Praise for Larissa Lyons
for Deceived by Desire ~
4½ Stars from Romantic Times - This deliciously wicked Regency romp is an irresistible tale that weaves shapeshifting lions with clairvoyance and steamy sex...an ingeniously constructed plot...Laced with wit, scandal and true love, it’s a wonderfully entertaining escape.
for Ensnared by Innocence ~
Obvious devotion to historical detail...Lyons did a tremendous job of making me believe that these two people and their interactions were really part of the Regency period...think Robin Schone’s Victorian period historicals... Bev(QB) for The Good, The Bad & The Unread
5 Stars & Sultry - I loved the moods created by the author, her detail to the period and her gift at recreating the society in which she cast her books and characters. The authoress of this book has paid magnificent attention to the complexity of human emotion. Rae for Ecataromance
Lady Scandal
Larissa Lyons
*MAD*FACTS* 37,000 words • Hot Historical Romance • Regency • Series: The Marriage Scheme, Book 1 of 2.
All
of London is ablaze with rumors about the identity of Lady Scandal, a
female brazen—and desperate—enough to advertise for a
husband.
But for Juliet, the young and surprisingly innocent
widow, it’s her last option if she wants to avoid another marriage
not of her choosing. Her prickly, pig-headed father has threatened to
marry her off once again but this time Juliet is not without
resources. She hopes the unentailed lands she possesses are enough to
“bribe” some rich man to swoop in and save her from another
unwanted union. And she has fingers and toes crossed she can find a
potential bridegroom who will make her insides melt.
Zeus
Tanner, a self-made man from humble origins, has one driving goal—to
reclaim his stolen birthright. When the scandalous advertisement
catches his eye, Zeus believes he’s found the key to realizing his
dream. But after surpassing the arduous task of obtaining an audience
with the infamous Lady Scandal—who’s hidden herself behind a
screen without explanation!—Zeus never imagined he’d be asked
such a strange assortment of questions, given a test of manners over
an atrocious scone, and ordered to disrobe and show her his chest—and
“male parts”. Zeus heartily refuses to comply with this last
outrageous request. Unless, he ponders out loud, the intriguing
female is willing to trade her stockings and stays for the
privilege...
*MAD*WARNING* This tale features flying slippers and stockings, a soaring silk neckcloth and silky undergarments, an unplanned eruption of epic proportions, and innocent licks that soon turn lust into love!
Blurbs and excerpts for Larissa’s other electronic and print titles can be read on her website, LarissaLyons.com.
Lady Scandal is dedicated to new and longtime friends. To my fabulous cousin M.V. and Cyberbuddy (not to mention mental twin) Tanya, your support and enthusiasm (& hours spent reading and cheering me on) mean the world. Thank you both! Larissa
Published by:
Lady Scandal Copyright Larissa Lyons, 2011
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved, including the right to decide how to market this book. By law, no part of this publication may be copied, uploaded or transferred to illegal recipients. Please respect the hard work of this author and only read authorized, purchased downloads. All characters are fictional creations; any resemblance to actual persons is unintentional and coincidental.
Edited
by Elizabeth St. John
Cover by Amanda Kelsey of Razzle Dazzle
Design
Electronic
publication: April 2011 Rev. 5.1.11
ISBN 978-0-9834711-0-3 (ePub)
At Literary Madness, we strive to create a book free of typos; if you notice an error,
please
email so we can correct it. Thank you.
litmadness@yahoo.com
Table of Contents
Prologue ~ The Marriage Scheme
Chapter One ~ Applicant Twenty-Four
Chapter
Two ~ An Exchange of Forfeits Goes Afoot
Awry
Chapter Three ~ Applicant Twenty-Four Bares All (Or Nearly So)
Chapter Four ~ Magnificent Protrusions & Manly Paraphernalia
Chapter Five ~ An Unplanned Eruption
Chapter Six ~ Born to Privilege…and now Passion
Chapter Seven ~ Endearments, Confessions & Completion
Epilogue ~ Juliet. Memories. Home.
The Marriage Scheme
Though Lord Letheridge applied himself with undue diligence, groping and grabbing, fumbling for a feel of his young bride every chance he could, it was all for naught. By the time he’d wed his sixth and final wife, his body refused to cooperate. So, when Lord Letheridge died without legal issue, many of his sizable properties, the unentailed ones won gambling during his misbegotten life, went to his dear wife. As did their debts.
