Page 31 of The Duke's Impetuous Darling
Lolling her head against the wall, she surrendered a grin to him. "How right you are. And yours?"
His bewitching eyes shone like black diamonds. "Nothing compares to you, my love. No prose, no poetry."
No other woman?
"No one," he affirmed and tapped a finger on the end of her nose. "Your book. Mine." He pointed toward the door. "I shall see you in the library in five minutes."
Chapter 6
Bee clamped her teeth together, rabid to flee her place at the table. The servants had offered up a light supper. Simms kept a sharp eye on the measures the footmen poured but most guests imbibed the Christmas sherry and wine to excess. Hallerton, quite drunk, was busy regaling all with a story about his friends in Paris, complimenting Bee and no other female on her fashion sense. Finding that odd and unsettling, Bee grew fitful as Lord Carlson, to her immediate right once more, was becoming annoying. On his fourth glass, he was more than tipsy. Daring, in fact. He complimented her on her sapphire blue gown, her hair, her eyes. What he really enjoyed was her neckline. And that, demure butdu jour, gave him little to ogle. Though heaven knew, he pretended enchantment so that she wondered if he loved her bosom or his liquor more.
"I understand you seek employment, Miss Craymore?"
Shock had her speechless.
"The registry? For governesses? In town?" he asked her, licking his lips, looking so licentious she recoiled.
"I do. I did."
"You wish to leave your aunt?"
"I wish to make an honest living."
"So good of you," he said, his gaze defining her face and décolleté with too much interest. "I have a niece. Young."
"Is that so?"
"She needs instruction."
"I see." Her gaze shot down the table to Alastair who watched Carlson with a darkened countenance. "Are you her guardian?"
"I could be. Might I offer you the position to educate her?"
She caught her breath, a hand to the ribbon at her throat. "Here? Now? This is sudden. A surprise. I...I'm not able to say, my lord. This is Christmas Eve, sir. I will not discuss business. Besides, I must help my aunt prepare for the musicale. Excuse me, do."
Catching Marjorie's eye, Bee tipped her head toward the door. Marjorie—cool as the church bell ice sculpture centerpiece—made her excuses and departed her dinner partners, Mark Trevelyan on one hand and Griff on the other.
"You've got two suitors," Marjorie said as they strode down the hall toward the music room. "Maybe three, if we allow Hallerton freer rein and move him down the table next to you for breakfast."
"Let's not."
"Coming to your senses over Alastair would fend off Carlson and Hallerton."
"I don't need to incite rivals to value Alastair's offer for its own merits." After this morning's kisses, she reassessed the logic of refusing him. As his wife, she would be able to help many on his estates, in his sphere. With education for the tenants in reading and writing and with advice on nutrition and health. More, as the woman he loved, she would have the opportunity to enjoy once more what largesse came from being loved for oneself. She'd not had that in so long, she'd forgotten the intense value it added to one's days.
She pushed open the doors at the back of the house and went round to note that everything was in place. The pianoforte's bench. A stack of sheet music. The cello, its bow. The violin. "Carlson, however, becomes overbearing. I'd like to avoid him. I'll tell Simms not to place me near him."
"I'll help you avoid him." Delphine appeared beside them, fanning her very pink cheeks. "It's Christmas and we shouldn't have to fend off men we don't want."
"Only those we do?" Marjorie asked.
Delphine stared at her. "Speak for yourself."
"Where is Bromley?" Marjorie glanced at those entering the room.
Del looked pained. "He'll be pursuing another of our guests."
"You argued?" asked Bee.
