Page 37 of The Lord Meets His Lady
He bit down on the cheroot and let her words steep. How novel. There was a ring of truth in what she said. He was his own worst enemy, and it had taken a woman a decade younger to point out in a matter of days what he’d taken years to conclude. Her quiet, oh-so-reasonable alto spoke the truth, and it aroused him.
Heaviness flooded his balls. The internal push and pull of lusting for his housekeeper kept tripping over his better intentions. Life hadn’t been fair to Genevieve Turner. He wouldn’t heap another burden on her by besmirching her newly minted reputation.
But he wanted her. Badly.
“Such wisdom,” he said with a bite.
Dewy-skinned from steam, she wasn’t backing down. “A vice will eat you alive. Make your peace while you can.”
Miss Turner’s dark eyes leveled him. She’d shown more grace, more fearlessness in search of her new life away from London. What had he done? Finagled a friend in need to make a devil’s bargain, and treated a young woman as mere chattel. He was all very gentlemanly and helpful, quick with a witty word or two. Women loved his face and form, but the water before him reflected a selfish man.
No amount of time at Pallinsburn could cleanse him of that.
He sat up and pulled the cheroot from his mouth. “I have something for you.”
“For me?”
“Yes, but I’m of a mind to use it as a negotiation piece.”
The tobacco’s rich aroma swirled around them. Cool air caressed his skin not in the water. His exposed nipples tightened.
She folded her arms around her knees, taking in his chest. “Do go on.”
His cock stirred to attention. There was no mistaking the feminine purr in her voice. Heat sparked his skin. If change was to happen, if he was to become a better man, it began now. He’d pass along his gift and see Miss Turner left the scullery untouched.
“You know you cornered me this morning…with your demands,” he said, sliding comfortably into the mantle of humor.
She giggled, and the little white bow on her bodice swung merrily. “I thought our discussion went well.”
He cherished her sweet laugh. “Of course you did. Everything went in your favor.”
“What was decided works for both of us. A practical arrangement, if you will.”
“Spoken like a woman well practiced in the art of persuasion. If this morning was a game, I’d say you gained the upper hand with resounding success.”
“Were we playing a game, milord?” Her eyes widened with feigned innocence.
Mist from the bath curled the amber wisps falling around her cheeks. He’d wager those hairs were silky soft. Youthful or not, Miss Turner seemed well practiced in many things.
He dipped the cheroot’s burning tip in the water. The bath hissed. “With men and women, it’s always a game.”
“Are you educating me on the ways of men?”
He set the cheroot on the stool and grabbed the papers, getting an eyeful of his housekeeper. A fresh wave of want stiffened his cock. Tiny moisture beads clung to her breasts, shining pretty as diamonds on ample cleavage. Her shift’s white tie, the one he’d ogled when she made her bold demands, dangled over her bodice. The tie begged to be pulled.
If he wasn’t careful, he’d press his mouth to hers and cry defeat.
“The thing is,” he said, hips shifting and sloshing water. “What we have is like a game of fox and geese. Are you familiar with the board game?”
A sweet laugh erupted. “Fox and geese? Yes, I’ve seen it. Pray tell, what do you mean?”
“Well, I’m the fox, outnumbered and outflanked by you.”
“Because of this morning.”
His gaze dipped again to her pretty bosom. Plentiful curves rounded over her faded, russet-red bodice. He was the worst kind of wastrel; everyone expected it of him.
Why not give in?
