A maid arrived with a tray, setting it down on a small table before departing the room once more. Bryce watched Miss Potter fill two cups with tea. “Milk and sugar?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No thank you.”
She poured a splash of milk into her own, picked up the cup, and set the rim to her lips. Her eyes had initially distracted him from this particular attribute, but he took greater notice now. And as he did so–as he watched that soft piece of flesh press against the delicate china–arousal took hold. Never in his life would he have imagined the simple task of drinking tea could look so bloody erotic, yet Miss Potter, dressed in her modest black gown, managed to make it so.
Crossing his legs, he deliberately strove to hide the effect her arrival was starting to have on him. Clearly, he’d put off procuring a mistress for far too long. Tomorrow, he’d set his mind to it.
First thing in the morning.
In the meantime, however, “I understand from my butler you were trying to reach Amberly Hall?”
“Yes. Mrs. Havisham is a longtime friend of mine. She invited me to visit with her and her husband for the holidays.”
“And when you are not in this part of the country, you are in…”
“London,” she said, finishing his sentence. “I live there with my older sister.”
“What about your parents?”
She gave a small shrug as if to diminish the importance of her next words. “Papa died last year, three years after we lost Mama.”
Bryce frowned. “I am sorry to hear it.” And he was. He knew all too well how hard it could be to lose a loved one.
“At least my sisters and I have each other.”
“So there is more than one?”
“Yes. But Louise no longer lives with us. She has recently accepted the position of governess for the Earl and Countess of Channing’s children. In fact, she left for the north of England yesterday.”
So Miss Potter was working class. He’d suspected as much, considering her attire, but he hadn’t been sure because of her friendship with Mrs. Havisham. He was curious to know what the older sister she’d mentioned did for a living and what she herself planned on doing, but couldn’t quite think of how to ask without imposing.
As it turned out, he didn’t have to. She revealed the answer by saying, “Josephine, my oldest sister, is an accountant at the Park View hotel in London. Her earnings are enough for all of us to get by on, but since she would like to give me a Season, she…” Miss Potter drew a deep breath. “Forgive me. I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this.” She made a nervous chuckling sound and reached for a sandwich, filling her mouth with the bread, ham, and cheese.
“That’s quite all right. I was interested, so you needn’t apologize.” But the mention of a Season… Perhaps he’d been wrong about her being working class. “In fact, I must confess you have managed to heighten my curiosity.”
“Really?” A few fine breadcrumbs spilled into her lap, and she hastily set about trying to gather them up and discard them on her plate.
“What is your family’s background, if you don’t mind my asking?”
She went completely still, and he wondered if she might give him a set down for such an imposing question. They were strangers after all. He really had no right to pry. And doing so was doubly wrong in light of what he knew about her deceased parents and working sisters. So much for her impression of him doing the right thing.
“My great grandfather was an earl,” she eventually said. “His third son, my grandfather, went into law and opened a successful business. Unfortunately, Papa did not have the same legal acumen, and when Mama died, he gave up on making the effort. Money was lost in an effort to maintain a lifestyle we couldn’t afford, assets were sold, and my sisters were denied the Seasons they’d always expected to enjoy, until work became their only option.” She dropped her gaze, but not before Bryce was able to notice the sheen of moisture gathering against her lashes. “Josephine and Louise have made so many sacrifices for me. I have to get to Amberly, if only to make the connections I am sure to make with Mrs. Havisham’s help.”
“Of course.” So she was gentry, and if her sisters had anything to say about it, she would remain so, even if they had to join the working class. Understanding the guilt and responsibility she probably felt, he chose to turn their conversation toward a more positive subject. “The annual Christmas dance will be hosted at the assembly hall this Saturday. I’m sure the Havishams will take you.”
“Oh.” Miss Potter’s face brightened. “That would be diverting. I’ve never attended such an event before.” She gave him an uncertain look before asking, “Will you be there too?”
He almost laughed at the absurdity of such a question but managed to maintain his composure. “No. I prefer to keep to myself.”
“Why?” She slapped her hand over her mouth, eyes widening with chagrin as she hastily apologized for asking.
“There’s nothing wrong with being curious,” he told her gently. He himself was finding it difficult not to be when every word she spoke made him eager to find out more about her. Clearly, this self-imposed seclusion of his was beginning to have its toll. “However,” he went on, “it is my prerogative to refrain from answering, and I intend to do precisely that.” He did not want the only person with whom he enjoyed a bit of conversation for the first time in three years to hate him as much as everyone else did. “We all have our secrets, Miss Potter. You must allow me to keep mine.”
* * *
The gravitywith which the earl spoke and the shadows darkening his eyes prompted Eve to wonder what sort of secrets he might be keeping. Her curiosity regarding this man had been gradually increasing since the moment she’d stepped into his library and laid eyes on him.
An angular jaw and well-defined cheekbones provided his face with a rigid structure. It was not as displeasing as it might have been without the soft curve of his mouth and the dark brown warmth of his eyes. His hair, she noted, was almost black, shot through with lighter chocolate-colored tones.
