He turned to leave the flustered woman to her business, then stopped and said, “I used my shirt to soak up some of the spilled ink, and I don’t think it’s salvageable.”
“Do you mean to say I should discard your shirt, sir?”
“Yes, that’s precisely what I mean.” Jack exited the kitchen and trotted up the stairs to the ground floor. As he stepped into the hallway, the knocker sounded at his front door. He hesitated.
“Mrs. Wilson!” He turned to look for the housekeeper.
The knocker sounded again.
“Bugger!” He strode toward the door. “You’d better not be from one of those gossipy newspapers!” He yelled as he yanked open the door.
Then he froze.
It was her—his muse.
*
Facing Jack Bastin’sbare chest, Ottilie inhaled sharply.
“Have you lost all sense of reason, Bastin?” Henry placed his hand over his cousin’s eyes. “Where is your shirt?”
“On the floor of my study, stained with ink.”
“And your valet?”
“He is away conducting some business for me.”
“So, you thought you’d open your front door whilst half-naked? After last night’s events, that is not what I would call discreet.”
“I had no choice. Mrs. Wilson is otherwise occupied.”
Ottilie pulled her cousin’s hand from her face. “Really, Henry! I hardly think the sight of Mr. Bastin’s chest will turn me to stone.” She tried to appear nonchalant, even as heat spread across her cheeks, and her gaze unwittingly traveled from Mr. Bastin’s face to his tanned, muscled torso, so different from her own soft curves that it looked as if it had been carved from steel. She marveled at the similarity between this real-life display of masculinity and the sculpted one depicted on the towering statue of Achilles in Hyde Park.
“I apologize for my naked state, but I didn’t know you intended to surprise me by bringing a beautiful young lady to my door.”
Ottilie dragged her gaze from Mr. Bastin’s abdomen to see that a slight grin played on the writer’s lips.
“For heaven’s sake, Bastin! Step aside and let us in before someone sees you.” Henry glanced over his shoulder before placing a hand on Ottilie’s elbow and steering her past his friend’s nakedness. “You really ought to stop letting your valet come and go as he pleases,” Henry said, sounding like the baron he was. “I am starting to get the impression he is the master of this house, not you. At the very least, get him to hire you more staff.”
“You know me,” Mr. Bastin said, closing the door behind them. “I don’t like the idea of too many servants snooping around and disrupting my peace. Besides, I like my independence. I don’t need a servant to help bathe and dress me like a child,” he teased. “Speaking of what’s proper”—his gaze shifted back to Ottilie—“aren’t you going to introduce me to this lovely lady so we may converse freely with one another?”
Henry cleared his throat. “Of course, allow me to introduce my cousin, Miss Ottilie Hamilton.”
“Your cousin?” Mr. Bastin said without taking his eyes off Ottilie. “I am honored to meet you, Miss Hamilton.”
“The honor is all mine, sir.” Ottilie felt as though she had to force the words from her mouth. Up close, the man’s beauty was striking and had the effect of rendering one speechless. The only flaw on his face was a short, deep scar near his left eye. But even this, somehow, added rather than detracted from his charm.
Mr. Bastin grinned at Ottilie, and her cheeks heated with the realization she’d let her eyes linger too long on his face. She turned to the house’s interior and pretended to be intensely interested in its decor. An elegant swirl of gray and white marble paved the hallway and staircase. Mahogany banisters and matching wall trimmings complemented the marble and added warmth to the room. Identical statues of a bare-chested Aphrodite in a swan-like pose framed the staircase entrance.
“What a charming home you have, Mr. Bastin.”
“Thank you, but I cannot take credit for the decor. It is exactly as the previous owner left it. The books and statues are my only contributions.”
Ottilie glanced at the two disrobed statues of Aphrodite and suppressed a smile.
A creak sounded on the stairs behind her, and an elderly maid carrying a water jug stepped onto the landing.
“I’ll take the water, Mrs. Wilson. You can go up and see to the ink in the study.”
