Page 9 of The King's Man
‘Ah!’ Kit set the glass down and took a seat by the fire, stretching out his long legs to dry the damp boots. He tookLucy’s small hand and drew her down onto his lap. ‘I have a confession, Mistress Mouse.’
‘What confession?’ she asked.
‘I’ve been in the Clink.’
‘Again!’ Lucy squeaked with indignation and thumped him firmly in the chest. ‘What over this time?’
‘The small matter of a horse.’
‘A horse is not a small matter!’
‘Well, no, it was quite a large horse.’
‘And who paid your debts this time?’ Her lip curled in derision.
‘The matter was settled amicably.’
‘Cards, I wager!’ she spat at him. ‘, Kit Lovell, you are incorrigible.’
‘But you must admit you missed me,’ he wheedled, curling his mistress’s blonde locks around his finger.
‘Not for a moment!’ she protested without conviction, her head tilting backward as his fingers strayed to the soft part of her throat, tracing a line down to the top of the bodice.
He replaced his finger with his mouth, blowing soft butterfly kisses on her clean, soft, white skin, while his fingers grappled with the knot on her bodice laces. She moaned as his kisses dropped lower and his hand fought with the layers of skirts and petticoats, finding its way up past the wool of her stockings to the smooth skin of her upper thigh and heaven where he could lose himself.
As he fumbled with his belt, Lucy took advantage of the distraction and with a shriek of laughter, gathered up her skirts and ran from the room. He caught her on the staircase and together they slithered and tripped up the stairs to the warmth and comfort of Lucy’s large tester bed.
Chapter 3
Thamsine wiped her hands on a dirty rag and surveyed the pile of dishes stacked on the kitchen table. She looked down at her fingers and sniffed them, wrinkling her nose. The tips were shrivelled like dried sweetmeats and smelt of grease.
Her father would turn in his grave if he could see her now, but when she considered the alternative, she gave a silent prayer of thanks. The Ship Inn offered her a respite, time to consider what path to take. For now, the mindless repetition of physical tasks was a balm to her weary soul and she turned to the basket of carrots that Nan had set her to peel.
She sat down on a rickety stool, picked up the first carrot and regarded it from all angles. Her life, until recently, had never required the skill of peeling carrots. She picked up the knife and, flinching from its sharp blade, she attacked the vegetable.
‘You don’t hold the knife like that.’
Thamsine looked up to see Kit Lovell standing over her, his well-shaped lips curved in amusement. Flustered, Thamsinenicked her finger. With a yelp of pain, she dropped both carrot and knife.
‘Didn’t your mother teach you anything?’ he asked.
‘My mother? No, she didn’t.’ Thamsine retorted, removing her cut finger from her mouth and picking up another carrot from the pile. ‘She died when I was nine after a long illness that kept her from teaching me any form of useful domestic skill and nowhere did my books include a lesson on how to peel carrots..’
Kit pulled up a stool. ‘Look, I’ll demonstrate.’ He picked up a carrot and a knife from the table and with remarkable dexterity peeled four carrots in the time it had taken Thamsine to produce one badly mutilated vegetable.
‘Well, well, look who’s here?’ Nan swaggered in carrying a tray of empty platters. She set them down and put her arms around Kit’s neck, pressing her ample bosom to his back and blowing in his ear. ‘Where’ve you been, lover?’ She sniffed. ‘You smell nice. Been off visiting your lady friend?’
Kit looked up at her and winked.
Nan straightened and cuffed his ear. ‘Ah, you’re no fun these days, Cap’n Lovell.’ She shook her head and sauntered out of the kitchen.
Thamsine stifled her laughter as Kit turned to regard her through narrowed eyes.
‘What are you smiling at?’
‘Is there a woman in London you don’t share a bed with?’
Kit returned his attention to the carrot. ‘That is a harsh remark, given I barely know you, Mistress Granville and, indeed, the circumstances of our meeting.’
