The Shocking Lord Standon. Louise Allen

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СКАЧАТЬ Sinful behaviour obviously had its rewards, she decided, climbing between the warm sheets and snuggling down, wishing now that she had chosen one of the more elaborately trimmed garments—she would never have the opportunity to indulge in such opulence again.

      It had been an eventful day. She had been inside a brothel, she was sleeping in silk—and she had been kissed by a man. Jessica blew out the remaining candle and lay watching the pattern of firelight on the walls. She should be making plans, but…. As her agitation slowly ebbed away and she relaxed into the warmth and safety of the bedchamber, the sensual memory of that kiss flooded back. She had resigned herself to never being kissed—the path she had set herself precluded any relationship with men beyond that of employee and employer.

      Now she knew what it felt like to be held so tightly, and yet want to be held tighter yet. She knew what a man tasted like, how his skin smelt, how her own body yearned to betray every standard and scruple just to experience that glory again. And that was just a kiss. What would it be like to be made love to by Lord Standon? Perhaps, if she willed herself to sleep, she would dream about him.

      The rattle of curtain rings woke Jessica from a deep sleep undisturbed by the nightmares of Madam Synthia’s or the bliss of Lord Standon’s arms.

      ‘Good morning, Miss Gifford.’ Jessica sat up and found a neatly clad maid setting a tray down beside her bed. ‘I am Mary, miss, and I’m to look after you while you are here. Mr Jordan told us about what had happened—what a dreadful thing, miss!—and Mrs Childe will be going out in a minute to buy you some day clothes. Here’s your chocolate, miss, and his lordship says, would you care to join him for breakfast? In your dressing gown’s quite all right, miss.’ She ran out of breath at last and stood beaming.

      ‘Thank you, Mary.’ Jessica took a reviving mouthful of chocolate. Oh, the luxury! It seemed to stroke down inside her like warm velvet, soothing and invigorating, both at the same time. ‘How will Mrs Childe know what size clothes to get for me?’

      ‘His lordship lined us all up and said Polly was just the right size, miss.’ Mary bustled about. ‘I’ll fetch your hot water, shall I?’

      Oh Lord! So he had told them Polly was the right size, had he? Just in case the rest of the household had no idea that their master had had the opportunity to scrutinise her in intimate detail. Jessica had become very familiar with the inner world of households, their miniature social hierarchies, their taboos and their rules. The servants would not be kind about a governess gone astray; she and her kind were usually regarded as being neither gentry nor servants and as a result were an outcast class between the two. Not that Mary appeared hostile.

      The maid bustled back with the water and drew the screen round the washstand. ‘Here you are, miss, I’ve brought a fresh nightgown as well.’

      Gareth pushed back his chair as the door opened on to the breakfast parlour and Jessica walked in. He saw with relief that she did not appear much affected by her adventures the night before—neither the kidnap nor his insane kiss. He was still kicking himself about that, and he had suffered long sleepless hours reviewing just how unwise it had been to yield to temptation. He was not sure whether it was the ache in his groin or in his conscience that had most disturbed his slumber, but they had both proved damnably uncomfortable.

      ‘Miss Gifford. I trust you slept well?’

      ‘Very well, thank you, my lord. That was a most comfortable room, I could not have been better cared for.’ She hesitated, one hand lying with unconscious elegance on the back of a dining chair. ‘I leapt to an unforgivable conclusion last night, my lord, and I apologise for it.’

      Coals of fire heaped on his tender scruples. ‘And I apologise for what followed. I suggest we both forget about it, Miss Gifford. Now, would you like to take a seat and I will fetch you some breakfast from the buffet?’

      She inclined her head and Gareth felt a flicker of admiration for her poise. ‘Very well, thank you. But I will not forget your kindness. And please, do not let your own meal get cold, I will help myself.’

      He sat, watching with a carefully suppressed smile of appreciation as she walked past him to the back of the room where the chafing dishes had been laid out on the sideboard under their silver domes. This morning rich silk ruffles flounced from under the heavy hem of the apricot robe and her hair had been brushed until it shone and then caught up with skilful simplicity. There was far less of the prim governess on show this morning. Julia always said Mary was the most accomplished of the maids.

      ‘Mrs Childe has gone shopping on your behalf,’ he began, reaching for the mustard pot.

      ‘So I understand.’ There was a muted clang as she turned back a lid and began to fill her plate. ‘I understand you could accurately identify Polly as being just my size.’ Ah. Mary might be skilful as a lady’s maid, but she was obviously somewhat lacking in tact. ‘Goodness, black pudding, what a treat.’ There was another clang. Gareth began to amuse himself following Jessica’s progress along the buffet by sound alone. ‘Who else is coming to breakfast, my lord?’

      ‘Just us.’ He bit into the rare sirloin.

      ‘Indeed? How lavish it is.’

      He suspected he was on the receiving end of a very governessy look, to do with extravagance and possibly gluttony. Gareth grinned at his rapidly diminishing steak and contemplated what response would be most calculated to tease her.

      ‘I do not believe in stinting—’ He broke off at the sound of raised voices in the hall. Or at least, of one, very familiar, female voice raised in argument and Jordan’s even tones attempting to head her off. Impossible, the man should know that by now.

      ‘—his lordship is up!’ The door swung open. ‘You see, he was in here all the time. Good morning, Gareth darling.’

      ‘Maude.’ Gareth got to his feet and submitted to being pecked on the cheek by the black-haired whirlwind who swept in, thrusting her vast muff into Jordan’s hands. ‘What on earth do you keep in a muff that size? A small pony? And what are you doing here at this hour of the day and without a chaperon?’

      ‘They are all the crack this size. And as for chaperons—piffle.’ She sat down next to him, tugged off her bonnet and reached for a cup. ‘Is that coffee?’

      ‘Yes.’ Resigned to the invasion, he sat down again and passed the pot. ‘And it is not piffle. Do you want to end up marrying me?’

      ‘Lord, no!’ She laughed at him, glossy black curls bouncing, the morning chill colouring her cheeks and lending sparkle to her blue eyes. She really was the most lovely creature and he was strongly tempted to box her ears. ‘That’s why I am here, this marriage thing is getting serious. Papa has Pronounced. Say what I will, he is fixed upon our union. You are the only man for me, in his opinion—as well as being well bred, healthy, in your right mind and rich, you are also, he tells me, a pillar of rectitude and just what a flibbertigibbet like me requires in a husband.’

      ‘I don’t want to marry you,’ Gareth said flatly. ‘None of this is news, Maude. You don’t want to marry me either. Our parents came up with this idiot agreement, it isn’t legally binding.’

      ‘I know that! But most of society believes we are betrothed. Gareth, how am I ever going to find a man to marry if they are all afraid of you?’

      ‘What do you want me to do about it?’ Gareth poured them both more coffee. ‘I have never confirmed the rumours, I have never given your father any indication that I might do as he wishes.’

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