Once funds and options were exhausted, the ever-practical Juliet, the heretofore perfectly proper and dutiful daughter (not to mention reluctantly willing wife, for all the good it never did), decided to take her future, and that of those dependent upon her, into her own creative hands.
For after seeing the hash her husband had made of things, Juliet was convinced a mere female could do no worse.
WANTED: A man for matrimony. One with well-equipt pockets.
Ideal candidates must possess blunt and plenty of it; not be overly fond of gaming nor drink. Fair of form and fine of face not essential (but certainly appreciated).
Comprehensive knowledge of estate management a boon.
In return, the chosen applicant will receive a genteel, amiable wife ready to bear his children. Female in question is of sound intellect and generally appealing countenance, is accomplished in many feminine arts, and not at all adverse to quiet evenings at home (once the roof leaks are repaired).
To be placed into your safekeeping and control upon formal marriage: rippling good lands covering parts of four distinct shires, three amazingly rundown properties, near-starving tenants, and sizable taxes due (currently in arrears).
Apply in person with all due haste to Mr. Bamber Hastings, Solicitor, village of Duffield, Derbyshire.
Applicants must supply verification of their financial worth, a vicar’s declaration of their moral caliber, a physician’s assertion of their state of health and vigor and lack of disease. Also have obtained three personal characters, including one from an inamorata stating, with no amount of equivocation, prowess pertaining to performing duties of an intimate nature.
The notice scandalized the ton. The Times refused to run it, only taking up the story after the advertisement appeared in several lesser papers and—appropriately named—scandal sheets.
This is the tale of applicant twenty-four…
Applicant Twenty-Four
Until recent months, Zeus J. Tanner counted of value four things: money, time, his mother, and regaining his stolen birthright.
When his mum passed away after a brief illness and unexpectedly pleasant marriage, Zeus’ list dwindled to three. Time, which gained the top rank when he realized how very much he wished they’d had more together. Money. Birthright.
The first he’d been forced to squander when his initial, hard-earned interview with “Lady Scandal”, as she’d been dubbed in London, was inexplicably postponed.
The second provided him comfortable lodgings at the Crown & Cup, the nearest inn to the Duffield solicitor who refused to divulge the location of today’s interview until “absolutely necessary”, just as he’d refused to justify the delay.
Ah, the pernickety solicitor. Mr. Bamber Hastings was not unknown to Zeus. In fact, it was his name in particular that had drawn Zeus to read the entire advertisement. The contents of the appallingly intriguing notice itself earned his presence here in Derbyshire.
Duffield, Derbyshire. He’d sworn never to return after his last inquiry—some years prior and conducted through Hastings—was met with substantial disdain.
But though they had a past history, albeit a brief one, Zeus didn’t think Hastings had shown him any favor, scrutinizing his letters of validation with his quizzing glass amid indecipherable harrumphs and tut-tuts, until, finally, granting Zeus a line on Lady Scandal’s appointment card.
One he’d had to cool his heels a good week before fulfilling, thanks to that yet-to-be-accounted-for delay.
Though the serving wenches at the Crown & Cup were willing to serve up themselves—and made that excessively clear to Zeus time and again—he’d not sampled their charms.
Nor been overly tempted to.
While a frolicking frisk with a fulsome wench might prove desirous for some, Zeus prided himself on mastering his baser urges. Stifling the compulsion to dip his wick in just any old—or young—wench with a willing wax pot, no matter how eminently swive-worthy their exterior might appear.
And that was because of Things He Valued #3—his stolen birthright. Or as he preferred to think of it…Amherst.
For if Lady Scandal proved to be who Zeus suspected, given her list of what she provided in exchange for money and loads of it, the unwilling prodigal would at last have a home. His own.
And the thought of finally realizing that particular satisfaction could warm a man on any number of cold nights, in any manner of cold, empty beds.
For Zeus was determined to regain what he considered his, and if he had to forsake flipping coins to beddable, buxom dells and palm his staff night after night, he’d do it and gladly. And he’d tell his randy prick to quit offering up complaints each time a serving wench brushed against his arm, or parts decidedly lower.
