howled, and she held back a shiver, waiting, and refusing to hide from his response. Slowly he nodded, his gaze on his feet. He stood like that for a moment.
“Well,” he said at last, his voice a rasp. “Now I know.” He moved as if he might touch her but stopped short. “I am sorry, you know. For not asking you sooner. It was wrong of me. You deserved to have your say.” Then, moving with utter control despite his evident fury, he stalked away. Poppy watched him go, admiring the long lines of his body even as she contemplated throttling his stubborn hide. For the first time, she wondered if things were truly hopeless.
Chapter Five
Mary discovered that working with Mrs. Lane was a far different endeavor than being a cog in Lucien’s machine. After years of double talk, decadence, and playing the part Lucien wrote for her, Mrs. Lane’s forthright manner and decisive action was cool water on a summer’s day.
Not one to sit about and have a servant handle things, Mrs. Lane went straight to unpacking. She did not speak a word about Inspector Lane, nor betray any emotion on her countenance, but her slim hands shook now and then when she did not keep them busy. Mary gathered that their discussion had not ended well. However, as they were not decamping, Mrs. Lane must have emerged victorious. Mary hadn’t really doubted the outcome, not after spending the last few days in Mrs. Lane’s company.
“Will you wear the pink for dinner tonight, mum?” Mary asked her, as she unpacked the gowns Lady Archer had provided. The pink satin evening gown was exquisite and a stroke of brilliance, as it would highlight Mrs. Lane’s bold coloring in an unexpected way.
Mrs. Lane’s keen gaze sought her out. “You realize that I do not truly mean to use you as my ladies maid.”
“You might as well,” Mary said without heat. “I’m quite good at it, and Lady Archer did not select evening wear that you can get into on your own.”
“Humph. I cannot think of anything more banal than picking out dinner gowns. Or striving to impress others with my clothing.” Mrs. Lane’s red brows drew together in a slash. “Blasted Miranda and Daisy. I should have known better than to entrust my wardrobe to them. I do not see why I cannot wear my current outfit.”
Mary bit the inside of her cheek. From what she knew of the Ellis sisters, there was a time when young Poppy Ellis had attended societal events. And she had been raised to be a lady, despite having lived the past decade among the middle class. Mrs. Lane turned back to her trunk, a massive blue leather one that, when she opened it, contained a veritable arsenal of weaponry. Some that Mary recognized and far more that she did not. She could not help but be awed by the efficiency and speed with which Mrs. Lane had prepared. Between Mrs. Lane assembling her weapons and her sisters selecting gowns, they had gathered everything needed for an ocean voyage in little over an hour.
“I suppose you could,” Mary said, choosing to ignore her employer’s fit of pique. “It would invoke plenty of conversation, at the very least.”
One elegant red brow rose pointedly. Mary gathered her courage and met Mrs. Lane’s piercing gaze.
Mrs. Lane’s crisp voice broke the silence. “You remind me of Mr. Lane. He too believes his cheekiness is amusing.” The small note of wistfulness in Mrs. Lane’s voice was well concealed but Mary heard it.
Mary spoke carefully as she hung up the pink to air out. “The inspector is stubborn as well?”
For a moment, Mary feared she’d overstepped her bounds irrevocably. Then Mrs. Lane answered. “He is that. But at the moment, he is angry. Justifiably, I’m afraid.”
A flurry of activity told Mary just how upset Mrs. Lane was. Mary kept her gaze averted. “Show him what he is missing.” The words hung in the air, and she could feel Mrs. Lane’s stare. Reluctantly, she turned to find that her employer appeared befuddled. Mary sighed inwardly. “When it comes to dealing with the female sex, men generally think with their smaller head. Inspector Lane has merely forgotten to listen to his.”
Mrs. Lane’s lips twitched spasmodically. “So you suggest,” she asked in even tones, “that I remind him to think with his cock?”
Mary’s cheeks heated. “Normally, I would suggest the reverse, but in a case of overabundant logical thinking, I believe a return to balance