Page 41 of The Viscount in her Bedroom
“It doesn’t matter what you sing—your voice gives the song an edge. I don’t know,” he added with a shrug. “Maybe only men can hear it.”
She sat back, stunned, and watched Georgie continue to play. “So when I sing about shepherds, men hear something else?”
“I’m sorry I said anything,” he said, rising to his feet. “I’m sure I’m mistaken.”
“No, you don’t think you’re wrong.”
He didn’t call for Manvil, so he stood still, with obvious indecision.
So he thought she sang…suggestively? It made her feel strange and uncertain, something she usually never was.
“Simon?” Georgie called. “Can I escort you somewhere?”
“No, trusty Manvil will have heard you,” Simon said.
The valet appeared in the doorway. “My lord?”
Simon left, Georgie played on, and Louisa sank back in the chair. She should take offense at Simon’s words, but she couldn’t. This was a man who’d kissed her passionately, had said he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Of course he could hear things in her voice—because his thoughts put them there. She was the first single woman he’d been near in many months. She shouldn’t even be flattered in his interest, when of course he was desperate. And he was fighting it.
He at least recognized their flirtation as only that. She wasn’t so certain what she thought of it. She only knew that something had to be done, or he’d sit in this house obsessing about her for no other reason than she was all that was available.
And that wasn’t very flattering.
ChapterNine
Simon rowed harder and harder. He could hear the slap of the oars hitting the water, the rush of the waves he created with his own power. Sweat ran down his face, stinging his eyes, and his tired muscles ached.
“You’re going to break the oars,” Manvil said casually.
“Then we swim.”
They were silent for several more minutes.
“Your sister plays well.”
Between grunts, Simon said, “Thank you.”
“Miss Shelby sings well.”
One oar went too deep, out of rhythm with the other. Simon caught it and continued rowing. “She does.”
He still couldn’t believe he’d told her she sang passionately. What the hell had he been thinking? He didn’t know if he’d made her feel badly—or revealed too much about himself.
She knew he was attracted to her. He’d already admitted it, and proved it with his hands and mouth.
His big mouth.
“Why didn’t you sing with her?” Manvil asked.
“I didn’t know the song.”
“But even if you did, you wouldn’t have sung with her.”
“Probably not.”
“Can’t trust yourself, huh?”
Simon frowned. “Manvil, isn’t there a line between employer and servant that you’re crossing?”
