Page 72 of Once More, My Darling Rogue
Heaving himself to his feet, he reached down, offered his hand, and helped her stand. Before he could step away, she was cradling his cheek.
“Why would it matter to me?” she asked.
Placing his hand over hers, holding it in place, he turned his face and pressed a kiss against the center of her palm. “Because in spite of how it might all appear, you believe me beneath you.”
“It makes no sense. Why would I think that?”
“Because of who and what I am.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
“I know I’m not.” Bending over, he hefted up the basket. “I need to return to the club. Deliveries arrive there in the morning. I shan’t return here until almost noon.”
“Then I shall sleep in and you will never know.”
The tartness in her tone alerted him that she was moving on from what had just passed between them. He should be grateful, but as an image of her sprawled in his bed flashed through his mind, he wished for other things, uppermost that he could join her there, without guilt or remorse. “Sleep well.”
Then he walked quickly from the garden before his resolve left him. How was it that Lady Ophelia Lyttleton had become the most important thing in his life?
Chapter 19
Over the next few days they settled into a routine. Or at least she did. He was leaving the club earlier, returning later at night, loath to give up moments with this woman who intrigued him more and more. The hours spent at the club were the longest of his life. Chores he’d once enjoyed—inventorying, receiving goods, marking statements to be paid, discussing strategies with employees, ensuring all was running smoothly—now seemed tedious and time-consuming because they kept him away from Phee. All he could think about was returning to the residence for breakfast, listening as she waxed on about her plans for the day—which more often than not included trips to the market with Marla. He’d made her promise no more altercations or attacking men. While she had given her word quite reluctantly, he needed to sleep sometime and so he trusted her not to get into any trouble. Probably foolhardy on his part.
This particular morning after returning to the residence, he walked into the kitchen to find an urchin who couldn’t have been more than eight sitting at the table munching on bacon.
“ ’Mornin’, guv’ner,” the lad said, jerking his head so the long thick strands of his hair momentarily weren’t falling over his eyes.
Phee turned from the counter where she was pouring milk into a bowl. “Good morning. I wasn’t expecting you for another hour or so. This is Jimmy. I’m paying him a shilling to clean up after Daisy.”
He’d yet to make arrangements to move the horse to the stables. He couldn’t make himself deny her the pleasure of the beast. “A shilling? That’s robbery.”
“I suppose you could clean it up,” she said.
He considered reminding her that she was the one who wanted the creature, but what was the point? She knew as well as he did that he wasn’t going to make her shovel manure.
“I’m the best at cleaning up horse manure,” the lad boasted. “I know where to sell it. She says I can keep that.”
“You may indeed,” Drake said.
She set the bowl on the floor and a scrawny white cat crawled out from beneath the table and began lapping at the milk.
“Who is that?” he asked.
“Pansy. Because of her eye.”
When the cat looked up, he saw that one eye had a black marking around it that might possibly—with a good deal of imagination—resemble a pansy.
“Why do we need a cat?” he asked.
“We don’t. She needs us. She showed up at the door the last couple of evenings. I gave her a little milk. Last night I let her in, and discovered she’s terribly sweet and wonderful company.”
He would not feel guilty because she was alone at night.
Picking up a bowl filled with meat scraps, she headed for the door.
“Where are you taking that?” he asked.
“To feed Rose.”
