“You were looking for me?” she asked, trying to tamp down the unwanted surge of desire that overtook her as he neared,bringing with him his potent masculine allure and his decadent scent.
How she longed to throw herself into his arms and kiss him, regardless of all the reasons she must not. And even if the lovely woman in the pink silk had been attempting to seek him out.
“You are an elusive woman to find,” he told her, grinning in a way that called attention to the charming divot in his chin. “I went looking for you in the kitchens and was told that you had left your ices to freeze in their caves.”
“You shouldn’t have gone looking for me in the kitchens.”
“Why not? I had a pressing need to confer with you regarding tonight’s dessert.”
She instantly felt guilty for chastising him. “You do? Is something amiss?”
He winked. “Of course not. That is merely what I told the cook when I went looking for you. I wasn’t about to tell them that I intended to spirit you away and shag you senseless, now was I?”
She gasped. “Your Grace.”
“Do you know that when you reprimand me in that outraged governess voice of yours, it makes my cock despicably hard?” he drawled.
Her face was flaming. The gentlemanly swain of the night before had disappeared, it would seem. And in his place was the grinning, reprehensible rakehell who delighted in saying all manner of wicked things.
“You are a rogue, sir,” she told him primly. “Was there a true reason you sought me out, or was it merely to utter such inanity at half past two in the afternoon?”
“You like my inanity,” he teased lightheartedly. “Confess, kitten. And yes, there is another reason I sought you out. However, I would have it be known that there is no better reason than spiriting you away to shag you senseless.”
He was outrageous, and the vexing man had called herkittenyet again. She tamped down her smile, refusing to allow him to see it.
“What is the reason then, Your Grace?” she asked, keeping her voice cool and polite, as if he hadn’t repeated his sinful words and started a fire burning deep within her.
“Luncheon,” he said, surprising her yet again. “I decided to make certain you are fed today.”
She chuckled. “You make me sound as if I am a dog or a small child.”
“Hardly. However, I have noticed that you possess a distinct ability to place everything and everyone before yourself, particularly in regard to your work. It’s my solemn duty to subvert you at all costs.”
Miranda tried with all her might to remain impervious to him. And failed. He was looking at her expectantly, little different than her brother had as a lad when someone had agreed to go fishing with him—pure, unfettered delight.
“I don’t see any luncheon here,” she pointed out, taking a glance at the empty hall surrounding them, its damask-lined walls anointed by an array of gilt-framed portraits.
“We’ll have it in one of the private salons downstairs,” he announced, still sounding quite pleased with himself.
“Downstairs?” Her alarm was instantly raised. “You know that I cannot go downstairs with you, not after what happened with Lord Roberts in the gardens.”
Although Roberts himself was gone, there was no guarantee they wouldn’t come across someone else who recognized her as he had and sought to cause problems.
“You can wear one of the masks I gave you,” he countered.
“I fear the masks aren’t sufficient.” She shook her head. “There’s a chance I’ll be recognized. The risk is far too great.”
“Ah, but the reward will more than outweigh it, I promise. Besides, I’ve made certain that the guests are otherwise occupied in the library and the billiards room. There will be no one about to see you.”
“There will be servants,” she pointed out. “They are familiar with me by now from my time in the kitchens, and my gowns are all gray. None of your club members would dream of going about dressed in my sensible day dresses.”
“You could wear one of the gowns I gave you,” he suggested.
Predictably so.
“We have discussed this before, Whitby. I cannot wear them.”
“Cannot or will not?”