Juliet had been married, under protest, to an old goat who spent more time grazing beneath her skirts than he did tending his tenants. More time prodding between her thighs than he did taking his place in Parliament.
More time barking orders at everyone in his household—including her—than following his doctor’s dictates.
So, when the esteemed—at least in everyone else’s eyes—Lord Letheridge collapsed in a heap after devouring his third helping of glazed duck, Juliet did nothing more than nod, finish her first serving, and ring for dessert.
Oh, who was she hoaxing with that version?
Though Juliet might like to wish she possessed such strength of character, in truth, upon seeing her soused spouse slouch face first into his ravaged duck bones, Juliet had shrieked, rushed to his side, and screamed for the butler.
But all of Leth’s vices had stolen the vitality from his viscerals, rendering him nothing but a dustman. Rendering Juliet, she’d dimly realized, free of his fumbling. But not of his responsibilities.
Now, some fourteen months and as many assorted disasters later, Juliet remained determined not to let Fate or fatalistic happenings cast her down. And she’d certainly had a lot of practice, given how a carelessly placed candle caused her very home to go up in flames, and how her father recently attempted to wed her to yet another titled old codger with no advance warning (only this one had the good grace to expire on the journey up from Weymouth, thank the saints). And again when a series of tremors caused the well to cave in at another estate, a shockingly sudden occurrence and her with no funds to hire someone willing to “dig” her out of the resulting predicament.
After the well ran figuratively dry, she’d retreated to her last remaining option and current abode. As had happened with a number of the applicants, she’d learned what often presented itself well on paper didn’t always convey in person.
Set amidst a respectable copse of trees and a good distance from any neighbors, the century-old home she now inhabited might be greeting her with falling plaster and broken hinges each time she entered a room, but just as they’d learned to tack the roof tiles back in place (the ones they could locate, that was) and prop the working windows up on boards, Juliet took it upon herself to shore up the spirits of everyone around her. As “lady” of the manor, she was determined to right the wrongs Leth’s spendthrift ways had saddled her with.
To that end, once her viable options ran as dry as the well, Juliet turned to the unviable ones, consulting with Leth’s rather haughty but surprisingly helpful solicitor and ultimately placing her advertisement. Only to have the disasters continue, with her lady’s maid running off with the head groom (and taking the remaining few horses with them), the butler fleeing for greener (and irrigated) pastures, and herself, hosting the most recent adversity directly upon her person in the form of a broken bone in one of her lower limbs, thanks in no small part to an unintentional altercation with several uninvited barking barkers.
Dogs. She might have liked them once upon a dog day, but after hobbling around on one foot because of the four-legged fiends, her opinion of canines had taken a decisively downward turn. She now prayed Providence would do the opposite, take an upward turn and smile—instead of smirk—on her today by sending the right man into the sanctum of her sitting room.
Not a single applicant as yet had come close to reaching the vision she’d created of a respectable and worthy man intent on delivering them from penury. Or her from another marriage not of her choosing.
But that’s what came with having the misfortune of being sired by a man still mired in medieval times, one who thought he had the right to command her obedience in all things, regardless of her age. She’d witnessed that enough times with how he treated her mother. Despite no longer residing under her father’s roof, Juliet had no doubt if she were unlucky enough to ever land there again, he would assume absolute power over everything she did, and that was not to be borne.
She might not be a worldly, wise widow similar to the ones who enjoyed a unique freedom in sophisticated places such as Brighton or London once their spouses were gone (even stashed deep in the country, she’d heard stories aplenty), but Juliet was determined to maintain her independence far away from her restrictive, remaining parent.
“We’re down to the last two Mr. Hastings scheduled.” Making her way to the back corner after restoring her dress to rights, Oliva, known affectionately as Wivy, edged past the cumbersome partition and glared down at Juliet. “Are you certain I cannot persuade you to halt this mad scheme? Did applicant twenty-three not illustrate the idiocy in continuing?”
“You mean failure twenty-three?” Juliet couldn’t stop the shudder that convulsed her shoulders. “Wretched man. Taking his irritation with me out on you. We’re well rid of that one, I vow.”
