“I must see him before I depart,” Lady Trilling announced, and Trem’s heart leapt in his chest. If the ladies withdrew to the nursery, he would have his opening.
“Oh, very well,” Catherine said, the pleasure of having her old friend so insistent on seeing her child evident on her face. She lowered her voice. “Trem, you will make sure young Sotheby and Hartley don’t come to fisticuffs? They both seem determined to win my sister-in-law’s favor.”
Trem could have kissed Catherine for her willingness to quit the room. He nodded with a slight roll of his eyes, as if it were a burden he was willing to take on only for her sake, even as his hands trembled. He watched Catherine and Lady Trilling leave the room and once the door closed with a soft snick, he stood and faced the quartet in the corner.
His vision swam slightly as he stood, not from fear, but from desire. He needed to be alone with her. Now.
Henrietta’s eyes were immediately upon him. It was only when he reached the group, however, that the lordlings looked up.
“Out. Now,” Trem commanded, pointing to the door.
“I beg your pardon, Tremberley?” said Sotheby, looking affronted.
“Lady Henrietta has tired of your presence in her drawing room,” Trem said, hating the lordlings’ bland faces, which appeared to him, in the soft afternoon light, crudely identical. Drent was the only one with the sense to stand and make for the door.
“You speak very improperly for a man standing in the home of another,” Hartley retorted. “Lady Henrietta should be the one to decide if we are dismissed. Or the duchess when she returns.”
Trem looked at Henrietta. She could no more voice her support for his command than she could announce what she had done with him in his study yesterday. It would be indecent for her to agree with his boorish conduct.
“I have pressing business to discuss with the lady,” Trem hissed. “And if you don’t leave this drawing room this second, I will hunt each of you down with my rifle and make you my personal target practice. And trust me, however good of a shot you think I am, I promise I am better.”
Sotheby sighed and followed Drent, who stood hovering near the door. Hartley, however, hadn’t moved.
“If you think it will improve your standing with the duke and duchess to start a brawl in their drawing room, you are much mistaken,” Trem continued. “Out.”
Hartley stood and took a step towards him. He brought his body too close to his, an attempt at intimidation that Trem found ridiculous, but nevertheless made his blood pound.
“This isn’t over, Tremberley,” he spat.
But then he stepped away, bowing to Henrietta, and followed his friends out the door.
When the lordlings had left, Henrietta looked at him with a raised brow.
“You’re not that good of a shot.”
Her lithe arms were crossed under her full breasts. He knew from yesterday that they were exactly the type he preferred on a woman. Teardrop-shaped and a little too large for her slender frame.
“Aye, I am not,” he said, flashing a grin. “But don’t I look like I would be?”
She gave him a smile. “You do, rather.”
“I don’t think Hartley will be bothering you any longer,” he tendered, admiring the way her crossed arms pushed her breasts against her bodice.
“You’re very confident in the power of your threats.”
He loved her sauciness. He always had. How was he only now realizing it?
“Yes, I am. And I’ll make you another. If you don’t take me to your bedchamber right now, I’ll bring you to orgasm right here in this drawing room.”
He watched as her cheeks flamed and he felt a deep satisfaction. She still had the innocence to look a little scared at these words. God, but he loved it.
“I can’t bring you to my bedchamber. It is on the other side of the house. We would be seen.” She paused. “But I have another place in mind.”
She stood and wrapped her fingers around his hand. She pulled him from the drawing room and through a hallway that he couldn’t remember having ever gone down. After passing a multitude of rooms, she turned through a small doorway at the very end.
It was a quaint little study done up in light blue. A fashionable sofa centered the room, itself lined with bookshelves, and a writing desk caught the warm light flowing through the large windows.
“It is my private drawing room,” Henrietta supplied, as she locked the door with a key. “But I hardly ever use it. I doubt Catherine or John will try and find me here. They would check my bedchamber first.”
