She slapped at his hands but there was no heat in it. “Oy. Take your ‘ands off me.”
“Last chance.” Her skin was silky smooth against his finger, and he couldn’t help but slide it up and down in the cleft of her bosom. “Hand over your ill-gotten gains or face the consequences.” A lick of excitement flicked behind his breast. He almost hoped she maintained the pretense. It had been so long since he’d felt any sort of excitement. Whatever else Netta might be, at least she was diverting.
She raised her chin, and the small dimple in the center caught the light. “I don’t know wot you’re on about.”
He tutted. “You disappoint me.” He lied. She stimulated him. Before she could take her next breath, he spun her around and pressed her back against his front. He eased his hand into her bodice, splaying his fingers under her breast as he searched.
Her heart fluttered beneath his palm. Her arse snuggled nicely right up under his groin. It was with regret that he slid the spoon free.
He held the piece of silver in front of her face.
“Huh.” She adjusted her bodice, plumping up her breasts with the motion. “‘Ow’d that get there?”
“It’s a mystery,” he said dryly.
She turned, her breasts brushing his chest. She raised her face, her mouth only inches from his. “Is there any other part of me body you want to search, or am I free to go to bed?”
The base of his spine tingled. There were many places he’d love to search. Alas, he’d learned that mixing business with pleasure was rarely a good idea.
He took a step back, his body cooling.
A frown turned her lips down, the expression so fleeting John wasn’t certain he’d read it correctly.
“That will be all.” He slapped the spoon into his palm. “Good night, Netta.”
She dipped an absurd curtsy, the deepness of it obviously intended to mock. She wobbled and threw her hands out wide to catch her balance, and John bit back a smile.
“My lord,” she said. Lifting her skirts, she flipped her hair and strode from the room.
John watched the swaying of her wide hips as she disappeared down the hall. He adjusted his cock and returned to his seat. He tossed back the remains of his wine.
Judith leapt onto his lap, her purring body a poor substitute for what he wanted.
His brother had better show some damn gratitude.
He scratched the cat under the chin.
Working with Netta without touching her was going to be one hell of a sacrifice.
***
Netta sank onto the lambskin rug before the fireplace in her bedroom and toed off her slippers. Shecurled her feet under her.
That had been foolish. Flirting with an earl? She blew out her cheeks. Nothing good could come from that. It made no matter that he was wickedly handsome and had manners as smooth as melted butter over a scone. His very position made him a threat. No, it was best to ignore the attraction. This was business.
Four thousand pounds. She dug her fingers in the soft wool of the rug. It was enough for a new life, on a new continent for her and her sister. She had to play this right. Taking that spoon had been a calculated risk. Summerset would expect someone like Netta Pickle to be unable to control her impulses, so she’d given him a good show. And the results had been…unexpected.
She pressed her palm to her breastbone, her own hand a poor substitute for the pressure and heat of the earl’s. Only a blackguard would molest a woman so. She trailed her fingers over her breast, but there was no echoing tingle like when Summerset had touched her. She sighed. He had been retrieving his property. His impropriety had a cause.
Netta nibbled on her bottom lip. If she stuck something up her skirts, would the earl—
No. Business. That’s what she needed to concentrate on.
Would the earl stand by his word? It sounded as though he hadn’t even figured out all the details to his scheme. What if he didn’t need her assistance? What if he asked of her something she couldn’t give?
Netta stood. Well, she couldn’t lose a sure income, miniscule as it may be, for merely the potential of a windfall. She shoved her feet back in the slippers. She hated leaving the luxury and warmth of the earl’s townhouse, but she’d missed one performance already. She couldn’t miss another.
She shrugged into a long coat she’d borrowed from a servant’s closet. Pretending to be a proper young miss would be the easiest job in the world. Aside from youth, something face paint would rectify, she had all the qualifications, even if the earl didn’t know it. Summerset said he wouldn’t ask her to do anything unseemly, but could she trust him? How far would he want her to go to distract a man?
