“Three.” He reached the door before she had a chance to open it, grabbed her round the waist and pulled her back against his bare chest. “You’ll have to do better than that,” he whispered in her ear.
“How about this,” she replied, stamping on his toe.
“Ow!”
As he relaxed his grip, she dropped her weight, twisted her body and ducked underneath his arm. “I’ll have you know, I can be a formidable adversary when I put my mind to it,” she boasted, running to the far side of the bed.
“A point I would do well to remember,” he said feigning a limp in order to gain some ground. For dramatic effect, he grabbed the bedpost, using it for support.
The smile vanished from her lips. “Dane, I’m sorry,” she said looking down at his toe. “Have I hurt you?”
“I’ll live.”
Good. She was so concerned with his toe she’d forgotten all about his nakedness. The sooner she accepted him as a man and not some symbol of patriarchal dominance, the sooner he could get her to St George’s to say I do.
Then she made the fatal mistake of taking a few steps towards him. Letting go of the post, he
pretended to stumble and reached out for assistance. As she caught him, her blanket fell to the floor and he noticed she was wearing nothing but a chemise.
“Now, I believe there is the matter of dessert to attend to,” he remarked as he collapsed onto the bed, taking her with him.
“What about your toe?” she exclaimed, but then a spark of recognition flashed in her pretty blue eyes. “Why, you monster,” she cried pounding his chest with her fist. “And to think I actually felt sorry for you.”
Sebastian wrapped his arms around her. “In battle, one does what one must,” he said staring at her sweet mouth.
“Well, the joke is on you,” she chuckled, “for there is not one drop of syllabub left on your chin.”
“When I mentioned dessert, it was not syllabub I had in mind,” he said as his mouth found hers with a need he could not quite comprehend.
Breakfast was a far more formal affair than usual. The servants bustled around with renewed efficiency, bringing in plate after plate of ham, eggs, bacon, and an assortment of bread and jam. Everyone appeared deliriously happy, which was all rather ironic considering the fact his guest had taken to parading about town in gentleman’s attire, had been rescued from footpads after visiting a brothel and had since been ravished by the master, twice!
He glanced across the table at Miss Beaufort, who had just taken a bite out of a piece of toast plastered in a ridiculous amount of strawberry jam. She looked up at him and smiled and it felt as though his heart had suddenly dropped into his stomach.
It was not the sort of smile he was used to. It was not the smile of a coquette, not delivered with skilled artifice. It was a smile of genuine affection, with a genuine degree of warmth to indicate she found pleasure in his company. Never before had he held any fanciful notions of chivalry. Yet he could not suppress the need to protect her, to care for her, to bury himself inside her and never let her go. Indeed, he had been so caught up in their game of seduction, he had almost forgotten about Beaufort.
“I believe it’s time we discussed the matter of Antoinette,” he said, silently acknowledging the sooner this whole business was concluded, the sooner he could arrange a special license and make this thing between them official.
“You must have read my mind,” she replied placing the teacup back on the saucer. “I must admit, I have been feeling a little guilty for … well,” she blushed, “for placing my own needs above those of my brother.”
“We must be discreet,” he began. But he knew she had misunderstood when her cheeks flushed dark crimson. “I mean, we must be judicious in our inquiries, not in our …” he waved his hand back and forth between them rather than embarrass her further. “There was nothing we could have done last night. Besides, James is more than capable of taking care of himself.”
She appeared to consider his comment. “You’re right about James,” she said. “But I still don’t understand why he’s involved with Dampierre.”
Sebastian swallowed a piece of ham and placed his cutlery on his plate. “I suspect it has something to do with Annabel.”
Sophie looked at him blankly.
“Annabel,” he repeated, “the girl who accompanied James when he gave me the necklace.” He reached across the table for the coffee pot and poured another cup.
“I thought you said you didn’t know her,” she replied shaking her head and holding up her hand when he offered to pour her a cup.
He smiled to himself for there was a hint of jealousy in her tone. “I don’t know her,” he reiterated. “When James stopped my carriage, he called out to her. Then last night, Antoinette told me that a girl by the name of Annabel had run away from Labelles.”
“Annabel’s a prostitute?”
“Well, this is where it all gets rather interesting.” He paused while Mrs. Cox removed some of the plates and took them out to the kitchen. “Antoinette said that Annabel was a servant, not a prostitute. She said the girl had been at Labelles for a little over a week. Apparently, she was not supposed to leave her room but had somehow ended up serving drinks downstairs.”
A deep frown marred her brow. “Do you think James helped her to run away?”