Page 58 of The Counterfeit Scoundrel
“If you came to me, the affair would not be pretend.”
Her eyes widened, and her lips parted.
“Complete honesty,” he said. “Would you want it to be pretend?”
She glanced around as though searching for an escape or perhaps for an answer that wouldn’t be a lie but neither would it reveal the truth. Finally, she met and held his gaze. “I believe we’ve violated the third rule about keeping to business. It’s getting late. I should go.”
It was no doubt wishful thinking on his part, but he decided her answer to his question was no. She wouldn’t want it to be pretend.
Chapter 17
Bishop had been surprised his offer to accompany Marguerite home, along with the promise of his carriage being made available to her the following day, had been met with what could only be described as an expression of culpability mingled with unease. He’d not liked it and had suspected the reason for it: she didn’t trust him or herself alone in the carriage in the dark, anticipated a repeat performance of what had transpired when they left the former brothel.
He’d intended to be a perfect gentleman, not moving to her side until she indicated he could do so. Although he’d also expected to have her in his arms before his carriage had fully left the drive. He’d decided that they needed to face whatever was simmering between them and so he’d declared, “Complete honesty.”
She’d angled that heart-shaped chin of hers up defiantly and he’d once more become aware that she was not as easy to read as he’d originally assumed. “I’m not returning to my rooms. I’m going to Mrs. Mallard’s.”
And so it was that he now found himself hunched behind a group of hedgerows near the locked gate of the Mallard residence. He was surprised she hadn’tbrought out picks and opened it so they could sneak closer. His carriage was waiting down the street, around the corner, in hopes that it wouldn’t be sighted but would be readily available if they needed to make a hasty escape.
“I’m not quite sure what it is you hope to accomplish,” he said, peering through the slatted wrought iron fence at the manor, darkened save for pale light visible in a solitary chamber on an upper floor.
“I simply want to see if she goes out or if anyone comes to visit her.”
“Most decent sorts are abed this time of night.”
“Why assume she’s decent?”
“Why assume she’s not?”
“She wasn’t honest with us regarding what she told Swindler.”
“Perhaps he exaggerated or misconstrued her words.”
He was astonished her sigh of frustration didn’t blow away the hedges surrounding them. “He is incredibly diligent at sticking to facts. How did she come to your attention?”
“As most women do. She showed up on my doorstep. Apparently Mrs. Winters—”
“One of the women who got divorced last year because you were having an affair with her, which I assume you weren’t.”
“I don’t discuss the particulars of my relationships. Anyway, Mrs. Winters had suggested Mrs. Mallard pay me a visit.”
“You didn’t know her before that?”
“No. We never crossed paths.”
“Yet within a fortnight of meeting you, her husband is dead. I find the timing suspect.”
“You find her suspect.”
“Yes.” He heard the tiniest clatter of her teeth.
The night had grown cooler as the hours had progressed. He considered opening his coat wider and drawing her into the haven of his body, where his heat could help to rebuff the cold. But there was that damned term about businesslike behavior or some such that she’d insisted upon. He’d signed the agreement before they’d left his residence, and already he regretted not crossing out anything designed to make a gentleman out of him. He should leave her to suffer in the chill until she came to her senses and drifted closer to him, to take advantage of what he could offer. But he suspected she was determined not to acknowledge that she’d made an error with her rules. At least not after only a few hours. After shrugging out of his coat, he draped it over her shoulders.
“I can’t accept this. You’ll get cold,” she said, even as she drew the lapels closer together, as though needing at least a few seconds of his warmth to carry her through.
Her gaze had fallen on him. Although the distant streetlamp barely illuminated her features, it was enough for him to see her true concern. Even though the brisk night air had already begun to work its way through his shirtsleeves, he said, “I’ll be fine.”
To hell with the complete honesty as well. Another thing to which he shouldn’t have agreed. Although perhaps it would work in his favor if he told her the truth:I want to kiss you. I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since I first laid eyes on you this morning. I can barely think for how much I want to kiss you.
