“The reward would be ours. I like thinking of you under my protection as a benefactor.”
He folded his hands under chin. “If I purchased your gowns like a proper benefactor, I’d have you in a satin lace, high about your neck, for I noticed how much more comfortable you are in those fashions. The gown must have short puffed sleeves that allowed your arms to be free, and shots of silk about your hips. You have hips.”
My cheeks felt hot. My face must be red. The crazy knocking in my chest sped up. “That’s not a terrible dress you described, my lord. It sounds lovely.”
“Only on you, on your hips. My mother would call those birthing hips.”
My heart stopped. Did Lord Ashbrook know about me, that I had a child? Was his flirty statement confirmation?
“Mrs. St. Maur, I’m ready for the whispers. I’ll smile when I hear how beautiful you are, how lucky I am.”
“See? Your plan doesn’t work. There still will be talk. Let’s go back to your original plan of teasing me until we argue. Everyone will assume it’s a break, and the rumors will be done.”
“How can you be an operative of the Widow’s Grace and not know the difference between a man struggling to avoid you and a man cross with you?”
“The results are the same. Frustration, always wondering if I’ll see you again.”
“So, this impasse is my fault?” His chuckles started. “It’s always the man’s fault in your world?”
“No, just London. That’s all I have an understanding of . . . the two years I can remember. You wouldn’t even give me the copy of my marriage contract. Maybe it smelled too much of Jamaica. Can’t have me empowered with all my memories.”
His lips depressed, flattening to a line. Yet, there would always be one separating us, him who knew all, me who knew not enough.
I laughed at myself for getting so worked up. “I suppose it’s silly to quibble about such things when we’re having a jovial affair. I do think you are right. I should travel to see if there is a place where a frugal wife is considered an asset.”
He reached for me, then dropped his hands to his sides. “Dinner. We should go.”
“A frugal wife is not in demand somewhere, Lord Ashbrook?”
“I have no opinion on wives.”
“Something we can agree upon. I’ve had this name St. Maur for a short season. Seems a shame to get rid of it.”
He picked at the buttons of his waistcoat. They glimmered in the torchlight. “You don’t want to marry either? Good.”
Ashbrook crossed that invisible divide and lifted me, twirling me around and around before taking me into a deeper embrace. “I surrender.”
His head dipped, and I claimed his kiss.
Better than before. It was a true dropping of his caution. His mouth was hungered, endless in its searching. The razor-cut feel, slight and bristly, of his beard sent tingles over my face.
I surrendered too. In his arms, I found myself. I was a girl desired and sheltered by the earl, the man I fancied.
“Jemina, I don’t want you married either. I want you for myself.”
His tone was rushed. His hold on me was everything. He was a mast, a stronghold in my storm.
“Let me be your benefactor. Be my mistress. Let us explore these feelings between us. We’ll have an affair to remember.”
A temporary love, that was what he wanted?
Now, I was speechless looking up at Daniel Thackery, the Earl of Ashbrook, the man who made my heart race and break at the same time.
CHAPTER 21
DANIEL—DANGEROUSLIAISONS
At the Old Bailey, Daniel knew when he’d argued his point successfully. He felt it in his bones when the jurymen would decide in his client’s favor.