The bounder! Exasperated with questions Wivy required answers to on Juliet’s behalf and enraged at not being graced with her ladyship’s presence immediately upon his arrival, he’d had the effrontery to snag Wivy’s sleeve and jerk her toward him, his fist raised!
At the horrendous action Juliet could easily observe through the screen they’d worked to strategically place so she could see through it, though the men were “kept in the dark” about her presence, she had burst clumsily from her concealed corner, brandishing her homemade crutch. Her burly footman Jacks had done the same, charging in from his preferred position just outside the door—minus the crutch. Jacks didn’t need such props to instill fear, his formidable size being more than sufficient for the challenge.
Now that both men were gone, Juliet couldn’t help but ask herself: Was she totally addled to continue believing such a bird-witted plan held the answer? Entrusting the lives of herself and all those relying on her on the outcome of one lone, beetle-headed advertisement?
Pushing past Wivy with a confidence she was far from feeling, Juliet stretched her legs, with some measure of difficulty, across the expanse of her sitting room. Brought up to breed an heir and little else (proficiency at French, watercolors and selecting complementary lengths of yarn for embroidery projects notwithstanding), Juliet had not the training nor the knowledge to return her late husband’s exhaustive grounds back to their former glory. Not without funds or a strong man at her side. It seemed creditors and, sadly, her own tenants distrusted even the most heartfelt of assurances and expressively disliked following instructions from a woman when there wasn’t a man behind her to back them up.
She and the few servants who remained had outrun the most persistent creditors, retreating first to one ignored property then another until landing here: the most dismal home she now had the misfortune to own, where half the windows were boarded over to avoid the dreaded window tax. More importantly, where she hoped to conduct her interviews with a modicum of peace.
Peace? Hah!
There’d been little enough of that because time grew ever shorter, the portions on their plates ever smaller, and the leaks overhead, as the second bucket brought into her bedchamber could attest, ever larger. A far-off rumble of thunder punctuated her thoughts.
“We’re doing the right thing, depend upon it.” The only thing, given how she refused to put herself at the mercy of another titled gent ever again. If she dragged her feet, um foot, much longer in this regard, her overbearing father was sure to arrive on her doorstep with preacher and picked-out pompous peer in tow. And that would never do.
“No…” She slowed her thumped pacing and returned to her place as Wivy again arranged the elaborate divider, masking her presence. “The men answering my advertisement are desperate in their own right. They wouldn’t face wedding a complete unknown otherwise.” There’d been third and fourth sons, a military man or two and several accomplished tradesmen in their ranks. But there hadn’t been a single one she’d remotely considered choosing—not yet. “If neither of these last men come up to snuff, I’ll have Mr. Hastings start scheduling another batch of interviews. Fear not. It’s simply our job to weed through the chaff and discover the toff most likely to nurture the grounds until they again bloom and prosper.”
There now, Juliet congratulated herself. She’d sounded appropriately certain. But after the unexpected setback stemming from last week’s Injurious Mishap (though Wivy claimed it was more along the lines of a Canine Catastrophe) and her inability to find a suitable candidate by now, Juliet dreaded, deep inside, that she might have set herself on a losing course. “It’s been a long several days, I know, but let us see this through.” For I know not what else to do. “Only two more. Did you not say so yourself?”
Pray God, one of them was her future husband.
Jacks poked his head in the doorway. “That bleedin’ mort didn’t leave any lasting marks, did ’e?”
“Bleeding?” Wivy asked, her voice rising.
Through the crewel-worked screen, Juliet saw Jacks’ smile widen. “’E is now.”
One could take a boxer from the ring, Juliet mused, biting her lip against a reluctant grin, but couldn’t take the fight out of him. She might not have many servants left, but the ones who’d remained were unfailingly loyal. “We’re both in a fine twig,” she called out, “owing to your swift intervention. My sincere appreciation! Now, do please send in our next man.”
“Before ’Enry can lick ’is ear,” Jacks promised, smacking one fist into the opposite palm. “And you can bet I’ll be right outside the door like always. Just in case another tries getting orn’ry.”
“Speaking of Henry,” Juliet wondered out loud, “where’s he off to?” She hadn’t seen tail nor whisker of her beloved tomcat all day.
