently abandoned her. “You are not accustomed to such accommodations.”
“I am a lady no longer,” she countered briskly. “It would better serve me to be amongst the servants if they are to respect my presence in the kitchens.”
“They will respect you because I command it of them. Because they are paid well. And you’ll not be staying belowstairs. It’s out of the question.”
Not just because doing so meant she would effectively be beyond his reach. Though, there was that consideration as well. But because he was concerned for her comfort and welfare also. He didn’t want any of the guests lusting over her, nor did he want her to be treated as a servant. She was here as his guest, damn it, even if he was paying her for the creation of her cream ices.
Miranda shook her head. “I cannot stay here. Surely your guests will be alarmed by my presence.”
Her divorce from Ammondale had left her little more than a shadow in polite society, he realized. Neither seen nor heard. She was simply there.
He didn’t like it.
“The guests will not be in this wing,” he reassured her. “And even if they were, if they objected to your presence, I would be pleased to bid them farewell. I’ll not tolerate anyone paying you insult. Neither servant nor guest. You are to tell me at once if anything is amiss. Is that clear?”
Her lips parted, and she stared at him for a moment, as if his concern surprised her. And he did not like that either, for it suggested that in the wake of her divorce from Ammondale, few others had been concerned for her at all, if indeed anyone had.
Had she no one to whom she could turn for aid? Had she no other recourse, save teaching cookery lessons to undeservingpupils? He wondered, but now was not the time to ask, not when he had to persuade her to settle into this chamber.
“Is that clear?” he repeated when she continued to maintain her silence, and he feared she would argue with him.
“I… Yes, Your Grace,” she said. “Thank you.”
“The footmen are seeing that everything you required is delivered to the kitchens,” he informed her. “Your cases will be brought here to you soon.”
