Page 113 of The English Duke
She pressed her fingers to her mouth. She’d never thought to hear a compliment about her lips.
“Besides,” he said, “looks fade. What will keep you beautiful is your mind. I find your mind absolutely fascinating, Martha.”
“You do?”
He nodded.
What on earth could she say? She could tell him she thought he was the most handsome creature she’d ever seen, that his smile made her heart race. She’d never before felt what she did when he looked at her like he was doing now.
“You were a virgin that night. Was I a halfway decent lover?” He threaded his fingers through his hair. “Why am I asking you that question? You wouldn’t know.” He glanced at her. “Now I’m butchering any conversation we might have over the matter.”
“I was quite pleased,” she said. How did she tell him she’d enjoyed every moment of her seduction?
She’d always remember the sight of him now naked and unashamed, propped up on his elbow, his hair askew, his cheeks ruddy with color.
“Thank you,” he said. “For caring for me. For being my Joan of Arc. Why did you come? How did you know I was in pain?”
She’d forgotten. Everything had flown from her mind when she’d seen him. She hadn’t remembered why she’d come to his room.
“Reese has stolen theGoldfish,” she said, telling him what Mr. Haversham had said. “It’s in his carriage. I didn’t know what to do.”
He swung his legs slowly over the side of the bed, reaching for his dressing gown at the end of the mattress.
“I do,” he said. His eyes went to the mantel clock above the fireplace. “Time enough to rectify the situation. I’ve no doubt Reese thought he was doing something good for the War Office, but he isn’t going to steal your discovery.”
The rush of warmth she felt had nothing to do with passion.
“It wasn’t just mine,” she said. “It’s my father’s and yours as well.”
“Regardless, I’m not going to let Reese steal theGoldfish.”
“What can I do?”
“Leave,” he said gently. “Before anyone sees you.”
“Should I summon Henry?”
He shook his head, his smile surprising her. “That would be unwise,” he said. “I’ll do it. You just get back to your room.”
“No,” she said. “Under normal circumstances, I would agree, but this is my ship. I have some stake in this.”
“Martha,” he said gently, “do you trust me?”
As much as her father or Gran, and more than Josephine or Reese.
“Yes.”
“Then let me handle this. It would be difficult to explain your presence at this hour of the morning.”
He was right. Annoyed nevertheless, she left the Queen’s Rooms.
Chapter 32
Shame should have rooted him to the spot, but instead Jordan was curiously enthusiastic about the day. At two o’clock he was to be married. A little more than nine hours from now. Nine hours—time enough to divert the course of his life.
He rang for a servant, surprising the young maid who answered the bellpull with an apology.
She blinked at him several times, giving him the impression of a sleepy kitten.
