Page 9 of The Lord Meets His Lady
He stepped inside and passed his hat to her, sunshine crowning his chestnut-colored hair. “Any chance you’ll sit with me awhile?” He stretched free of his black redingote, the collar brushing curls at his nape.
“None. I clean the parlor, milord. I don’t sit in it.”
He laughed at her bald rejection, and a single lock slipped free of his queue’s black ribbon. The curl hid behind his ear, the strands a sun-kissed contrast to the rest of his brown hair. The vulnerable lock of hair begged to be neatened. She hung his hat and coat on pegs, glad for her hands to have something to do. Lord Bowles stood less than an arm’s length from her at the crossroads of proper and intimate, a winsome smile on his face.
And her wish to be a respectable domestic slipped a notch.
She tipped her head toward the parlor. “You can wait in there, milord.”
“Alone?”
“Yes. Alone,” she said, getting a whiff of pleasant soapiness from him. “I am the housekeeper, remember?”
The notion struck that he’d addressed her by her real name when she’d opened the door. The shock of seeing him and his attractive pleasantness had relaxed her guard, surrounding her, warm as a summer day. Lord Bowles must’ve shaved before riding here. His angular jaw appeared silky smooth, a contrast to his rumpled cravat and dirty leather spatterdashes wrapped around his calves. Clumps of grass and dirt clung to the spatterdashes’ horn buttons. No one, not even a high and mighty lord, was going to muck the floors she’d scrubbed that morning.
She pointed at the messy spatterdashes. “Those must come off.”
“Anything else you want removed?” he teased, taking a seat on the entry hall’s bench. He started on the buttons at his left knee and nodded at his other leg. “I could use some help. My hands are stiff. I raced Khan this morning, and I neglected to wear my gloves.”
He held up chafed hands. Careful not to touch him, she leaned in, peering at the redness on his fingers. A few spots showed minor swelling.
“Chilblains, milord. I’ve a salve for that.”
Fingers splayed, he examined the marks. “Is that what those are? No wonder my hands ache.” He flashed a dazzling smile. “You can rub your salve on me. I’m an amiable patient.”
Amiable patient, indeed.
She crouched on the floor, her hands working efficiently on the sturdy buttons. “I’ll give you the salve, andyoucan rub it on yourself.”
He chuckled above her head. “You have a talent for putting me in my place. A man could believe he’s lost all sway with the fairer sex.”
“I’ve a new life here, milord,” she said, concentrating on the spatterdash. “I’ll not ruin it.”
Little by little, the leather parted. Her fingers grazed his leg, brushing warm wool stretched over flexed muscles. His stocking’s intricate weave was inches from her nose. Masculine body heat seeped into her, bringing with it earthy aromas of grass and soil.
Kneeling at his feet, she was fascinated by the play of sinew and muscle, evidence of a man who spent much time in the saddle. His calf muscle curved out and flattened high at the back of his leg. How nice it would be to explore him there. To explore all of him.
Cheeks warming, her chin dipped lower. Women at the Goose were known to bicker over Lord Bowles, wanting a few hours on his arm—or other parts.
She stole glances at his striking profile. Sunlight caught his long, brown lashes tipped with gold. Head bent, he unclasped the other spatterdash, his lips pressing together from the effort. This was like being backstage two years past, sitting near him but hardly noticed.
Considering her reasons for coming north, this was for the best. Yet, today he had come early.
For her.Why?
Her tongue moistened her lips, and she bent to the task. One thick button by his ankle proved especially trying. Her hand slipped inside the leather’s sultry warmth.
The bench bumped the wall.
She looked into hazel eyes bright with greens and golds among rich browns.
Heat shot hard and fast inside her. Her nipples pinched against her stays.
“Is this part of your housekeeper’s duties?” he asked.
Daylight caught tiny dust motes drifting between them. The floor was cold on her legs, but her palm grew hot. The corner of his lordship’s mouth quirked. His attention traveled downward, and she followed his sight line.
Her hand was inside the spatterdash, curving possessively around his calf.
