“What?”
“Thanking me. You’re going to give me a big head—a complex of sorts.”
“Oh,” she laughed, feeling more like herself—like a prettier, more attractive version of herself. “It’s too late for that.”
“Are you saying I have a big head?” He was twisting her hair now, even with one hand, and she absently assisted him.
“One would think you were the master rather than the butler.” She twisted around and located two of her pins on the table. She wound the knot tightly, but he shook his head.
“Not so tight.”
She relented. It didn’t matter, really. She’d be off to her chamber any moment… and then what? Was this to be the extent of her London fling?
He assisted her off the bench and took her hand. “Walk with me?”
She hesitated, and he added, “Unless you prefer to retire?”
“No.” She doubted she’d get much sleep, anyhow. These emotions were not at all conducive to a peaceful night’s rest. “I mean, yes. I’d like to walk with you.”
He led her out the door, and the slightly cooler temperature in the garden felt magical as the breeze caressed her hair and arms and face.
She had so many questions for him.
“What happens next?” she asked into the silence. She wanted to know. She’d already had too many uncertainties in her life.
He shrugged, his fingers threaded with hers. “What do you want to happen next?”
“Oh, no,” Violet laughed. “I asked first. How do two people go about… this. Having an affair?” Her tongue stumbled on the word.
“Ah, so you wish to do this properly, do you?” She had no doubt he was teasing her by saying that word.
“Proper,” she repeated the root. “I don’t suppose there is any proper manner for a lady to… cavort with her cousin’s butler.” Because, although society made allowances for affairs under certain circumstances, she doubted anyone would consider anything proper about what she’d done with Simon in that little gardener’s hut.
“Is that what this is called, cavorting?”
Simon squeezed Violet’s hand. She was a lady; it was in her walk, her posture, her speech. But she’d entered this… affair with him, quite deliberately.
He was surprised at the discord he experienced to call this an affair.
Because that meant she—this prim and proper, genteel lady—was his mistress. A shiver of unease slid down his spine.
“Will you meet me in the mews tomorrow afternoon?” There were places he could take her, things he could show her that wouldn’t reveal his identity.
She sighed. “I cannot, Lady Chaswick and I have been assigned the task of ordering bathing costumes. Two days ago, Miss Jones fell out of her boat at the duchess’s garden party when their boat tipped. It was lucky she and Greystone were in shallow water. So at Lord Chaswick’s and my cousin’s suggestion, it has been decided that bathing lessons would not be remiss. Did you realize that one of the dukes in town has a swimming bath right here in Mayfair? Inside his manor? He’s generously making it available for our purposes later this week.”
Simon knew this. Of course he knew this. He also understood Greystone, in particular, had championed such an endeavor for some time now.
“The Duke of Blackheart,” she went on. “Have you heard of him?” His name—his title—on her lips sent a sort of buzzing through him.
“I… am well acquainted.” And then he surprised himself by asking, “Would you care for a tour of Heart Place before you have those lessons?”
She turned to stare at him, eyes wide. “Oh, but I couldn’t impose on him further.”
But Simon suddenly wanted nothing more than to show her his home—even if she didn’t know it was his.
“It’s no trouble, I assure you.”
“The duke is not in residence?”
