“Shall I go?”
“Hell no, love.” He grinned, yanking her into his chest.
His lips were on hers.
She had worn her mask as a precaution, and she was glad for it now as she kissed him back, opening for his tongue. This time, he tasted of tea. Sweet, with a floral note. Intoxicating as ever, despite the absence of the decadent chocolate. Somehow, she had imagined a man such as he would indulge in spirits regularly. It would appear she was wrong.
The longing she had been doing her utmost to keep tamped down unfurled within her. She had risen that morning after a night of feverish dreams, aching and damp. To her shame, Mira had attempted to quell the urges herself, but that had only seemed to heighten her need.
Because nothing could bring her the pleasure this man wrought.
He caught her lower lip in his teeth and tugged, then soothed the sting with his tongue before giving her one final, chaste kiss that left her wanting a dozen more.
Footsteps heralded the arrival of someone, and he stepped away, putting a respectable distance between them as Davy returned. “You’re needed in the kitchens, sir,” he reported, tugging on his forelock to acknowledge Mirabel. “My Grace.”
“Her name is not Grace, lad,” Mr. Winter said, frowning.
“Not what I was told,” Davy said, puffing up his chest.
Mirabel hoped he would not further give away her identity.
Damian sighed. “What is the matter in the kitchens now, Davy?”
“The boxes for the poor. New Pup got into them and ’ad a feast. Chef says he doesn’t got supplies or time for more boxes.”
He muttered an oath beneath his breath. “That dog is going to be the death of me.”
Mirabel watched the exchange unfolding, her heart giving a pang. He provided the poor with boxes of food, and he had a dog? Compassion had never been one of Stanhope’s virtues. Nor had kindness. And he had absolutely refused to allow her to have any canines in Tarlington House, regardless of how many times she had made the request.
Eventually, she had simply given up on the long-held desire.
“I will be there in a moment,” Damian told the boy before turning back to her. “Forgive me, Mira. I am afraid I must take care of this. The men, women, and children of this street depend upon the meals from Lady Fortune. I’ll not have them suffer.”
He was a good man, she realized. Others in his position would have been only too pleased to keep all their coin for themselves. They would not have been concerned with the plights of those less fortunate.
“I shall help you,” she decided.
His frown deepened. “You cannot venture to the kitchens in your fine gown and slippers. They will be ruined.”
She shook her head. “I do not intend to help you in the kitchens. I am afraid I would be little aid, having no experience in cooking. However, I can send word to my home. My kitchens can provide whatever extra you require so that your people here do not go hungry.”
His frown faded, warmth blazing from his eyes. “You would do that?”
“Of course I would. Why would I not?”
“Many fine ladies don’t care to be bothered with the lowly who’ve hungry bellies.”
“I am not many fine ladies,” she countered.
He nodded, his admiration warming her heart. “I am beginning to appreciate that.”
There was a first—a man whoappreciatedher.
Mirabel bit back her smile, for she had not made the offer to win over Damian Winter. She had made it because it was the right thing to do. “I will send word and have the food brought here. Only tell me what you need.”
* * *
She was charming him.
