And feeling as nervous as she ever had, she slipped inside and then wandered downstairs in search of a cup of tea.
She was going to need it.
Because she was going on an outing with Mr. Cockfield that afternoon.
Alone.
And she needed to maintain her composure.
It wasn’t every day that a lady began an affair with her cousin’s butler.
Simon leaned against the doorframe and lazily watched as his favorite spinster picked her way across the gravel to where he waited for her, just inside the carriage house.
He’d been right. Not only about the color but also the cut of the sleeves. She’d done equally well with the jaunty charcoal hat pinned atop her coiffure.
However, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the coiffure itself, which was, if anything, pulled back even tighter than usual. And ironically, he understood her reasoning. It kept her grounded in the person she believed herself to be.
He hadn’t expected to like the woman upon first meeting. But the more he’d come to know her, the more he saw aspects of her character that he liked—such as her dedication to her niece, the sense of humor she pretended she didn’t have, and that she’d shown him compassion the night before even though she didn’t trust him.
And now he was aware that her lips were plump and rosy when she wasn’t being disapproving, and something passionate lurked in the back of what he’d thought were plain brown eyes.
He’d been quite mistaken to think anything about her was plain.
So much so that he found himself in something of a predicament.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Cockfield,” she greeted him, somewhat breathless as though she’d hurried down the stairs and through the kitchens. But her steps were light, and her smile almost flirtatious.
She smoothed a hand down her dress and cocked her head. “Will this suffice?” The gown complemented her slim figure, pushing up her breasts at the same time it emphasized her trim waist. He imagined long, slim legs, and was immediately ambushed by the image of them wrapped around his waist.
Oh, yes. Seeing her like this was most definitely creating a predicament for him.
Simon’s gaze drifted over her shoulders, bare except for the lace shawl she’d wrapped around herself, and then settled on her décolletage. She wasn’t as well-endowed as women he’d generally found attractive, and yet, here he was, all but ogling her.
Even as he stared, a rosy flush tinted her pretty skin, and he’d wager that beneath her stays, the tips of those perfect breasts had tightened into enticing buds.
“The gown is perfect for you.” He’d suggested it for today’s outing because, although made up of a superior fabric and the latest design, it was a subdued color that wouldn’t draw too much attention.
Although the destination he had in mind was an established and respectable one, it wasn’t the sort of place ladies usually ventured. And that was precisely the reason he’d chosen it.
“Thank you.” She appeared only slightly less flustered than she had when she’d found him doling out advice in the morning room earlier.
The kiss they’d shared in the kitchen the night before had been eye-opening. It had evoked feelings he couldn’t remember having with any other woman. But also, an excitement he’d never expected to feel again. Much like his first kiss, before it could be complicated by his title and diluted by experience.
Being a duke—a wealthy and not totally unattractive duke—he’d found that almost any woman he desired could eventually be his for the taking.
He didn’t blame them. A lady’s lot encouraged her to reach for a title, for security and wealth. And he wasn’t blind to those women attracted to the power of his position—women who were content to be taken into his bed, to be the object of his attention if only for a few hours.
Simon had always known entitlement reserved for very few. He was grateful for it, and he sought not to exploit it.
And although this stint as Greystone’s butler was an enormous inconvenience, he had ironically experienced an unexpected…freedom—temporary though it may be.
Miss Faraday smiled up at him, and Simon felt even lighter.
Something else had occurred when Miss Faraday had stepped into his arms, and he wondered if it had only been an anomaly. He’d felt like himself for the first time in over a decade—himself, Simon, the man—not Blackheart.
Pulling away from the doorframe, he held out a hand. “Shall we?”
“I suppose so. Are we walking or…?”
