Lady Derring Takes a Lover - Julie Anne Long Page 0,23
purpose and sleekly constructed for maximum devastation, just like an arrow.
Odd. She had not once in her life thought of a pair of lips as “sensual.”
He was holding a beaver hat between two hands; his coat was black and crisply tailored; his buttons and boots were tended and glowing. He was every inch respectable.
And yet there was nothing about him suggesting the indolence of most of the gentlemen she’d met.
She’d warrant this man had needed to try in life.
And that he had quite conquered it.
“My apologies for startling you. I would have announced myself, but I was captivated by your song.”
His voice was grave and low, his delivery courtly. As if he was accustomed to soothing plebeians he’d frightened with his stern majesty.
She was both charmed and irritated.
“Oh, surely you jest, sir. I can hardly carry a tune. It’s one of my failings.”
“Is it? Have you many?” He sounded genuinely curious.
“I count them at night, instead of sheep.”
“I should think that would keep you awake. Perhaps you ought to have a brandy, instead.”
She wasn’t certain he’d meant it to be funny, but she fought and lost the battle to not smile.
For tristan, what followed was like the moment of blindness that follows inadvertently looking into the sun. It dazzled him mute.
He frowned, as if she’d been insubordinate.
A speculative furrow appeared between her own straight dark eyebrows.
“Can you sing?”
“Yes,” he replied, surprised and wary.
“As it so happens, we’ve planned monthly musicales at The Grand Palace on the Thames. It’s just we haven’t anyone to sing the masculine parts. Something to keep in mind if you’re musically minded.”
Oh, Christ. This was alarming. In his experience, when women wanted something they had a tendency to maneuvers rather than direct requests. He’d once had to extricate himself from the musical machinations of the wife of a superior officer, and it had been like fighting his way out of a fishing net. He’d prevailed, but not without injury: to his pride and her feelings.
Besides, he had the unflattering sense this maid asked every able-bodied man that question.
“I was actually looking for a pub,” he said. “And I thought I would inquire here, as the facade is so charming and respectable.”
She brought her hands together in a delighted little clasp. “Oh, did you think it was charming?”
Her face had gone radiant as the moon. And he should know: he and the moon were on intimate terms; how many nights had he navigated by it? Countless. It wasn’t a fanciful observation. It couldn’t be. He was not a fanciful man.
He gave a short, cautious nod. It occurred to him then that her diction had more in common with a duchess than with a maid, and that she was, in fact, almost alarmingly pretty.
He decided it was best not to ask her about Lady Derring directly. If indeed the building was the seat of a smuggling ring, subtlety would be key to learning what he needed to know. And if the drunk fellow outside was correct, no one had come in or gone out of this place. A sudden, blunt inquiry might sound alarms and send her fleeing.
“How lovely to know The Grand Palace on the Thames’s excellence is apparent from the street.” She pronounced the name of the place like a governess correcting the French pronunciation of a young charge. “The little pub adjacent will give you a decent hot meal and treat you kindly.”
“I suppose I’ll go then.”
And for the instant between the time he said that and the moment she answered, he wanted her to say “not just yet,” and go on saying surprising things.
“I hope you have a lovely day, sir, and thank you for visiting The Grand Palace on the Thames.”
Well then. He’d been briskly dismissed.
Was there a reason this maid wanted him to leave so quickly?
But because it amused him to do so, he turned to obey her.
He paused in the doorway. “Perhaps a rag affixed to a pole, or a mop would help with the top of the window. And perhaps it would be wise to lock the door behind me.”
She cast a glance over her shoulder again. “Thank you, sir. I should never have worked any of that out on my own. Thank goodness a man came along.”
He closed the door gently behind him.
If he was not mistaken, she’d just taken the piss out of him.
He stood motionless a moment, staring down the street. He realized he was smiling. Albeit faintly.