How farwouldn’the go?
Half an hour later, they arrived at Casa Windermere, the family’s mansion in Mayfair. He tapped Miss Hart’s knee as they approached. She startled awake, her eyes wide as she attempted to orient herself.
“We’ve arrived,” he said. “You shall stay here until we get you all sorted.”
She blinked and gathered her wits. “I’m not yours to sort.”
He shrugged, uninterested in arguing the point.
He stepped down from the carriage and held out his hand to help her alight. She hesitated a moment before placing her hand in his.
He understood why the instant she did—as a responding spark blazed through him.
This taking of her hand felt suspiciously—remarkably—like an intimacy.
Then her feet were on the ground, and he was holding her hand two heartbeats too long, and his gaze had settled on that ruby-red, made-for-sin mouth of hers.
His grip relented, and she snatched her hand back as if singed. Her eyes wanted to know what had just happened, and his body wanted to show her.
Right.
He was halfway to a cockstand.
Right.
He cleared his throat. “My sister’s lady’s maid Tucker will assist you with all your needs.”
He bowed and pivoted on his heel, leaving Miss Hart to the care of servants as he made his way to his study.
Allof her needs?
He could think of a few he could help with, for she radiated a luscious sensuality that looked primed to be awakened.
No.
He must cease these thoughts. The woman needed his help, and that was all. He wasn’t a heartless rake, but a Windermere, a little wild, yes, but noble.
It was time he started thinking like it.
Chapter Four
Later
Valentina extended her arms overhead and felt a smile widen across her face as every muscle in her body lengthened in the most luxurious stretch of her life.
She froze, and her eyes flew open.
This wasn’t a dream.
She was really, truly luxuriating in the most comfortable bed she’d ever laid bottom upon, soft down feathers and crisp cotton sheets below her, a diaphanous coral canopy above. With bright sun filtering through ivory curtains, the room was soothing and lovely and not at all where she should be.
Judging by the light filtering through the sheer curtains, it was well past midday. Which meant she’d been sleeping here for hours.
And the man who had brought her here… Where was he?
A sound drifted through the air.Music.Piano music, to be precise. It was lovely, simple on the surface, but possessed of a depth that had her humming a melody on top of it. As if this bed and this room needed to be made more heavenly.
The music suddenly stopped, and Valentina snapped to, sweeping the bedcovers aside and hopping from the bed. She caught her reflection in the dressing table mirror. Remarkably, she didn’t look a fright. In fact, she might look well-rested. She grabbed her gray cotton dress draped across the bench. It had been pressed and—she lifted it toher nose—scented faintly with rosewater.
