Page 48 of The Luckiest Lady in London

He looked up sharply. The billiard room was a masculine refuge—that he was inside signaled he didn’t wish to be disturbed by any woman.

She stood by the door in a very pretty pastel blue dress, the expression in her very pretty eyes essentially stating that she would be more than happy to lie down on the table, naked.

“I saw the belvedere from the conservatory, by the way. The dress dummies were a stroke of genius.”

He should have known something was wrong with him when he had driven the dress dummies out to the foot of the hill and then carried them the rest of the way by himself. His excuse had been that he hadn’t wanted to make such strange requests of his servants, but in truth he had enjoyed every step of his silly little gesture.

So much that he didn’t even mind the repeated trips between the house and the belvedere, so that the dummies would appear at just the correct angle when she put her eye to the telescope.

“What do you say we pay them a visit tomorrow?” she went on, her voice husky.

He could see her standing on the belvedere, her elbows braced against the top of the half wall, looking over her shoulder at him. She would look perfectly respectable from the waist up, her blouse buttoned to the chin, her jacket similarly closed, her hair neat, her hat prim. But the lower half of her would be entirely naked, except for her walking boots and stockings, perhaps. And she would lean forward just a little, angling her round, pert bottom at him.

He was already hard.

“That would have to depend on the weather, don’t you think? It might rain again,” he said.

“Being coy, I see.” She tilted her head. “Are you trying to draw out my anticipation for as long as you can?”

“What do you think?” he asked, his tone carefully noncommittal.

“And are you going to make me wait just as long tonight?”

“Longer.” At least that was one promise he could make truthfully.

She wrinkled her nose. “What a way to endear yourself to your bride.”

“I am full of just such winning manners and tactics.”

“Ha. Two can play this game. For your insolence, I shall wear something particularly low-cut tonight—while employing one of my most robust bust improvers.”

Her oblivious cheerfulness drove a stake of pain through his chest. “I shall look forward to an excellent view at dinner then, Lady Wrenworth.”

She left, but the next moment, she was back. “By the way, Mrs. Pratt told me she had been in your employ only eight years. I thought she must have served some twenty, thirty years in this house.”

“No, she hasn’t.”

“And Mr. Sturgess? How long has he been here?”

“Ten years, or thereabout.”

“Monsieur Boulanger?”

“No more than five years.”

“Is that not a little odd, that all your upper servants are so relatively new?”

“My father and my mother died within six months of each other. They both left generous bequests to longtime retainers, which led a majority of them to choose either to retire or to pursue other vocations of interest.”

He did not mention that once he had come of age and gained control of his fortune, he had offered further financial lures for those older servants who still remained to leave service and enjoy a life of ease and security—he had not wanted anyone in his employ who could remember the time before he was The Ideal Gentleman.

“That must have been lovely for those retainers,” she said, smiling at him.

She blew him a kiss before she left for good this time, her footsteps growing fainter and fainter.

* * *

When Louisa arrived in the dining room on her husband’s arm, she found the table packed from one end to the other with epergnes and candelabras. When she sat down, she could barely see him with all the obstructions in place.