Tempting the Bride - By Sherry Thomas Page 0,10

see you’ve already taken one,” she said by way of greeting.

“Shall I bring some tea?” Miss Boyle asked eagerly.

“Lord Hastings is busier than you and I combined, Miss Boyle. I’m sure he won’t stay long enough for water to boil.”

“Indeed, I shall stay only long enough for Miss Fitzhugh’s blood to boil.” Hastings smirked. “But thank you for the lovely offer, Miss Boyle.”

“Of course, my lord,” answered Miss Boyle, flushing with pleasure.

“Don’t do that,” Helena said sharply, once Miss Boyle had closed the door behind her.

“Do what?”

“Flirt with my secretary.”

“Why not? She enjoys it, as do I.”

“And what happens when she falls in love with you?”

He smiled. “My dear Miss Fitzhugh, you attribute such powers to me. I can only imagine you must find me difficult to resist.”

“And yet my resistance remains intact, after all these years.”

“A mere husk—the faintest gust will blow it away. But truly, you need not fear for Miss Boyle. She has a promising young man who works in the city and waits for her outside each afternoon to walk her to her lodging. They have even met twice on Sundays to picnic in the country.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“And why should she mention such distractions to her employer? Do you speak to her of your love affairs?”

“Then why should she tell you?”

“I take an interest. She does find my attention flattering, but she is quite sensible, that young lady, and not about to let my lovely plumage turn her head.”

Lovely plumage. “You flatter yourself a great deal.”

“I learned the trick from Lord Vere. It makes my listener’s blood boil faster.”

He had a good voice—his words emerged like notes on an arpeggio. Had she never noticed it before?

She was beginning to be thoroughly annoyed with herself. Leaning back in her chair, she made her voice cold and impatient. “Why are you here?”

“Because I am a good and loyal friend and I am worried about you.”

She snickered. “I am touched, Hastings. Tell me, is the way I’m not filling out my bodice bothering you again? And are my Amazonian footprints cracking London’s streets?”

“It’s about Mr. Martin.”

“I’ve already heard a number of warnings from you on that front, Hastings,” she said dismissively.

“But you have not heeded any of them.”

“Which is no one’s fault but your own.”

He looked down a moment before raising his eyes again—had he always had eyes that particular depth of blue? “Would you take me more seriously if I promise never to try for another kiss from you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Your promise not to kiss me will translate into attempts to grope me instead, from what I know of the caliber of your promises.”

“What if I promise never again to come within three feet of you?”

Something in the timbre of his voice gave her pause. Was this what sincerity on Hastings’s part sounded like? She dismissed the thought out of hand. “Then no doubt you will demand that I disrobe and tie myself to a bedpost—as you’ve described in your smutty novel—while you watch from three feet away and do whatever disgusting things men do in such situations.”

“You do put such ideas in my head,” he murmured.

Now, this mocking tone was far more familiar. Not that she fared much better against it—inside her stockings, her toes clenched again. “You manufacture such ideas by the gross without any help from me.”

He sighed exaggeratedly. “I see it is futile for me to offer any promises.”

“Utterly pointless.”

He rose. “Sometimes you must disregard the messenger and consider only the message—or have you forgotten that I was exactly right about Billy Carstairs? Mrs. Monteth is on the loose, and you will be foolish to ignore the lengths to which she is willing to go to unmask what she considers wrongdoing.”

Mrs. Monteth was Andrew’s wife’s sister, a guardian of virtue in her own eyes. Her idea of virtue consisted largely—one might say entirely—of chastity. She lived to expose maids who had granted too much liberty to their fellows, or young ladies who might have been indiscreet with someone who was not an approved suitor.

“I am perfectly capable of disregarding the messenger when the message is worth my time.” But his reminder about Billy Carstairs did give her pause. She’d disregarded everything Hastings had said about that erstwhile favorite cousin, but time had proved her good opinion of Billy sadly deluded. “Go to my window and have a look.”

“Fleet Street? I know what it looks like.”

“Humor me. Look across the street to your right, second lamppost.”

He crossed to the