Page 8 of The Lord Meets His Lady
She sprang away from the door.Mr. Dutton.This time she’d send him on his way with a firm word. She yanked the door wide open, blinking at bright sunlight and an even brighter man.
Her breath caught. “Lord Bowles.”
“Miss Turner, how nice to see you again.” His greeting alone could be a proposition, the way his voice caressed her name.
She stood mutely, the floor uncertain beneath her feet. Behind him the Beckworth geese waddled through the yard, their orange beaks poking the ground. The rogue had followed her?
Her mind spinning, she blurted, “What are you doing?”
Hazel eyes glinted beneath his black tricorn hat. “I’m standing on your doorstep. Will you let me in?”
“No.” She stuffed the crumpled letter in her pocket. “Mr. Beckworth and his brothers aren’t here. They have business in Learmouth village.”
Creases deepened at the corners of his friendly eyes. Lord Bowles wasn’t put off. There had to be a social nicety for this, but where she came from, if you didn’t want someone at your door, you told them.
“I know they aren’t.” His voice dropped lower. “I came early to see you.”
What was she supposed to do about this? A polite refusal formed, but his lordship’s vision snagged on her cleavage before popping back up to her face.
A scoundrel always showed his true colors.
She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorjamb, all pretense of a proper servant gone. “And who’d be calling? Thehonorablevicar?”
Lord Bowles chuckled. “I apologize for the surprise. Mr. Beckworth and I are longtime friends. I started to tell you about the connection while we repaired the coach brace.” He paused and took a measured tone. “But our roadside conversation went in a new direction before I had the chance.”
She smarted when he saida new direction, a stinging reminder that she’d pleaded with him to hide her true identity…from his friend no less. What a neat bit of trouble this was! Did his lordship think she was here to steal the family silver? A laughable thing since the humble Beckworth cottage had none.
“Then you would be the old army friend coming to dinner,” she said flatly.
“I am. The worse for wear but not…soold.”
She shoved off the doorjamb, her mind assembling all the pieces. His lordship’s gentle humor was a balm in this clumsy moment. Lord Bowles was tonight’s honored guest and the reason for the small feast she was preparing in the kitchen. It was late morning. Almost noon. She wanted to tell him to come back later, but Mr. Beckworth might take offense if she did. What would a proper housekeeper do? There was also the matter of her character, such as it was. She didn’t want Lord Bowles thinking ill of her.
Mildly chastened, she clasped dough-flecked hands together. “I am not a thief, milord. If that’s your concern, please know I’d never cause harm to Mr. Beckworth or his family.”
“I believe you.”
Never had three words sounded so lovely. They’d rolled off his tongue with ease. She hesitated. Shutting the door on Lord Bowles wouldn’t be wise. Letting him in didn’t work either.
“I knew there was a possibility our paths might cross,” she said, stalling in hopes that wisdom would strike.
“And you thought I’d pretend we’d met for the first time, should we be introduced in the village.”
“Yes.”
Lord Bowles nodded, hands clasped behind his back. “While I don’t believe you’re out to harm Mr. Beckworth, this still makes me complicit in your deception…against my friend.”
Her status hung in the balance. Did he have concerns about her circumstances? Or was he in search of a dalliance? The power was his.
“Does that mean you’ll not mention my real name or the Golden Goose to Mr. Beckworth?”
“I already gave my word.” He flashed a disarming smile. “Now, will you let me in?”
She was doomed. Lord Bowles was trouble on two legs. He knew how to open doors with his smile alone. A sculpted lower lip balanced his thinner upper lip, a scale of sensuality and wit. Her solitude and better judgment were about to be breached by a consummate flirt wielding his version of honor. Men were by no means a novelty. She was skilled at brushing them off or remaining unnoticed when the mood struck, but she’d have to face facts.
London allowed obscurity. Cornhill-on-Tweed would not.
“No harm in showing you to the parlor. Mr. Beckworth and his brothers should return within an hour.”
