Page 9 of Sir Hugo Seeks a Wife
She blinked to break the spell of his gaze and noticed that Sir Hugo carried a bunch of violets in one large gloved hand.“Are you about to call on Lady Petronella?”
“She likes violets.”
Athene didn’t have the heart to tell him that Lady Petronella preferred her floral tributes large and bright and blowsy.At this time of year, he must have paid a fortune for the delicate little flowers.“The sugared ones at least.”
He stepped forward and set the bouquet on the desk.Yesterday the sheer size of him had made her office feel uncomfortably cramped.That hadn’t changed.Nor had the way that he seemed to bring the freshness of the outdoors inside with him.He didn’t strike her as a city kind of man, despite the fashionable clothes that adorned his imposing frame.He belonged in the open air, striding across wild hills on those long, powerful legs.
Athene, stop spouting this revolting romantic drivel.
“The flowers are for you.”Humor warmed that remarkable voice in a way that she found hard to resist.“I thought after yesterday’s poem, you might need some extra inspiration.”
Dear Lord, was she blushing?No man had ever given her flowers.George wouldn’t have declared his interest with anything so innocent.
Sir Hugo’s amusement deepened.“Cat got your tongue?”
She stared at the rich purple flowers nestled in their dark green leaves.A sweet perfume drifted on the air, the scent of spring on a wintry day.“I don’t like sugared violets.”
“Neither do I.Filthy things.Set my teeth on edge.I took yesterday’s box home with me and tried them to see what all the fuss was about.Never again.”
That surprised her enough to gain her full attention.Then she wished that it hadn’t.Today, she noticed how handsome he was, now that she was more accustomed to his physical impact.The ideal Englishman.Golden fair.Clear-skinned.A square, determined jaw.Not to mention those mesmerizing eyes.“You didn’t give them to Lady Petronella?What about my poem?”
When the smile turned positively conspiratorial, Athene found herself responding before she could remind herself that her partiality for a good-looking scoundrel had only ever caused her heartache.
“I thought you might be able to do better.”
So did she.“Yet you paid me a guinea.”
“You’re not upset I didn’t like it?”
She gave a short laugh.“I told you I wouldn’t do my best work under observation.Anyway, I write on demand for money.Artistic temperament is a luxury I can’t afford.”
“You’ll be more relaxed today, now you’re used to me.”
She doubted it.“So you’d like another poem for Lady Petronella?”
“Yes, please.But perhaps you should put the flowers in water first.”
“Of course.”She was blushing again.Plague take him.She wasn’t a silly ingenue.Anything but.Yet Sir Hugo Brinsmead had her all aflutter.“Thank you.”
She should refuse the bouquet.A small minority of the gentlemen who used her poetic services had assumed that she was available to buy as well.Most of them had taken her refusal in good spirit.She feared that Sir Hugo might be just such another troublesome client.He’d asked her to dine.Now he brought flowers.Her acceptance of his gift offered him an opening that she really couldn’t allow.
Which meant it made no sense to fill a glass with the water that she kept for drinking.She plopped the pretty nosegay into the makeshift vase.The vibrant color added a touch of glamour to her workaday surroundings.The delicate scent still made her think of spring.
Which wasn’t unalloyed joy.Because by spring, Sir Hugo would no doubt have chosen a bride.Lady Petronella or someone else.He and his new wife would have retired to his estates in the country to raise beautiful children.While Aphrodite de Smith stayed behind in London to rhyme “moon” and “June” and promote other people’s matches.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself, my girl.Remember what life was like in Vienna and how much better you’ve got it now.
He watched her as if she were the source of endless fascination.“I wasn’t sure if you’d kick up rough about accepting them.”
“I should.But they’re much prettier as flowers than as bonbons.Thank you.”
He looked pleased, which shouldn’t matter, although of course it did.“I imagine they might taste better, too.”
She made a face before she remembered that she never, ever flirted with her patrons.“Don’t you dare try to find out.”
He spread his hands in a show of innocence.“Your violets are safe.”
There was no reason that should sound salacious.But somehow it did.A sign of quite how far Athene had traveled down the path of sinful imagination since she’d met him yesterday.The worst of it was that she didn’t recoil in horror at the thought of Sir Hugo Brinsmead touching her.When for ten years, she’d shunned any hint of dalliance.
