Page 8 of Mr. Notorious and the Nefarious November

Munro gave her that slow smile that made her belly flutter.

“My chamber will be right down the hall from yours, Beatrice. Think about that when you get lonely at night.”

Beatrice sputtered some nonsense about how she didn’t feel lonely and wouldn’t think about him for even a moment, but Munro knew better. He’d seen the way her tongue had darted out to wet her lips. He’d noted how her green eyes had turned emerald and how her breasts had risen with her quick breaths, straining her prim church-going bodice.

Why hadn’t he come back from the Continent sooner? He’d left England when Beatrice and Solomon had married becausethe pain of losing her had been so deep and there was no way to avoid seeing or hearing about her in England. But he might have come back after Solomon’s death.

Except he still hadn’t been able to stomach the idea that he would be so near to Beatrice and still unable to touch her, hold her, kiss her. Never, in all his imaginings, had he entertained the thought that she might want him too or ever give him a chance.

Now, he finally had that chance.

Munro led Beatrice into the dining room, where the rest of the family were already at breakfast.

“I thought you were chaperoning Lavinia,” Arthur said, his mouth turned down in a familiar frown. He cut his gaze to Lavinia and the duke, who were already seated at the table.

Munro gestured to his niece, sitting with her back straight on her father’s left. “And here she is.” He waved away a footman and pulled out a chair for Beatrice himself. She took it and eyed the one next to her with trepidation. But Munro had no intention of sitting beside her. He moved around the table and took a seat across from her.

He waited for his teacup to be filled then lifted it to his lips, pursing them slowly and blowing gently across the top. Beatrice’s cheeks went pink, and she swallowed, quickly lowering her eyes to pay far more attention than was necessary to adding lemon to her own tea.

Lavinia was speaking, telling her sister Lydia all about the ball the night before. Lydia was ten, and Munro noticed she had the same ginger hair he possessed. Dudley had told him last night, between soliloquys on footstools, that his three-year-old son was a ginger. Mary, Munro’s younger sister, had three children, the eldest of whom was nine and also a ginger. Mary had commented that Caroline and Lydia might be twins. In the meantime, the ginger hair had completely skipped all seven of Susan’s children.

Munro knew the fables surrounding gingers. Everyone said the red hair led to a quick temper. But no one would claim Munro was quick to anger. Passion was quite another matter, however. He felt emotions very strongly—everything from lust to loss to longing.

And right now he was longing to have Beatrice Haddington in his bed. After last night, and the cake he’d made of himself by drunkenly professing his love, he’d thought she’d never speak to him again. He half-considered sending his luggage to the docks and boarding the first packet sailing away from England. But he’d run away once, and he wouldn’t do it again. He’d face his idiocy this time, and the gamble had paid off. Who would have thought Beatrice could invent such a scandalous amusement as giving him five temptations so he might prove himself a faithful man?

Now he need only convince her to agree in full to his five prizes. She was teetering on the edge of that agreement. He need only extend one finger and exert the slightest pressure to push her over.

She rose and went to the sideboard to fill a plate, and he rose as well and went to stand beside her. “Shall I make a plate for you?”

“I’ll just have toast, thank you. I’m not very hungry.”

“Too bad,” he said, taking a scone from a platter. “Arthur probably spent a fortune having this clotted cream brought from Devon.” He lifted the spoon from the bowl with the cream and purposely dribbled a line of cream on her hand before bringing it to top his scone.

Beatrice made a sound of surprise, but before she could take a napkin and wipe the cream from her hand, Munro set his plate down, caught her wrist, and lifted her hand to his lips. With a quick swipe of his tongue, he caught the dribble of cream.Beatrice gasped quietly and pulled her hand away. Munro only winked at her then went to sit down.

The family were blissfully ignorant of what had just passed, though Munro noted that at least one footman had a twinkle in his eye, indicating he had seen the exchange. Beatrice returned to the table as well, her cheeks flushed a lovely shade of dark pink. She avoided his gaze as she nibbled on her toast, but Munro knew she wouldn’t be able to do so for long. That was why he’d chosen to sit directly across from her.

He ate a few bites of his own breakfast then added jam to his scone. When she glanced his way, he used his fingers to pop a corner of the scone in his mouth. He’d intentionally dripped jam on his fingers, and as she watched, he slowly licked it off one finger after another. Beatrice’s green eyes burned bright, and she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze from his mouth. Munro raised his brows in invitation, and Beatrice finally looked away.

“My governess won’t allow me to eat with my fingers,” Lydia said. She’d obviously seen him pop the piece of scone in his mouth.

Munro smiled at his niece. “Perhaps I’ve been out of the country too long. My manners are sorely lacking. If only I had a governess”—his gaze met Beatrice’s—“to scold me and spank my bottom when I was out of line.”

Beatrice’s mouth dropped open, and she pushed back from the table and jumped to her feet. “Excuse me,” she said. “I have—I just remembered something I must do.” And she rushed from the room.

The table was quiet for a moment, then the conversation resumed. Munro allowed five minutes to pass, wherein he conversed with his niece in French about the variety of confections in a pâtisserie. Lydia hoped to impress her governess, who she said never spanked her bottom.

Then he too excused himself, rose, and started up the stairs to check on the progress the servants were making with unpacking his things. Munro was not at all surprised when he reached the top of the stairs and a hand reached out and yanked him into a corner hidden from view below.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Beatrice said, holding his collar in her fist.

“Very well.” He gently pried her fingers loose. “What specifically should I not do?”

“You know what you did,” she hissed.

“You are opposed to licking? I’ll make a note.”

“You are incorrigible, as ever,” she said, pushing away from him. She started down the corridor, and he leaned out from the corner where she’d left him.

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