Page 13 of The Counterfeit Scoundrel
“I wasn’t expecting playing cards.”
“There’s usually some on the table the morning after he’s had company. Cook reckons they play a naughty game. Like whoever loses a round has to maybe reveal a secret or remove a bit of clothing.”
“Considering how many layers a lady wears that could take all night.” In addition, it hardly seemed fair to him when he’d been outfitted in so little. He’d be nude long before his company, although perhaps he didn’t mind strutting about stark naked. He hadn’t bothered refastening his buttons when she’d walked in.
Sarah shrugged. “Builds up the anticipation Cooksays. Don’t want to get at things too quickly. You ever had a man?”
Feeling herself blush at such an intimate question, she shook her head. “No. Have you?”
“No. I was raised to be a good girl. But I rather fancy Tom and sometimes I get all warm and tingly just looking at him.”
“He is rather handsome.”
Sarah’s brow furrowed. “Do you fancy him, then?”
“Oh, no. He doesn’t make me grow warm in the least.” Not even when she’d squeezed his upper arm. She could have been testing the ripeness of a melon for all the joy it had given her. Bishop, on the other hand...
Why would she have to be enamored of a scapegrace? Possibly it was because hewasa scapegrace that he appealed to her. Perhaps she was like her mother, falling for the wrong sort of man, someone who would lead her to ruin. She didn’t want to be like the woman who’d given birth to her, but rather she yearned to be like the one who’d raised her. God-fearing, law-abiding, boring.
Although being an inquiry agent certainly wasn’t boring. Conceivably that was one of the reasons she’d chosen this path. However, when it came to men, the duller the better. Bishop was anything but mind-numbing. Yet, they’d taken time to engage in a mundane activity. “Does he play cards with all the ladies?”
Again, Sarah shrugged her slender shoulders. “It’s usually chess with Mrs. Bowles. She’s his Wednesday appointment.”Blue-Eyes.“Then he played backgammon with one of them last year. Cribbage board has been out a time or two.” She pointed toward a credenza upon which rested several decanters. “Store the cards in there.”
While Sarah went back to taking care of the bed, Daisy stacked the cards before placing them in the hinged gold filigree case that had been placed next to the tray. She carried it over to the small cupboard, pulled open the door, and was astonished to see several card cases as well as a variety of larger wooden boxes, some with gilt lettering visible on the side to identify them as various games. Were they all part of his seduction? She couldn’t imagine that he needed anything other than himself. Then she chastised herself for the thought.
Somehow, he’d managed to capture her interest—and as more than the dastardly man leading women to ruin. She wanted him filling his residence with her favorite flower. Wanted him to serve up her favorite sweet. Wanted him engaging her in a strategic game that she would lose, but in the losing would win. Because her clothes would be pooled at his feet and from there—
Her head grew light, and she swayed, nearly toppling into the games stacked so neatly. With a measure of shame, she realized she’d stopped breathing as though waiting in anticipation for everything she’d been imagining to occur. The lady last night hadn’t looked in need of smelling salts. But how could she not when she’d been cradled on his lap, her fingers so close to that bare skin and those fine hairs?
“Caw, are you ill?” Sarah was suddenly at her side,her brow furrowed so deeply she’d no doubt have permanent wrinkles when she finally relaxed it.
“I simply lost my balance for a minute.” She shoved herself to standing, glad the explanation had been enough to ease the concern in the chambermaid’s eyes. “Honestly, I’m fine. I’ll tend to cleaning out the fireplace.”
As she began the task, she gave herself a stern lecture. She needed to keep her wits about her if she had any hope at all of being successful and providing her most recent client with all he required and expected. Even if it meant dragging Bishop through the mud.
Bishop didn’t usually awaken in a foul mood, but this morning he’d definitely gotten up on the wrong side of the bed. He actually enjoyed Louisa Parker’s company, and under different circumstances, they’d be friends. But he was more than ready for the game they played to come to an end, especially after Marguerite had walked in on them last night. When he’d delivered Louisa to her residence, he’d very nearly gone inside with her, pounded his fist on the door to her husband’s bedchamber, and yelled, “I’m having a bloody affair with your wife! Pay some attention, man!” But it was his very lack of paying attention that had brought her to Bishop to begin with.
No, his upset wasn’t because it was taking so long to assist Louisa in obtaining the divorce she craved. His ill humor was the result of the shock on Marguerite’s face. He hadn’t spied her this morning when he’d left his bedchamber. However, he’d been tempted to peer into all the other rooms to see if she was about,because he could have sworn that he’d caught a faint wisp of violets when he’d stepped into the hallway.
Sitting at his desk now, he considered calling for her and confessing that it hadn’t been as it had appeared. But he couldn’t risk anyone else knowing. Nor could he risk her testifying because of happenstance and wielding the truth in a courtroom.
He heard the heavier footsteps coming down the hall and knew it wasn’t her delivering his morning tray, and he was hit with both relief and disappointment.
Tom strode in, set the wooden tray on the corner of the desk, raised the sterling pitcher, and carefully poured the black coffee into the cup. With a flourish, he then lifted the silver dome covering the plate to reveal a poached egg atop a buttered muffin. A bowl of fruit rested nearby as did a small platter of bacon and ham. A scone and the honeypot. A thin crystal vase holding a single violet also sat on the tray.
When Tom had everything arranged to his satisfaction, he stepped back. “Will there be anything else, sir?”
“Yes, Tom, actually.” He didn’t miss the flash of concern in the young footman’s eyes, and he realized the words had come out a tad more curtly than he’d intended. He’d learned early on that the servants apparently lived to please him, which was something he’d never anticipated. While he wasn’t of the nobility, the fullness of his coffers was no secret, and prestige was to be found in serving a man who could pay as well as he did, along with shame in being let go. He attempted to make his tone more conciliatory. “In the future, when you have a pressing engagement and areunavailable to bring a tray to my bedchamber when I have a guest, please see the task handed off to another footman and not one of the maids.”
Tom looked as though he’d been bludgeoned. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. It wasn’t an important matter, to be honest. It was just that Daisy was so keen to do it... she’d offered, and Cook had told her no, sent her to bed, but she was waiting on the stairs... and so eager to take it up, could tell I was anxious to get back toDavid Copperfield. I didn’t see how there’d be any harm in making her happy. It won’t happen again, sir.”
Bishop held up a finger. “Wait. You were not indisposed?”
“No, sir, not in the least. But she was there—”
“Wanting to take on the chore. Rather than being done with her duties for the day.”
Tom’s brow furrowed and he seemed lost. “It does seem a bit odd... now that I think about it. Especially as she’d complained of a megrim earlier, was in the kitchen sipping tea because of it.”
