The Scoundrel and I - Katharine Ashe Page 0,10

invitation to a ball?”

“—or to Mrs. Starling’s letter?”

“No need. Lady B don’t stand on ceremony, and Seri knows that if she asks I’ll attend.”

“Very well, sir. And when do you wish to meet with the land steward from Maitland Manor?”

“Right.” He was now the owner of his dearly departed great-aunt’s house, including its lucrative lands. With a tidy bundle in his bank that he had accumulated at sea, he was set for life on land like a veritable nabob . . . while John Park was underground. “Have him come tomorrow.”

“Very good, Captain.” Cob gave a smart bow and retired from the breakfast chamber.

Maitland Manor was a dashed fine estate. Now he was going to set up a family in that house. A ready-made family.

He toyed with the corner of Seraphina’s note. Then, like lost treasure washing up on shore, a solution to the pretty print mistress’s conundrum occurred to him.

Bolting from his chair, he grabbed his hat and headed for the mews.

~o0o~

When the door of the shop burst open, Elle had just folded her umbrella and bent to remove her boots. The summer sky was pouring down rain in slanting sheets, and she had returned from her regular weekly tea with Minnie, Adela, and Esme soaked through. In a whirl of rain and wind, Captain Masinter swept in, knocking her off balance. She flailed, he grabbed her arms, and abruptly she was looking up at very close range into a face that was even handsomer in the light of the gray day than by lamp-lit night.

“Good day, ma’am.” His smile glittered and his eyes were so full of pleasure that she could not make her tongue function.

She wrenched out of his hold and backed away. She had barely managed to cease thinking of him since the night before. This was not a pleasant surprise.

“Why are you here?” she demanded.

His smile did not falter. Sweeping off his hat, he moved toward her.

“I’ve devised a solution.” His gaze traversed her from hair to hem, lingering on her stockinged feet soaking up rain on the floor. “Why aren’t you wearing shoes?”

“I have just come in from— My business is none of yours, sir.” She searched around the floor for her slippers.

Grabbing them up, he went to one knee on the damp boards and proffered a shoe.

“Hand on my shoulder,” he said.

Her mouth hung open.

“Come now.” He wiggled the slipper. “Can’t tell you my capital idea with you standing there shoeless.”

“Captain Masinter, this is—”

“Serendipitous!”

“Serendipitous?”

“I’ll explain it all as soon as you’re shod.”

There was nothing to do but set her palm gingerly on his gloriously hard shoulder, slip her feet into the proffered slippers, and try to ignore the delicious tingle that leaped from his fingertips brushing across her insole right up into her belly. Shod and breathless, she backed away as he stood to his full height again.

“You have ruined your—that is—your—” She simply could not say the word breeches. Not to a man she did not know. She pointed to his knees.

“Sailor, miss. A bit of damp’s nothing.” He waved it away. “Good God, woman, aren’t you eager to hear my plan? Moment I came up with it I could barely contain myself. Wished I’d had wings to fly here.”

“Impetuosity does not seem like a very useful trait for a ship captain,” she mumbled.

“Au contraire, madam. All great sea commanders have got to be able to throw themselves into a fine idea at a moment’s notice. That’s how battles are won.”

“Are you a great sea commander, Captain Masinter?” She already knew. Casually introducing the Royal Navy into conversation at tea with her friends, she had learned from Adela, who was silly with adoration for all men in uniform, and Minnie, who practically memorized the gossip columns, that Captain Anthony Masinter, recently retired from his command of the Victory, was a bona fide war hero. Apparently, he had also lately come into an impressive fortune. None of this had been welcome news to Elle. She did not need more reasons to dream about the stranger who had ruined her life. And she adamantly did not trust sailors.

But now she was not dreaming of this sailor. She was staring up at him like a nincompoop.

“Came out of a few routs intact,” he replied easily. “But that’s not important at present, of course. Now see here, miss—” Abruptly he sobered. “Know it ain’t proper—”

“It is not proper.”

“—to ask you to give me the honor of your name, but this’d all be much easier if I