their gazes met, the lad would hurriedly look away. Sometimes he would bite his lower lip, and other times he would blush.
The suspicion which had flowered inside him spun on its axis to something different. The more he stared at his valet, truly stared, the prettier the man became. Instead of looking away, which he had always done in a bid to deny the attraction, Wentworth examined his face with exquisite thoroughness.
The slope of his valet’s jawline seemed almost delicate. He doubted he shaved. The curl of his short blond hair across his forehead gave him a distinctly softened air, almost feminine. Something about his hair did not fit with his eyes or the sun-kissed tone of his complexion. In truth, his valet possessed a beautiful heart-shaped face, an upturned nose, and a very kissable cupid's bow mouth.
He flushed upon noticing Wentworth’s regard.
“My lord, you are staring—”
A hiccup stopped the rest of his words, and he giggled. Wentworth straightened in his seat when his valet glared at the decanter of brandy.
“What sorcery is this?” he muttered, seeming befuddled.
“You are not used to drinking,” Wentworth said slowly.
“I…ah…I’ve only indulged because you invited me to, my lord.” Then he smiled again. Except, this time, it was different. This smile was brighter, wider, without a hint of reserve. And even more interesting his entire face glowed with the beauty of that smile.
Wentworth’s heart jerked as the most improbable idea teased his thoughts. Not very gentlemanly of him, but he refilled the lad’s glass for a third time. “Come drink with me.”
“I really should go…and…go and prepare your bath,” his valet replied through a series of hiccups. Despite that protest, he reached for the drink and took a few healthy swallows. “I think they’ve stopped,” he said with a sigh of relief.
The lad pushed back his chair, stood, and wobbled. Wentworth surged to his feet and grabbed him about the shoulders to steady him. His valet peered up at him, and in his eyes, Wentworth saw an awareness, a touch of desire.
Wentworth released him as if he’d been burned. “Go,” he said from between clenched teeth. “No need to prepare a bath, and I do not need help to undress.”
The lad nodded, but he did not move. Instead, he sighed gutsily. “I feel warm,…and shivery. It is the oddest thing. I feel it every time I look at you.” He looked so young and vulnerable at that shocking confession.
“You are tipsy,” Wentworth said.
He made a soft, noncommittal sound. Julian lifted a hand and cupped Wentworth’s jaw. They both froze at the remarkable intimacy.
“You are so very handsome,” he whispered. “I should not notice it…I dare not notice it, but it seems I cannot help it.”
“Why do you not dare?” Wentworth demanded gruffly, feeling a bounder for taking advantage of the lad’s state. But how else could he assuage his curiosity when his valet was so forward?
“Because you are my employer, and such wayward thoughts might compromise my ruse.”
Good God. “What ruse?”
“I…” Alarm chased across his face. “I…I feel…” He paused and yawned widely. “I believe I need to get into bed.”
Wentworth gripped the lad’s hand, removed it from his face, and caught sight of the neatly manicured fingertips. The feel of his valet’s hand was soft and…bloody hell.
His valet was a woman. Wentworth did his best to hide the shock blasting through him.
Julian turned around and swayed, and Wentworth caught him and swung him into his arms.
“I feel like I am floating,” a soft voice said.
Sweet Mercy. The weight in his arms felt right…felt arousing.
He hesitated. To carry him like this up the servant stairs would have their tongues wagging for weeks and might make life uncomfortable for his valet for quite some time. Swiftly deciding, Wentworth left the study and made his way up the stairs to his chamber.
Once in his rooms, he lowered his valet in the center of his bed. A sigh of great comfort slipped from him…her, and she promptly fell asleep. Wentworth stared down at the creature before him, wondering if he was going mad. It was such a wild supposition to make. A lady disguised as a man and working as a valet. Utterly preposterous. Yet his thoughts would not move on from the idea.
His valet’s speech suggested a man educated, but most manservants were required reading and writing skills. He seemed too nervous around him. And that stroke against his jaw, it had hinted at a longing, of want.
“Perhaps I am going mad,” he muttered, cross with