Page 69 of Impeccable
“What’s that?”
She scooted back from him slightly so she could better see his face. “I’m not supposed to tell you. We keep our discussions private.”
“Then I shan’t pester you.” He leaned forward to kiss her forehead.
“Did the dinner with Hargrove and your brother include their wives?” she asked.
“It did. Why?”
Evie scowled. “I don’t like that the Hargroves seem to be close with your brother and Lady Witney. Lady Hargrove is becoming more vocal about the fact that the majority of her recommendations to the club, including Lord and Lady Witney, aren’t given invitations. It seems she may be involving her husband in her crusade.”
“What crusade is that?”
“To have more of her recommendations invited to join the club. Today, she indicated that her friends—those who are members—are beginning to think the Phoenix Club isn’t for them.” She grimaced. “Forget I said that.”
Gregory put his hand to his bare chest. “I’ll keep whatever you tell me completely inviolate. I can see why you’re troubled. It does look as if they might be conspiring.”
“Indeed.” She shook her head. “I will hope that Lord Hargrove is the voice of reason. Still, I will share this with Lucien, if you don’t mind?”
“I don’t mind at all. It sounds as if Lady Hargrove is seeking to make herself heard.”
“Oh, we hear her,” Evie said sardonically. “We just don’tlisten.”
Gregory chuckled. “An important distinction.”
“Honestly, we’d like it if she’d resign from being a patroness. And at this point, I can’t say I’d mind if she resigned her membership.” Again, she grimaced. “I sound horribly uncharitable. But I hate that she may be speaking poorly of the club. Lucien has worked so hard to establish a wonderful, welcoming place.”
Gregory stroked her shoulder and looked into her eyes. “She’s one person. The Phoenix Club will stand against her complaints.”
Evie relaxed, her features smoothing. “You’re right, of course.” She narrowed one eye at him. “What spell have you cast on me? I’m usually quite good at keeping secrets. Yet here I am in bed with you spilling all sorts of things I ought to keep private.”
He laughed softly and drew her close once more, inhaling the fragrance of her hair. “I only know that I am completely underyourspell, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m glad we can share our trials and concerns with one another.”
“That is rather nice.” She kissed the hollow of his throat, and his body roared to arousal, as if he hadn’t just been utterly sated not long ago. “But at the moment, I’d rather we share something far more…primal.” She moved over him, straddling his hips and rotating her pelvis against his rigid cock.
He thrust his hand into her hair and cupped her head. “There is nothing, at any given moment, that I would rather do.” He pulled her down and kissed her.
There was no more talk of his brother or the Phoenix Club.
Evie stifled a yawn as she pulled on her gloves. She hadn’t really slept until Gregory had left just before dawn. Not that she minded. She felt tired in that glorious, fulfilling way one did when one realized some things were simply better than sleep.
Foster opened the door for her as she stepped outside.
“I won’t be too long,” she said before turning to the right and walking to her neighbors’ house to discuss the dog situation.
Mr. and Mrs. Kirby were in their later fifties, probably, their children grown with children of their own. More than once, Evie had seen them all walking together—a big, happy family. It had seemed so foreign to her.
She rapped on their door and was soon greeted by a housekeeper. The woman, in her thirties, with a long, slender face and businesslike mien, greeted Evie.
“Good afternoon,” Evie said, presenting her card. “I’m here to see Mrs. Kirby. Or Mr. Kirby. Or both. It’s a…sensitive matter concerning their dog.”
The housekeeper’s brows shot up briefly. She nodded. “Come in. They will see you in the drawing room.”
The house was laid out almost identically to Evie’s, but she followed the housekeeper upstairs to the drawing room. It was decorated much differently, of course, with muted colors of yellow and gray. A cheerful painting of daffodils graced one wall, and Evie went to inspect it.
A few moments later, the Kirbys arrived. Mr. Kirby was short and angular, his dark eyes assessing Evie. Mrs. Kirby was nearly as tall as her husband, but much softer. She smiled upon seeing Evie and welcomed her warmly. “Would you like tea?” she asked.
“No, thank you. I came to speak with you about your dog.”
