He picked up the bag for her.
“Thank you,” she said, her gloved hand closing over his holding the reticule, and added in a breathy tone, “Your Grace.” She ran the pad of her thumb over the back of his hand. “I’m Mrs. Vaughan. Olivia Vaughan.”
“My pleasure, Mrs. Vaughan.” Gavin tried to step out of her way but she tightened her hold.
“You don’t recognize my name, do you?”
“I’m afraid I do not, Mrs. Vaughan.”
She took a step closer. Her perfume was a cloying, Eastern scent. Mrs. Vaughan lowered her voice. “Many of your friends know me well, Your Grace.” She gave a slow smile that told him louder than words what she meant by the word “know.”
And Gavin felt dirty.
He took back his hand. “Good day,” he said to Mrs. Vaughan and moved to the stairs. He took them two at time, wanting to push Jane’s shouts and threats out of his mind and rid himself of the scent of Mrs. Vaughan’s perfume . . . and then he came to Sarah’s floor.
She was sitting in the floor steward’s chair, just as Jane had been. She held his hat in her lap. She was waiting for him.
He came to a halt and all the blood in his body rushed to his loins. She had that impact on him. However, there was another sense as well. He felt as if he was coming home. A peace fell over him.
“Did you hear?” he asked.
The sad smile that came to her lips commiserated with him. “There were few on this floor who didn’t.”
“Or in the lobby.”
Sarah digested this and then announced, “I shall say again, I was not naked when I danced.”
Her piqued declaration caught him off guard, and then Gavin tilted his head back and laughed. The release felt good. Sarah had a refreshing ability to go directly to the point.
But then his mind immediately turned to calculating the incidental results of this new notoriety. “I wonder how many columns of the morning news will be dedicated to the scene?”
In answer, Sarah stood and held out her hand. “Come.”
He placed his hand in hers and let her lead him into her rooms. Inside, the late-afternoon light from the window bathed the room in a serene, golden glow.
“Sit down,” Sarah invited and went over to some decanters on a small table and poured him a whisky. “Thank you for the ink and paper. The box is precious.”
Gavin sat at the table. “You are welcome.”
“Talbert said you picked it out yourself. That means more to me than anything else.”
She placed the glass in front of him but he didn’t touch it. Instead, he pushed the crystal away with one finger, realizing how much he had been drinking lately.
And it wasn’t drink he wanted.
She had taken a chair at the table and he now turned his chair to face her.
“You are beautiful,” he said, the words leaving his lips without conscious thought. No politics, no manipulation—nothing but honest, almost raw emotion.
Her eyes widened and a blush rose to her cheeks.
Gavin leaned forward, fascinated. “You act as if you had not expected such words from me.”
“We have a short acquaintance,” she said, “but it has been one marked by our strong personalities.”
“Aye, we have squabbled,” he agreed, smiling at the wrinkle in her nose over the word. “If you would only listen to me,” he had to add teasingly, “we would argue less.”
As he had anticipated, she came back roundly, “When I hear good sense from your lips, I will, Your Grace.”
