The Last Time We Met - By Lily Lang Page 0,13
who informed her Jason was in his office. Remembering the route by which Oliver Harvey had brought her to the bedroom the night before, she found her way down to Jason’s office. However, a massive young footman now stood in front of the door, evidently to bar anyone from entering.
Miranda considered him for a moment and then, undeterred, swept forward. He bowed hastily.
“I am here to see Mr. Blakewell,” said Miranda, inclining her head.
“I’m sorry, miss,” said the footman, flushing deeply, “but Mr. Blakewell isn’t to be disturbed. He’s with Mr. Harvey and Mr. Page.”
“Mr. Blakewell will see me,” said Miranda.
The boy looked uncertain, and Miranda said gently, “Be so good as to inform him I’m here.”
“I’m sorry, miss, but I daren’t. It’s worth more than me post if Mr. Blakewell was disturbed in his office while he’s with Mr. Harvey and Mr. Page.”
“Don’t worry,” said Miranda. “Your post is quite secure. I shall see to it.”
The footman continued to gaze unhappily at her. Miranda sighed. “Very well,” she said. “If you do not wish to show me in, I shall announce myself. Please stand aside.”
A footman, even a footman with such obvious fear of his employer, was no match for Miranda, and though he continued to look anxious, he stepped aside and allowed her to pass. She turned the handle on the door and pushed the door open.
As the footman had informed her, Jason sat at his desk, deep in conversation with both Oliver Harvey and a man she had not met before but assumed was Mr. Page. This dapper gentleman’s drooping mustache and protuberant belly gave him a pronounced resemblance to certain species of Laptev walrus, and his voice was deep and sonorous as he said, “We shall require a new shipment of dice within a few—”
He broke off and glanced up. His eyes, set deep in his many-folded face, were as black and cunning as a fox’s.
Jason looked up as well. His dark hair stood on end, as though he had run his fingers through it in frustration. He had changed his clothes, but they were decidedly rumpled. In the late morning light his face was lined and tired, but his expression was as closed and forbidding as ever. He was evidently once again entirely in control of himself, and for a moment Miranda wondered if she had imagined the searing kiss and the highly improper bargain of the night before.
Well, if he could pretend nothing had happened, she was quite capable of doing the same.
“Good morning, Mr. Blakewell,” she said crisply. “Mr. Harvey.” She bowed to Oliver, then turned her attention to the third man. “Mr. Page, I presume?”
“Indeed, indeed,” said the third man, taking the hand she offered him and bending over it. “Enchanted to make your acquaintance. Miss Thornwood, is it?”
“It is,” said Miranda, smiling.
“Delighted to meet you,” said Mr. Page, pressing a gallant kiss to the back of her hand.
“Mr. Page is the inspector here at the club,” said Oliver Harvey, when it became clear Jason had no intention of performing the introductions. “He is responsible for play in the hazard room.” He cleared his throat discreetly. “We were just on our way out, weren’t we, Mr. Page?”
“Indeed we were, Mr. Harvey, indeed we were,” said Mr. Page. He bowed once again to Miranda, then cast a speculative glance at Jason. “Good day, Mr. Blakewell.”
Jason inclined his head without removing his gaze from Miranda. When the door had closed behind his two employees, he addressed her.
“Elliott has the strictest instructions not to permit anyone to interrupt my morning sessions with Olly and George,” said Jason. “I ought to dismiss him immediately.”
“Don’t be absurd,” said Miranda. Since it appeared no invitation to sit was forthcoming, she took the chair Oliver Harvey had recently vacated. “You shall do no such thing.”
Jason did not respond. Instead, he raked her new dress and pelisse with a single dismissive glance. “I see Madame Beaumont kept her appointment.”
“Yes, thank you,” she said. “It was very kind of you to send for her.”
“As enchanting as it was to watch you falling out of that gown last night,” he said, “I thought it best if you had something else to wear.” He regarded her coldly, and Miranda did not permit herself to blush at the mention of the previous night. “What is it you wished to see me about, Miss Thornwood?”
“My brother, of course,” she said, meeting his gaze squarely. “I wish to know what you intend to do regarding our