Page 48 of A Most Unlikely Lady
There was a decided lack of space for adequate furniture in this room. With Millie’s contribution of a proper mattress and bed frame dominating the left side, Edward had managed to squeeze in a small desk and straight-back chair against the right wall. The desk was littered with papers, and a small lamp balanced precariously on the edge.
Ivy cocked her head at the new furniture, momentarily distracted from reclaiming her evening treat. ‘Did you take the desk and chair from the schoolroom?’
‘Yes. Henry helped me move it in here while the children were completing their chores earlier. Awfully kind of the lad. I didn’t think you would mind.’
Ivy shrugged. ‘I don’t. It’s just… Well. I’m sorry there aren’t better accommodations for you.’
Why am I apologising to him? He stole my hot chocolate!
Because looking around the small space, it was glaringly obvious that the Commissioner of Scotland Yard, a man holding the title of a bloody duke who had his own Mayfair mansion no doubt replete with servants, a butler, and many fine desks, was sacrificing his comforts. And for what? To protect Ivy? She hardly merited such effort.
‘I am quite content, I assure you.’ He tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers, looking every bit a man at ease.
While the man always presented himself as neat as a pin, his room revealed a much more chaotic side to Edward Worthington. His jacket hung haphazardly on the desk chair, books were stacked in leaning piles on the floor, and his boots were toppled over each other, half tucked under the bed. Despite the mess, the entire room smelled of clean linen, coffee, and Jamaican spice.
Ivy belatedly realised an incredibly important fact.
I am alone, with Edward, in his bedroom. And he’s not even wearing boots.
Glancing down, she noticed he had remarkably well-shaped toes.
Dancing devils. I just strolled into a man’s bedroom and shut the door behind me. What have I done?
Edward must have seen her eyes widen because he leveraged the one thing that might keep her in his room. ‘I promise I shall return your hot chocolate, and you can leave, but first will you please look at something with me?’
‘I shouldn’t be in here. Alone. With you. You’re not even wearing stockings!’ She couldn’t stop staring at his feet.
‘They are only bare feet. It isn’t as if I’m without my shirt or trousers.’
The very idea!
Ivy’s gaze crawled up his body with the bed behind him as an inspired backdrop. She tried to imagine what he might look like without his shirt and trousers, standing just there, with the backs of his knees almost touching the mattress. Errant thoughts about his black body hair skittered through her mind.
‘If you keep looking at me like that, things might get quite a deal more scandalous than merely unstockinged feet.’ Edward’s voice had grown rough.
Ivy blinked, forcing her focus away from his thick thighs, wide shoulders, and trim waist to look at the floor.
Not the floor! Now I’m staring at his feet again.
She turned away from him completely, pressing a hand against her cheek. ‘It is rather warm in this room, don’t you think? Perhaps I should open a window.’ But to do that, she would need to crawl over the bed as the window was on the left wall.
‘I haven’t noticed any issues with temperature until now.’
Ivy straightened her spine and turned back to face him. ‘Well. It is sweltering.’ She tapped her finger against her dress in agitation.
Edward’s stern mouth softened. ‘Would you prefer we relocate to the parlour?’
As if he would be any less appealing standing in the parlour with his bare feet, muscled arms stretching the fabric of his shirt, and smouldering stare.
How do blue eyes smoulder? Shouldn’t they be cool like a deep pond or stormy ocean?
She was getting distracted. Again. ‘I would prefer you show me whatever it is that has you stealing my tray and luring me into your room so I can reclaim my hot chocolate and retire to my bed.’
‘Luring you into my room? Shocking accusations! I am the Commissioner of Scotland Yard. I track down the evil villains thieving trays of hot chocolate; I don’t lure innocent ladies into my room with those trays.’
I am not amused.
But the fizzing bubble of laughter trapped between her belly and throat begged to differ.
