The Postilion (The Masqueraders #2) - S.M. LaViolette Page 0,6

to say, visually gorging on his masculine perfection.

Jago Crewe, the ninth Earl of Trebolton, was the most attractive man she’d met in her almost twenty-three years. Handsomer even than Geoffrey Morecambe, a man who’d made at great deal of money off his resemblance to Apollo.

The earl was taller than Benna by perhaps an inch, his body elegant yet powerfully built. His hair was a brown so dark that it looked black against his pale skin. A strong jaw, straight nose, and generous lips created a classically handsome visage. But it was his eyes that were his true glory: sleepy, thickly lashed, and the color of rich nut-brown ale.

But Lord Trebolton was something far more impressive than a gorgeous mythical god; he was a genuine hero.

Benna had watched him singlehandedly save the lives of six men the day of the Redruth Mine cave-in.

In addition to his physical perfection and noble skills, he was also uniformly polite and kind to people of all orders.

Sounds like a dull dog to me, Geoffrey groused.

Benna thought the Earl of Trebolton was the closest thing she’d ever seen to a storybook hero.

Interestingly, the only time his warm expression had cooled was when the female members of the local gentry flung themselves at him—an occurrence that took place with almost laughable regularity.

It seemed that every eager mama with a marriageable daughter for miles around had flocked to Lenshurst over the past month, ostensibly to call on the retiring Lady Trebolton, but really hoping to get a look at the new earl, a man who’d been away from Cornwall for almost two decades.

For once, Benna was grateful that she was masquerading as a man since that was probably all that kept her from behaving just like all the other besotted females who fluttered around him like doves flocking to a dovecote.

You’d think that you would have learned by now never to fall for a pretty face, my dear.

Just shut up and go away, Geoff.

Never, my darling Benna. I’ll be with you forever …

Sometimes Benna feared that was true.

She pulled her thoughts away from her past—and her hungry gaze from her employer—and looked around at the rest of the overstuffed, rather gloomy room.

To her right, in front of the hearth, was a chess table, the pieces set up and a game in progress.

Benna adored chess and had played often with David—back before he’d become too stuffy to play with his little sister—and later with Geoff, although he’d stopped playing her after she’d trounced him.

It was black’s turn and Benna played out the next few moves for each side in her mind’s eye.

“It is a game called chess.”

She looked up to find the earl watching her, light glinting off his spectacles and hiding his eyes.

“Yes, my lord, I know.”

His elegant black brows arched, disappearing beneath the glossy locks that fell over his forehead. “You play chess?”

“Yes, but not for some time.”

“Well,” he said, sitting back in his chair, his usually serious features shifting into an expression of wonder, “what a delightful surprise. I’ve been looking for somebody to pit my wits against since moving back home.”

“I’m not very good,” she lied.

“Nor am I.”

Somehow, she didn’t believe him.

“Perhaps we should have a game to see which of us is worse,” he said, his tone teasing.

Benna stared; surely he was jesting?

He looked amused by her expression—likely one of shock—and allowed the matter to drop. “Why don’t you have a seat, Ben. I’ve hardly spoken to you in the past month. Tell me, how is my stable progressing?”

Benna hesitated; what could she possibly say about the collection of ramshackle buildings that he would want to hear?

“It is quite all right,” he said, reading her hesitation correctly. “I would have you speak plainly.”

“There are now twelve stalls repaired and ready for occupants. Naturally Asclepius has the largest,” she added, referring to Lord Trebolton’s horse, a magnificent animal who resembled his magnificent master in both his dark coloring and regal bearing. “I’ve secured the fences around the turnout pens, and the larger arena. I’m still working on the close, smithy, tack room, remaining stalls, and lower paddock.”

The earl’s eyes widened with appreciation. “You are a whirlwind, Ben. I never expected even a fraction as much could be accomplished so soon. I am ashamed that it slipped my mind that you have no help in your monumental task.” He pulled a wry face. “I have no excuse other than life’s distractions. The first thing I am going to do is increase your wages and the second