Page 49 of The Lord Meets His Lady
“No.”
The candle lantern showered her in a soft glow. Lord Bowles stood at the edge of light and shadows, his usually smiling mouth a grim line above his black collar.
“You need to hear what I have to say.” He stepped closer.
She stepped back until her bottom hit the hard beam. “Not very gentlemanly of you, cornering a domestic in the barn.”
“A moment ago you were singing a different tune,” he gibed, letting go of her arm. “Remember, you came to me.”
Her spine pressed the post, scratching wood and wool. “It’s my job to look after you.”
“Part of your housekeeper’s duties.”
“Yes,” she said weakly, smelling leather and strong ale on him.
He braced a hand beside her head. “Liar.”
She gasped. “Let me go.”
“Why? We’re not breaking your rules. No stairs.”
Nor did he compel her to stay. Not one fraction of his person touched hers, yet Lord Bowles held her in place by force of his person alone.
“I’d think making free with one woman tonight is enough, even for you.” She glared fiercely at him. “Or was it two?”
“Two women?” His eyes widened. “Such credit you give me.”
“I shouldn’t have asked about your skirt chasing.”
She pressed both hands against his chest, ready to push him away. But she didn’t. Knees weak, she eyed his mouth at the edge of his collar. Couldn’t help it. His fine mouth opened, luring her to listen.
“I did go to Learmouth to seek afriendlywoman. But all I could think about was my prickly housekeeper.”
Her gaze shot to his. Hazel eyes glinted dark and fathomless.
“That’s right. I had a pint or two and spent myskirt-chasing timeasking everyone in the Blue Partridge about Maude Turner.”
“You did?”
“Yes, but no one recognized the name.”
Her heart softened, as did her hands on his chest. “Thank you…for asking about my grandmother.”
Caught between the wooden beam and the determined man, she didn’t fight back. Lord Bowles had gone to Learmouth on her behalf and had returnedto her.
“Ah, now there’s a fine reward. The light in your eyes.” He pushed back her hood. His stare ranged over her face, her hair, dropping to her lips and back to her eyes again. “Something else would make my cold, wet ride worthwhile.”
“Such as?”
“A kiss.”
He smiled at her. For most women this would be oil to a flame, and they’d leap at his warm invitation. She would not. Though they’d never spoken of it, she was certain Lord Bowles had wanted a kiss that night on Devil’s Causeway. Was everything a tit for tat exchange with him?
“Do you ever do something for the joy of giving to another, milord? Without asking something in return.”
His smile froze. Time slipped, marking this fragile point. “It’s a late-night kiss in a barn. Far from witnesses to soil your new respectable life.”
“This isn’t about respectability, milord. I don’t barter my kisses.” Rain pounded overhead. Her breath quickened, and all she could do was stare at his beautiful mouth.
