His smile deepened, and his gaze flitted to the bed and back to her face.
She refused to believe it. There was no way he was that discerning of her unspoken thoughts. “My lord?” She clasped her hands together, forgetting about the flower and crushing the bloom. “Am I to contact you when I receive another letter?”
“There’ll be no need.” He leaned forwards, that slight tilt of his shoulders feeling like he’d invaded her space. “Until this matter is resolved, I’m going to stay so close to your side it will feel like our bodies are joined as one.”
Nothing could stop her blush that time.
Chapter Four
For one so small, Mrs. Bonner burst with energy. Max had been following her around for days, watching as she settled this dispute before moving on to fix that problem. She was like the commander of a ship, always walking the decks, sleeping with one eye open. He hated to admit it, but the woman wore him out. The soles of his feet yearned for a reprieve from constantly being upon them; he could only imagine how hers, in her flimsy footwear, fared.
That, at least, was somethinghecould fix. “Mrs. Bonner, a moment.”
She turned from a discussion with one of the maids. “Yes, my lord?”
“Will you follow me? I have something to show you.” Without waiting for a response, he strode across the main room and held the door to the private upper rooms open for her. His palm was slick on the latch, and he wiped his hands on his coat. It shouldn’t be so nerve-wracking presenting small tokens to a woman. Especially as these were necessary for her to do her job properly. But gift giving of any sort was a practice to which Max was unaccustomed. And to a woman such as Mrs. Bonner …
She was so unlike the women of the ton that he knew. With her, there was no pretense. A man got exactly what he saw. A straightforward, hardworking woman who deserved more than the lot she’d received in life. Her honesty gave him hope for society, and he couldn’t help thinking that in a perfect world, all women would be like Mrs. Bonner.
She glanced at him curiously but went through the door and led him up the stairs. Her round bottom swayed three steps in front of him, and Max shoved his hands in his pockets. Her unconventional outfits showcased the hips that most women hid behind shapeless gowns. Those hips gave him ideas. Max adjusted his cock. The urge to touch his manager was great, and it didn’t help that he saw desire trapped behind her eyes when she looked at him. If he seduced her, pressed slow, soft kisses to her neck as he lifted her skirts, would she give in to her cravings? Or slap his face and call him a fool?
It would be better if she rebuffed him. He didn’t deserve Mrs. Bonner. Not after what he’d done. Although, if he brought her pleasure as well as himself, would it truly be so wrong?
She hesitated at the top, and Max directed her into the sitting room. “Through here, please.”
She strode through the doorway and stopped short. Max bumped into her back and grabbed her shoulders, making sure she didn’t topple over.
“What on earth is all this?” She inched to the settee and fingered one of the many dresses thrown over the back. The room was littered with clothes, the garments draped over every chair and sofa. Neat rows of slippers, and with a nod to Mrs. Bonner’s practicality, several pairs of sturdy boots lined the floor.
“Two men’s shirts, a waistcoat, two sets of skirts, two pairs of shoes, and one ratty coat seem to be the entirety of your wardrobe.” Max scraped his palms down his trouser legs. Women liked this sort of thing, right? Presents and frippery and such. Even practical Mrs. Bonner couldn’t differ that much from the rest of her sex. “I know the fire destroyed most of your belongings. You’ve done such good work here, you’ve earned a few things.”
“A few things?” Mrs. Bonner dropped her chin and stared at him. “Perhaps to Marie Antoinette, God rest her soul, this would be a few things. But there’s no way I could wear all this in a lifetime.” She narrowed her blue eyes. “Are these guilt offerings? A new wardrobe in no way makes up for you reneging on our agreement.”
“I know that.” This was the one thing he’d done for her that hadn’t been because of guilt. The urge to put his mark on her, even if it was only by clothing her with garments he’d paid for, was strong. He spread the fingers of his left hand and gestured at the room. “You need a new wardrobe, and as I’ve said, you’ve more than earned it.”
She ran the tip of her finger along the lace neckline of a pale purple silk gown and bit her lip. “Highly impractical. I could never wear such things.”
Gathering up the dress she admired, he held it to her body. “Practicality isn’t everything.” He wondered at the type of things her husband must have bought her. A clock repair man couldn’t have had much blunt, but with a woman like Mrs. Bonner waiting at home, he must have given her some small trifles. The more serious the woman was, the more Max wanted to lavish her with unserious things. She’d been dry-eyed and stoic at her husband’s funeral, showing a strength Max could respect. But it had been six months since she’d been widowed. Max wanted to see her smile.
Mrs. Bonner had been without the resources to garb herself in widow’s weeds after the fire. She’d refused Max’s offer of financial help, and her dreadful cousin hadn’t dug within his purse to clothe her appropriately. And for that, Max was grateful. Such a serious woman would be swallowed in all black. He cocked his head. Although, perhaps the paler colors didn’t suit her personality, either.
Tossing it aside, he plucked up another gown, a deep maroon that reminded him of her hair. “I’ll call up a maid. Why don’t you go try this one on?”
She fingered the soft fabric. “Who do these belong to? The former proprietress?”
“They’re yours. I had a modiste make them up.”
“But …” A tiny furrow appeared between her eyebrows. “How did she create them without knowing my size?”
Max didn’t need to look. He’d memorized her dimensions by their third meeting. But his eyes were greedy, and he dropped his gaze and ran it up and down her body. “I described you to the modiste.” Every last curve and inch. “She’ll come here to alter anything that needs it.”
Alterations shouldn’t be necessary, not if the modiste had done her job right. His description of Mrs. Bonner had been thorough. The silly waistcoat nipped in at her middle, and her hips and breasts flared around it. It covered everything yet hid nothing. She was a luscious hourglass that he’d imagined spread out beneath him more nights than not. The hem of her skirt exposed a good two inches of ankle, and that tiny expanse of skin beckoned to him like an invitation. How easy it would be to slide his hands up under her skirts, under the petticoat she wore, stroking along that smooth skin until he found her hot and wet and ready for him.
He shook his head. His fantasies could wait until he was alone. But the real Mrs. Bonner was just as alluring. She stood toe to toe with him, looking up with eyes that were wide and curious and without a hint of affectation. A lock of her dark auburn hair had come loose and coiled around her neck.
He couldn’t help himself. Reaching up, he brushed the strand back, his fingertips trailing over her silky skin. The contact was fleeting. As light as a summer breeze.
It made every hair on his body stand at attention.
