Page 72 of Oddity of the Ton
“Thank you.”
The housekeeper led Miss Howard across the hall. Monty watched them ascend the staircase, then they veered right at the turn and disappeared along the upper hallway.
Jenkins stood in the doorway, his gaze fixed on Miss Howard. But rather than the aloof disapproval that the butler bestowed on the majority of Rosecombe’s female houseguests, Monty could swear he saw something akin to cordiality.
Or—dare he say it—approval.
Then Jenkins scuttled off to resume his duties, barking orders to every servant he passed, while Monty steered Lord and Lady Marlow toward the parlor for tea.
Perhaps it was a figment of Monty’s imagination, swelled by wishful thinking, but he could swear that Jenkins—who’d been at Rosecombe for so many years that he was part of the fabric of the building, and who was notorious for disliking everybody, both upstairs and downstairs—had stumbled across a person whom he actuallyliked.
And that, if nothing else, set Miss Howard apart from every other creature in the world.
*
Monty pulled outhis pocket watch and flipped it open.
Twenty past six. Enough time to return to the house before the dressing gong. Most likely, his valet would already be fussing around his dressing room, setting out an array of waistcoats and cravats for him to choose from. Didn’t the man know he cared not which one he wore? There were more important things in life than whether his waistcoat matched his necktie.
Marlow and his wife were likely to be engaging in a moreenergeticpursuit—and certainly a more enjoyable one.
Unwilling to be forced to hear their cries of pleasure, Monty had slipped outside for air. Why the devil had Mrs. Adams put them in the red guest room? It was far too close to his own bedchamber, which meant that he’d be treated to their screams of ecstasy all night—that was, if Marlow had spoken the truth about his wife’s talents in the bedchamber.
But a woman that feisty—and Lady Marlow was one of the feistiest women he’d met—was bound to provide excellent bed sport. No man wanted his bed partner to close her eyes and lie back, waiting for her ordeal to be over. No, he wanted a woman with a mind of her own who required a greater effort on his part before she eventually surrendered.
For, as all men knew, the chase, and the final conquest, were always better than what came after—a lifetime of being bound to the same woman forever.
Along the path back to the house, Monty spied a lone figure leaning against a fence, looking into the field beyond where a horse stood grazing at the far end, the roof of the stable building visible in the background.
Sketchbook in hand, her pencil sweeping across the page, it was Miss Howard.
As he approached, she startled and looked around.
“Oh, Your Grace! I didn’t know you were outside.”
“Nor I you,” he said. “Weren’t you supposed to be resting?”
“Yes, but I saw the horse as we came up the drive earlier today.”
“And you felt compelled to draw him,” he said. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“Everyone was so keen on my taking a rest that I didn’t want to cause offense,” she said. “I did rest for a while. I didn’t realize how tired I was until I reached my room—which is beautiful, by the way. I love the color particularly; it reminds me of…” She colored, then sighed. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I? I always talk too much when I’m…”
“Nervous?” he prompted. “There’s no reason to be. I meant it when I said to treat Rosecombe as your home.” He gestured to the sketchbook. “May I?”
She nodded and held it out. He took it and studied the page. She had drawn a horse—more specifically,hishorse. It was as if the animal stared out at him from the page. No item of detail was missing, from the heavy-lidded, thick-lashed eyes, to the velvety soft, slightly flared nostrils, to the white mark on the animal’s forehead in the shape of a butterfly.
“It’s Hercules!” he cried. “But how can you depict such detail from a distance? He’s at the opposite end of the field, yet this portrait is accurate down to the last whisker! Do you possess an eyeglass, or inhuman eyesight?”
She let out a soft laugh, and his breeches tightened at her relaxed manner. She laughed so rarely that each occasion was to be savored—and his hungry body reacted with pleasure and need in equal amounts.
“He came over to say hello when I arrived,” she said. “Just for a moment—then he lost interest and galloped over to the other side.”
“He’s a little restless at the moment,” Monty replied. “One of the mares is in season—which is why he’s been put out here.”
Her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink. “Oh,” she said, her mouth forming a delectable, round circle.
“But you were still able to sketch his likeness,” Monty said.
