The Valet Who Loved Me - Valerie Bowman Page 0,24
she’d certainly had a difficult time falling to sleep last night while thinking about what it might be like going to his room for a different reason altogether.
She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. Confound it. She was sweating just thinking about it.
After the embarrassment of being caught in his room, she’d decided to change tactics with him. Instead of being openly suspicious or haltingly charming, she’d decided to be…coquettish. Or at least as coquettish as a girl who’d been raised with two brothers could be.
She knew from the way that some of the other male servants looked at her that she wasn’t entirely unfetching. She’d been called pretty a time or two. She doubted someone as good-looking as Mr. Baxter would be overwhelmed by her beauty, but he seemed to enjoy ribbing her and flirting with her. She’d decided to try to beat him at his own game.
She’d barely entered the servants’ hall when she saw him. He was standing next to the doorway that led to the servants’ dining room, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe. She’d noticed that about him. He always seemed to be standing in strategic spots, seemingly resting or loafing, but she had the distinct impression that he was…watching.
But no matter, today she had been looking for him, and she’d found him.
“Ah, Miss Notley, good afternoon.” He bowed to her.
She took the opportunity to eye him up and down. He looked as good as usual in his snug breeches, black boots and white shirt. At least today he wore a neckcloth and looked halfway decent. But when his shirt pressed against his muscled abdomen, Marianne couldn’t look away.
She swallowed hard and curtsied in kind. “Good afternoon, Mr. Baxter.”
His smile nearly melted her middle. Why did the man have to be so very handsome? It was entirely unfair.
He pushed himself away from the doorframe and stood at his full height. “The Copperpots have gone to a picnic by the lake. I was just about to play cards in the storage room. I was planning to play Patience, but I could be persuaded to play Vingt-un instead.”
She blinked at him. “Are ye…invitin’ inviting me ta play cards wit ye?”
He blinked. “Was it unclear? I’m terribly sorry. Miss Notley, would you care to play cards with me in the storage room?”
She glanced around. The nearest other servants were sitting at the dining table on benches having a rowdy discussion about politics. Mrs. Cotswold’s door was closed.
Marianne glanced back at Mr. Baxter and bit her lip. Normally, when she had free time, she did things such as mend clothing and ensure the bedchambers were spotless. She rarely took time to do anything for sport. But why not? Perhaps she should enjoy herself for once. And perhaps this would be the perfect opportunity to find out a bit more about the mysterious Mr. Baxter. “I…I suppose so.”
His lips curved in a smile. “You overwhelm me with your enthusiasm.”
She laughed at that. “My apologies. It’s just that I’m not used ta takin’ time fer meself.”
He inclined his head toward her. “Yes, well, perhaps you should. And I already told you that you should laugh more. I assure you it’s quite a lovely sound.”
She pressed her lips together and blinked at him, slightly embarrassed that he’d noticed her laugh again, but determined to do her best to flirt. She blinked her eyelashes in her most dogged impression of Lady Wilhelmina when she was practicing speaking to gentlemen in the looking glass. “I thought ye were just sayin’ that ta be charming.”
His brows shot up. “Am I charming?”
“Yes, ye are, and I’m certain ye know it,” she said, laughing again as she followed him down the corridor to the little storage room.
He sighed. “I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment.” He held open the door for her and let her precede him.
She walked past him into the small room that smelled like spices and sugar. She took a seat at one of the two chairs standing on either side of the small table in the center of the room.
Mr. Baxter produced a deck of cards from his inside coat pocket. Funny. She hadn’t noticed the deck when she’d been rifling through his room last night. He must carry them with him.
When he began shuffling the cards, the deck came to life in his hands.
Marianne’s brows shot up. “Ye’ve played before, an’ often.”
Still shuffling the cards like an expert, he inclined his head toward her. “Astute of you to