Page 29 of His Mistress, His Muse, and Other Madness
His brother sat him at a sofa near the room and then sat on the opposite side, leaving Cordelia and Mrs. Dart to stare at one another.
Cordelia inched closer to her. “We’ve been forgotten.”
“Can one be forgotten if one is never noticed to begin with?”
“Ah, I see,” Cordelia said. “You’re a wise one.”
Mrs. Dart sliced her a look like a blade that softened as her gaze wandered its way around the room and settled on the two men talking on the sofa. “I’m a foolish one.” She faced Cordelia and stuck out her hand. “I’m Mrs. Amelia Dart.”
Cordelia released the other woman’s grasp. “I’ve never shaken anyone’s hand before. How… American.”
“I spent part of my life there when I was young. Certain things stuck.”
“Not the accent, though?”
“I can do that if it pleases me.” Mrs. Dart spoke with a flat American accent and held an arm out toward the sofa. “Shall we join them?”
“Actually, if you do not mind, I would like to clean up. We have been traveling for two days, and we slept in the coach. I would like to be more presentable when we arrive at our destination.” She’d like to look more desirable, too, like the type of woman who inspired sin and art at the same time. “Is there a place I could do so here? My valise is in the coach—”
“Of course. I’ll have James, our footman, bring it indoors. You can go upstairs to the second room on the right.”
“Thank you.” Cordelia wanted to thank her, as well, for not asking questions. She had her own questions for Mrs. Dart. A widowed female secretary pretending to run an agency? Fascinating. Thrilling. Terrifying. Cordelia wanted to be friends with her.
She found the stairs, then she found the room and slipped inside, followed quickly after by a maid with a pitcher of water, which she poured into a washing bowl on a dresser.
“Thank you,” Cordelia said as the maid retreated through the open door, almost bumping into the footman who clutched her valise in his hands. “My, what an efficient household.” The footman left, acknowledging her existence with nothing more than a nod. The door clicked closed, and she was alone for the first time in two days.
Unease crept up her spine, and she closed her eyes, listening for the sounds of movement in the house, the sounds of life, evidence she was not entirely alone—a door opening and closing in the hall, steps on the stairs, muffled yet deep male voices in conversation with one another, their words undecipherable. Good enough. She hauled in a breath. Not entirely alone.
She disrobed and washed as thoroughly as possible with the water from the bowl before donning the wrinkled gown from her valise. Wrinkled but clean. An improvement. By the time she’d dressed, but for the tapes at her back, a knock sounded on the door.
With flying steps across the room, Cordelia opened the door and found Mrs. Dart. “You are just in time to help me.” She presented her back, relief coursing through her. Not alone. “Do you mind?”
“Youareforward.” Mrs. Dart stepped into the room and shut the door behind her.
“No use in being otherwise.”
Mrs. Dart’s fingers worked quickly at Cordelia’s back. “There.”
“Thank you.”
“Shall we return downstairs?”
Cordelia nodded and followed the other woman. At the top of the stairs, she said, “I see you have a gargoyle, too.”
Mrs. Dart did not miss a step. “What do you mean?”
“Lord Andrew. He’s a stony sort. Like his brother.”
“Ah. I see. I would compare Lord Andrew more to a block of ice. An entire tundra. But he can be charming when it pleases him. He is not mine, though. Rather, I am his. His secretary. As he explained.” Did her voice take on an edge there?
“I think mine might possibly, deep down, be soft on the inside.”
“Mine is not. Pure ice all the way through.”
“A pity for you, I think. I look forward to cracking mine open.” A surprising truth, that. The heat of lust that had wrapped her up earlier when he’d held her tight on his lap should have terrified her, sent her running, but her curiosity had been roused instead. Had he been as impacted as she had? He always blushed when she teased… did that blush carry emotions other than anger?
Just outside the door to the room where they’d left the men, Mrs. Dart stopped, stopped Cordelia, too, with a light palm to her shoulder, which she quickly dropped. “Ishe yours? Lord Theodore, I mean. I thought you were one of his father’s projects.”
