Page 15 of Every Rake Has A Silver Lining

Right. But he promised Lady Charlotte they would discuss their possible marriage at supper, and even if he didn’t want to impress her—or so he told himself—he had to smell himself. Asponge bath would have to suffice. “Could you at least bring several bowls of water, then?”

Frampton gave an abbreviated bow. “Very good, sir.”

“Make sure it’s warm,” he shouted at Frampton’s retreating back.

By the time Simon had finished washing and dressing, the clock struck quarter past seven. He didn’t bother with a neckcloth, waistcoat, or coat, which would only exacerbate the heat flowing through him. The ice queen would just have to excuse his state of dishabille.

Thankfully, some of his strength had returned, and he managed the distance from his room to the dining hall with little difficulty, pausing to rest once along the way. However, by the time he entered the room, the chair beckoned him in the most welcoming way.

Lady Charlotte peered up from her consommé, disapproval clearly written on her face. She arched a haughty brow. “Is this your idea of dressing for supper, Mr. Beckham?”

He sketched a deep bow before collapsing into the chair. “Forgive me for offending yourdelicate sensibilities, my lady. I’d hoped to forgo the formalities.”

Even from his distance at the opposite end of the table, he heard her huff. He waited until her spoon was a breath from her lips before saying, “Especially considering you’ve seen me with decidedly fewer garments earlier today.”

Liquid sputtered from her mouth. But drat it all, she made even that look elegant as if she’d intended it. She wiped her lips with the serviette.

The fever raging in him all day either had decreased or had turned his brain to a crisp because all he could think about was that—as her husband—he would be allowed to kiss those lips.

If she let him.

Frampton approached, placing a bowl of the consommé before him.

He studied it. “I’m not sure my stomach can handle eating anything.”

Lady Charlotte’s rich alto traveled down the table and skimmed along his skin like a siren. “You need to eat to regain your strength, and broth will be the easiest to keep down. I asked your cook to prepare it especially for you.”

Well, that was a surprise. “Yes, Mother.” He spooned some up, finding the temperature perfect, swallowed, and waited. His stomach did not revolt. The broth was surprisingly delicious, considering he had little appetite earlier. “How do you know so much about what foods are easy on the digestion?”

“I have three young nephews who eat the most horrendous things that upset their stomachs. Consommé is the one thing they manage to keep down when they’re indisposed.”

He finished every drop, but when Frampton removed the bowl, he held up a hand. “That’s all for me. Just serve Lady Charlotte.”

As she waited for Frampton to place the next course before her, her long, graceful fingers toyed with the rim of her wine glass.

Fascinating.

That answered it. His brain was surely crisped.

She cleared her throat, drawing his attention back to those lips.

Dammit.

“I understand your desire for privacy, sir. But I implore you to call at least several footmen and maids back into service.”

Simon swore Frampton’s lips twitched as he laid the entrée before the demanding woman.

“Oh, you do, do you?”

Those delicate shoulders straightened. Had they always been so white and creamy?

“Yes. I do. It’s unfair of you to lay the burden of everything on Frampton’s shoulders.”

Shoulders. Had she read his mind?

Perhaps not, as she continued speaking. “Surely there are a few in Burwood’s service who are trustworthy?”

“Very well.” He turned toward Frampton. “Two footmen and two maids. I trust your judgment whom to choose.”

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