Halliwell stepped through, two more glasses of champagne in his hands. He kicked the door closed. “In case we get thirsty.” Holding the flutes up, he strode forwards then jolted to a stop, champagne sloshing over the rims. “You changed.”
She fingered the collar of the robe. “Yes. Something easier to slip out of.”
“I liked the waistcoat and”—he motioned to his neck—“the high collar.” His eyebrows drew together. “This looks all wrong.”
Of course. Colleen bunched the silk robe in her fists. He liked the idea of a stern disciplinarian, and she came to him like a mistress. This is why her girls were paid well. Playing a role was harder than it looked.
She set her shoulders. “My attitude doesn’t change with my clothes. If you want the discipline of your nursemaid, I assure you I can do that just as well in a robe. Just pretend I’ve caught you out of bed after we’d gone to sleep.”
A smile lit up his face, and it was in that moment Colleen knew she couldn’t go through with it. She gripped the sides of her robe, pulling them more tightly across her body. Halliwell looked so happy, and she was more miserable than the day of her husband’s funeral. There was only one man she wanted touching her. And it would be better to go a lifetime without Max than to try to replace him with a poor substitute.
Now she only needed to figure out how to get out of this situation without angering one of the club’s most high-spending members. “Lord Halliwell—”
“Gussie.”
“Er, yes, Gussie.” She cleared her throat. “I was thinking perhaps to find another girl to join us. Someone a bit more experienced.” And someone who could take over as Colleen quietly slipped from the room.
He narrowed his eyes. “I want you. You’re not changing your mind now, are you?”
“Of course not.” She tried for a light laugh. It came out sounding like the honk from an untuned organ. She wiped her palms on her hips. Think. She’d see Molly take charge of men several times. It couldn’t be that difficult. Sometimes … sometimes she never even touched them.
The edges of Colleen’s lips curved up. That was it. Make Halliwell happy by bossing him around a bit and keep herself happy by never letting him touch her. Her customer would be satisfied and wouldn’t quit the club in anger, and she, well, she’d rather be up in her rooms with a cup of tea, but this alternative was acceptable.
She blew out a breath. She could do this. “Now,” she said, searching her mind, “you’ve been quite naughty. You need to promise that when I say it is bedtime that you will stay abed.” She cringed. Never had she sounded such a fool.
Halliwell lowered his head. “Yes, Nanny.”
The bile rose in her throat again. That sounded all kinds of wrong. This wasn’t going to work if she had to hear him calling her nanny. “I think it best you don’t talk to me.” She needed to end this quickly. Berate him a bit, tell him to find his own pleasure because a nanny would definitelynotbe a party to that act, and escape. As easy as balancing the ledger.
Shuffling to the bed, she gripped a post and stared over Halliwell’s head. “Take off your clothes.” What would a toff’s nanny do? Have him say his prayers? Tell him a bedtime story when he was tucked up under the covers?
“Don’t you want to help me disrobe?” She heard him set the glasses of champagne down. “My nanny used to always help me undress and give me a sponge bath.”
She kept her eyes fixed on the far wall. “Yes, well, I’m a different sort of nanny. I think the less we look upon each other, the better.”
“Why don’t you just wear a blindfold and be done with it?” he asked petulantly.
She arched an eyebrow and considered. Not having to see him as he took care of himself would be a definite bonus. Plugging her ears when the time came also wouldn’t go amiss. “That’s an excellent idea. I’ll do that.” She hurried past him to her folded clothes and removed her handkerchief. She folded it in half as she scuttled back to the bed. “When you’ve undressed, stand in the corner and, uh, think about all the naughty things you’ve done today.” She wrapped the kerchief around her eyes and tied it behind her head. Darkness enveloped her, and she took her first full breath. She could handle this without seeing him.
She sat on the bed and scooched back until her knees hit the mattress and her feet swung free. “Are your clothes off yet? If there’s water in that pitcher on the bureau, give yourself a quick rubdown. Oh! And say fifty Hail Mary’s. While crossing yourself. You’ve been extra bad today.”
“Fine,” he muttered.
She bobbed her feet. This wasn’t so bad. Even a bit diverting, if she did say so herself. She might have a real talent at this sort of thing. The Hail Mary’s were most likely the wrong religion for the earl, but he could have had a French nanny.
Should she try to fake an accent?
Her lips silently formed the words ‘Mon Dieu’ and ‘oui oui’. Did she know any other French words? Lucy could probably teach her some good ones. A cool draft brushed her back and she shivered. Fabric rustled, and she wondered if she should yell at him for disrobing so slowly. There was a thump, another, and she figured his boots had hit the floor.
“Are you putting your things away?” Hmm. That accent came out sounding more Germanic than French. She tried again. “Good boys need to be tidy?” She stretched out her legs, pointing her toes. Much better.
A strong fist gripped her ankle and pulled her bum to the edge of the mattress. She fell onto her back with a shriek, the mattress bouncing beneath her.
He slid his palms up her calves and pulled her legs apart.
“Lord Halliwell!” She pushed up onto one hand and shoved his hard chest. Frowning, she poked him a couple more times. His chest was suspiciously firm. And so were his shoulders, and his biceps …
She sucked in a breath. She knew these muscles. And those hands on her legs … She knew the calluses on those palms.
