The Postilion (The Masqueraders #2) - S.M. LaViolette Page 0,59

a bit of water and daylight.

A dozen times a day Jago forcibly thrust the brief but startling interlude from his brain, and yet the enticing memory came slithering back again and again. At night, it settled into his brain and kept both his mind and body awake, spawning other, far less innocent, thoughts.

Bringing her into the house as his secretary—while salving his conscience—was unwise, not to mention dangerous.

Still, it was a far safer position than the one he really wanted to offer her—that of valet.

Why not? the devil on his shoulder had demanded; Jago needed a valet and she had valeted a man for years. What could be more logical?

Oh, he had entertained the notion—he blushed to think of just how often he’d entertained it—but he had never seriously considered it.

Even so, thoughts of her dressing and undressing his body, shaving him, and drawing his bath consumed, incited, and shamed him.

Jago had not been so hard, so often—and so inconveniently—since he’d been a lad. Even nightly sessions with his fist couldn’t seem to dull the edge of his desire for her.

The last time he’d wanted a woman so badly—so fervently—had been eighteen years ago with Ria.

And look how that had ended.

Jago realized Benna had turned to him and was patiently waiting.

He cleared his throat. “As my secretary, you will soon know the financial condition of the earldom.”

“I will be discreet, my lord.”

“I’m sure you won’t be surprised, given the condition of my stables and house. I am, quite bluntly, in a pickle.” Jago hesitated; he really didn’t want to spell out exactly what he was doing—trying to discover why his brother had needed all those loans—but he had to trust her if he was turning her loose with his family’s secrets.

“Your priority is to look for anything regarding my brother’s investments—especially anything in the last year.” There, that was vague and yet still to the purpose.

Jago crossed the dusty wood floor to the two doors on the opposite wall. He opened the one on the left. “This is your bedchamber.”

The room beyond was cluttered with a few sticks of furniture and a heavy bedstead that had been shoved to the side. The floor was without rugs, the walls without pictures. Just like so many rooms in this once lovely house, the space was bare and depressing.

Jago closed the door, walked to the second door, and opened it. “You might find suitable furnishings in this room.”

The room beyond was filled, floor to ceiling, with piled-up furniture, stacked wooden crates, giant dusty bundles that looked to be drapes, rugs, and bedding, brass-bound chests, and other, less immediately identifiable items.

Benna’s jaw dropped as she eyed the chaotic mess. “Oh,” was all she said.

Standing this close Jago could smell her: a blend of horse, leather, and the outdoors.

Beneath those typically masculine aromas were the biting tang of lye soap and an earthy whiff of wool.

And more subtle, still, was the sweet, musky smell of sweat.

Jago inhaled deeply, filling his lungs greedily and holding the scent of her inside his body.

Good God. What the hell was wrong with him?

“Lord Trebolton?”

“Hmmm?” he said, turning to look at her.

Crystalline turquoise eyes met his. “I asked if you wished to dispose of the items in this room. Is that why they are all in here?”

“I have no idea why they are all in here. There are at least two dozen rooms piled full like this, all over the house.”

She looked even more confused.

Jago knew the feeling. He suspected that his brother had assembled all the items to sell, hoping to raise money for … well, for what, Jago did not know.

Benna did not need to know all that.

Instead, he said, “I’ve been waiting until I have a few extra hands to help sort and return all these items to their appropriate locations.”

“You say there are dozens of rooms like this?”

“Yes. I hope that wild look around your eyes does not mean that you will run screaming.”

Her lips—the bottom one, so sensual and full—curved up slightly at his words. “No. I will view it as a challenge.”

Jago barked a laugh. “You are fearless.” He turned away. “As you see more of the house, you will be able to discern what goes where. And I’m sure Nance and Mrs. Gates will be able to help. Go room to room and make a list of whatever else might be lacking, especially in the public rooms. My nieces will shortly be out of mourning, so one of your duties, as my secretary,