Shifting his stance, he tilted his head in her direction. The edge of his mouth drew up in a slant not entirely unlike a smile. “Perhaps not.”
“And I can help, if you wish. As long as you let me return to work.”
All traces of a smile faded. “Absolutely not.”
“But—”
“It was bad enough when I thought you were working for someone else, but if Priorsbridge discovers I allowed you to work in my employ, he will have my head, and rightly so.” He strode toward the sofa and took a seat opposite her. “I am sorry, Miss Potter, but your days as an accountant are officially at an end.”
Gnashing her teeth with frustrated ire, Josephine wondered how he might respond to having the contents of the teapot dumped over his arrogant head. “And so I remain in the hands of men, my life and future irrevocably tied to their desire.”
“Careful, Miss Potter.” His eyes darkened, his teacup suspended a fraction of an inch beneath his lower lip. He was watching her—assessing her—in a way that produced a wave of heat beneath the surface of her skin. And then, so low she barely heard him at all, he murmured, “You are putting ideas in my head.”
She stared at him, at how his lips parted over the rim of his cup, the satisfied gleam in his eyes while he drank, and the secretive smile he gave while returning his cup to its saucer. All of it combined to form a yearning deep in the pit of her belly. Her mouth went dry as he continued to hold her gaze. His casual ease, coupled with a predatory undertone, quickened her pulse. She felt her stays grow tight, and she suddenly saw what he saw—what he’d spoken of seconds earlier—the idea she’d put in his head when she’d mentioned desire.
It barreled toward her, fast and furious, the wickedness of his imaginings blatantly clear in the depths of his eyes, now hooded and knowing – aware of the vision they shared – one in which she was wrapped in his arms while he…he…
Dear God, she dared not take the fantasy further, and yet she could not stop from seeing more. An unwilling groan forced its way up her throat. He hadn’t touched her, only looked, and yet she felt like she’d been caught up in scandalous pleasure while doing nothing less proper than drinking tea. And she’d groaned! Heaven help her, she could not stop the furious blush or the embarrassment wrapping its way around her.
Snowdon chuckled, equal parts sin and amusement.
“You’re awful,” she managed to say.
“At least now I know what I only suspected before.”
“And what would that be?” Stupid question. She should have known better than to let him goad her.
He leaned forward. “You’re an incredibly passionate woman, Miss Potter.”
A thrill of something forbidden snaked through her. “Nonsense.” She had to find a way back to solid ground before she allowed him to seduce her. That would certainly not bode well for her reputation, a reputation she’d soon be unable to salvage if he continued to stop by like this. So when he prepared to say more, she deliberately cut him off. “I want nothing to do with passion. All I want is for you to let me go back to work.”
His sigh sounded tortured. “This again?”
Her nod was firm. “Yes.”
“I’ve already told you, letting you do so will be impossible. However…” He seemed to consider something with a great degree of pensiveness. “If you accept the stipend Priorsbridge is offering, I might agree to let you advise me on how to improve my business.”
It wasn’t the worst suggestion in the world. It wouldn’t put her mathematical skills to good use, but it was certainly something she could take some pride in. She would also feel as though she were getting a salary, rather than taking money from a man she did not know without doing anything in return.
So she squared her shoulders and told him firmly, “Very well, Your Grace. You have yourself a deal.”
Whatever he believed of her willingness to agree, he showed no sign of it. Instead, he got up. “I should take my leave now, Miss Potter.” His eyes scanned the space around them. “Will you be all right here by yourself?”
“Certainly, Your Grace.”
He gave a quick nod. “I expect my sister to arrive tomorrow. When she does, I will ask her to invite you to stay with us at Snowdon House for the holidays.”
Whatever he might have said, this was quite possibly the most unexpected. “Thank you, Your Grace, but I couldn’t possibly accept such an offer.” Least of all after the moment they’d shared.
“I insist. Remaining here, alone, isn’t safe. Suppose you fall and hurt yourself or someone comes to threaten you? You’re vulnerable without your sisters, not to mention cold and uncomfortable.”
“Your Grace—”
“At Snowdon House you will be given a comfortable room of your own with a blazing fireplace and plenty of tasty food to eat. You will also have excellent company.” He waggled his eyebrows, and she could not for the life of her stop from laughing. “Say yes, Miss Potter. My sister will appreciate some female company.”
“Then by all means, I shall do it for her.”
Because she was absolutely not doing it for herself or for him. To acknowledge as much would be terribly dangerous indeed.
