Page 51 of Irresistible
He began to share Jess’s frustration.
He was also eager to take the letters to her. Perhaps having those would be helpful to her cause. Then he could come back and look for the Wordsworth.
“Can I help you, Mr. Smythe?”
Dougal turned from the shelves to see Mrs. Farr standing just inside. Her meeting with the Chesmores must be finished. “I was just looking for a book of poetry. I find myself wanting to read Wordsworth since we are in his room.” He gave her his most disarming smile, which typically helped smooth the way with ladies in particular.
“There are a few of those,” she said, her brow pleating. “I think they’re over here.” She strode across the room to a case near the fireplace.
Dougal followed her, watching as she took one book from the shelf and quickly replaced it, then tried another.
“Ah, here’s one.” She handed him the small book.
He opened it and readPoems in Two Volumes. Flipping the pages, he scanned for the words that were familiar to him—there it was:dances with the daffodils. He had it!
Snapping the book closed, he bestowed another smile on the helpful Mrs. Farr. “Thank you. Truly.”
She glanced toward the doorway and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Does this have anything to do with why you’ve come?”
Dougal preferred not to say. The less she knew, the better. “As I said, I had a penchant for some Wordsworth. I appreciate your help.” He turned and departed the library before she could query him further.
He took the stairs two at a time and rushed into the chamber. Jess was not at the desk. Her cipher notes and the letter were nowhere in sight. The door to the dressing room was closed.
Striding to the dressing chamber, he lifted his hand to knock. At that moment, he heard the slosh of water. She was in the tub. His cock went instantly and irritatingly hard. He couldn’t recall the last time a woman had jumbled him so thoroughly. The mere thought of her nude in the next room was sending him into a fit of lust.
He let his head fall gently forward against the door. There was no bloody satisfaction inthat.
Satisfaction would be Jess in his arms, her sandy-brown hair cascading over her shoulders, her breasts cloaked by the silken locks.
This was torture. He had to stop.
He lifted his head. “Jess, I found the Wordsworth poem.”
Another slosh. “You did? I’ll be right out.”
It was several long minutes, of course. She’d have to get out of the tub and dry herself off. He almost offered to help.
Almost.
Instead, he strode from the windows to the door and back again. He lost count of how many times when she finally emerged. Her wig was slightly askew, and one of the buttons on her red dressing gown was unfastened.
He glanced toward the latter, just below her breasts. “You’re undone,” he murmured.
She looked down and hastily tucked the button through the hole. “Thank you. I was in a hurry. You have the book?” She seemed blissfully unaware of the effect she had on him. It was just as well.
While pacing, he’d continued to hold it. Now he placed it into her hands. “I also have three more letters.” He pulled them from his coat and set them atop the book.
She tipped her head up to look at him, her eyes wide. “Threemore letters?”
“There were actually several more than that. I counted eight in total. I didn’t want to take them all and risk their absence being immediately noted.”
“So you took a few instead. Brilliant.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why are there so many? Shouldn’t they have sent these to France?”
He was pleased she’d gotten there so quickly. “I had the same question, and I would think so. They either haven’t had an opportunity to send them, or they’re making duplicates.”
She scoffed. “That wouldn’t be very smart.”
“Precisely.”
