Page 53 of When a Duke Loves a Woman
“No, of resisting the urge to touch you, to prove I am made of stern stuff.”
“You are aware if you do anything untoward I will kill you.”
“I can think of nothing I’d like more than to gaze into your eyes before I die.”
“I’m serious. I’ll not be trifled with.”
“I’m serious as well.” Incredibly so. Naturally, on occasion, he’d flattered women with trite words because such was expected, but she was the sort of woman who called for honesty at all times. He crossed the room, leaned against the bedpost, and folded his arms over his chest. “I can’t quite decide the color of your eyes. Sometimes they appear green, other times brown. When I look into them I see both colors.”
“My mum says they’re hazel.”
“They intrigue me. I hope you don’t mind my staring into them.”
There was barely enough light for him to see her cheeks turn pink. “Yours remind me of a dark stout.”
Damn, but she did delight him. “I’m not certain I’ve ever known a woman who described colors in terms of liquor.”
“It’s what I know.”
“Why a tavern? Why not a hat shop or—”
“Because men always find money for a pint. Ladies around here can’t always afford a new hat.”
Practicality had never seemed so alluring. “Why here? There are better, safer places in London.”
“People here need work. People here need a pint now and then to lessen their burdens. I thought in my own small way I could improve a few lives and make a tidy profit in the process.”
Practical and generous.
“How did you go from being a step-girl to owning a tavern? They each seem to require an entirely different set of skills.”
A corner of her mouth curled up provocatively. “You’ll find I have the cleanest steps in all of Whitechapel, in all of London for that matter.”
“I’ve no doubt, but still there is a good deal one must learn in order to effectively manage a business, any business, but this one in particular seems rather challenging.”
Interlacing her fingers, she rested her folded hands on her lap. “I couldn’t be a step-girl forever. The pay is pitiful, the work hard. When I was ten and four, I went to work in a tavern.”
His gut clenched at the thought of boorish men slapping her bum. “As a serving girl?”
“No. I spent most of my youth wearing my brothers’ castoffs. My mum kept my hair cut short, so the tavern keeper thought I was a lad. I started out washing dishes, cleaning tables, working in the taproom. By the time he figured out I was a girl, I’d proven myself to be a good worker, and it tickled him for some reason to know I was going about fooling people regarding my gender. So he took me under his wing and taught me what he knew. His wife, the daughter of a vicar, was a dear soul who believed pronouncing words properly was necessary for bettering oneself. So she gave me lessons in enunciation and grammar, which I shared with my brothers.” She lifted a shoulder. “She also believed I needed to be wearing skirts, needed to be all proper. I soon discovered even in a skirt, men barely noticed me. All my mum’s worrying that a bloke would take advantage was for naught.”
He very much doubted that, suspected the gents had come to like her for who she was, rather than what she was. Besides, she had four brothers with large hands that made powerful fists. “I think the lads all respected you too much by then.”
“I think the water is boiling,” she said quietly.
He could hear it now, gurgling in the distance. “Right.” Still his gaze lingered on her for a moment. “You’re not accustomed to talking about yourself, are you?”
She shrugged. “I’m not so interesting.”
He shoved himself away from the bed and headed for the door. She certainly had the wrong of that. He’d never known a more interesting woman.
Chapter 15
It was a mistake for him to be here. She could get accustomed to having someone to talk with. Having someone to wait on her wasn’t a hardship either, although she understood it was the circumstances that had him doing the menial chores he’d normally leave to a servant.
Still it was nice hearing the heavy thud of footsteps, watching as he labored, the way the muscles in his back, beneath his shirt, bunched and flexed whenever he lifted a bucket and poured the water in the tub. He moved with such ease, a man comfortable in his own skin. He knew who he was,whathe was, which made him incredibly appealing.
“There,” he finally proclaimed. “That should do it.”