“Like as not,” Wivy answered with asperity, “he decamped upstairs to the bedchambers once today’s applicants started arriving. That or the kitchen. And who can blame him, after last week’s Currish Calamity?”
There was that. Juliet’s leg twinged in sympathy.
Attempting to arrange her skirts around the wooden chair that took up most of the cramped space, she looked beyond the embroidered scene that hid her presence. In front of her but angled so Juliet could see the room, Wivy situated herself at the desk.
“Ready to have another go?” Juliet whispered.
Wivy took a deep breath and released it on a loud sigh. “Two more,” Juliet heard her murmur. “Two more then the blessed respite of the weekend.”
Juliet knew this marriage scheme had been hard on her friend. For years, she’d been the one constant in Juliet’s life. If it weren’t for her companionship, betrothal to Lord Letheridge at sixteen—with Papa refusing to grant her the opportunity of a season, much less the chance to meet any other gentlemen—might’ve been her undoing.
As it was, by the time their extended engagement elapsed and the pompous ceremony held at St. George’s as her dear mama insisted (her mother’s dying wish, else Juliet had no doubt Papa would’ve disregarded it as he had all her others), old Leth’s determination had dwindled, his winkle had waned, and though Juliet couldn’t bring herself to in any way welcome his persistent attempts at bedding her, she’d tolerated them in good stead as she’d been taught a dutiful wife ought.
Yet she remained untouched, in the extreme intimate sense, to this day. Hence, part of her unfailing resolve to have a say in her next spouse. And bed partner.
After all, other young ladies were allowed to choose, didn’t have an odious father who gave them no voice, no—
Oh, holy day!
Every righteous thought flew from her brain as she caught sight of a most compelling man hesitating in the doorway. Why did he wait? Why did this one persist in stalling? In not coming closer where she could secure a better look?
Why did her heart jump in her chest and the air in her lungs evaporate to nothing—at nothing more than her first hazy glimpse of him?
Juliet caught herself listing forward and hastily scooted back upon the chair (falling face first into the screen would certainly not aid her cause!). Once firmly situated, she again stared toward the newcomer. Yet he still hadn’t moved. Why—
But then he did and she could breathe again, her chest expanding and eyes flaring wide as he passed through the doorway. His former dithering aside, he now stalked purposefully into her sitting room, inspecting his surroundings as if he already owned the space—and everything, everyone in it.
An unruly shock of dark blond hair fell forward over his forehead, nearly to his jaw. He raked it back, giving her a view of strong, harsh features and brooding eyes, their color indistinguishable from this distance.
Though his size was akin to Jacks’, this man moved with an innate, confident grace, his strides long, his Hessians clipping brusquely upon the floor until he gained the rug and stopped, tilting his fair head in deference to Wivy. “Madam.”
He flashed a grin and something dormant inside Juliet flared to life, leaving her feeling bold and anxious and giddy all at once. Is he the one?
Regardless of how very serious the entire undertaking was to her future, Juliet couldn’t refrain from gawking at his…um…masculine form. His impressive, muscular thighs specifically.
An audible gasp wound its way up her throat. Juliet clamped one hand over her lips.
A lady wasn’t supposed to acknowledge, even mentally, that a man’s limbs existed, much less name them. Thighs, she thought again because she could, smiling behind her fingers. Because never again would she let any man rule over her mind or her tongue.
Thighs. Legs.
Simply acknowledging how his drew her made her blood flow hot and thick.
Legs! She wanted to shout it out the open window. This stranger possesses the most magnificent legs. Oh, she was brazen indeed!
Lady or not, there was no denying she admired everything outwardly about him—his shaggy hair and craggy face, his legs, hips, waist…thighs, they all fascinated and beckoned.
She swallowed back another gasp, one of pure unadulterated relief. For here was a man worth gasping over, a man worth abandoning maidenly scruples drummed into one from infanthood. A man to inspire all manner of explicit, illicit dreams.
The cumbersome screen now had a new purpose, Juliet realized, lowering her hand and wiping surprisingly damp palms on the layers of skirt and petticoat gathered in her lap: that of allowing her to look her fill, to stare at and ogle this manly specimen in a way no maiden would ever be permitted.
To hope…
Maybe, just maybe, applicant twenty-four would prove to be the one.
The condition of the room appalled Zeus; it matched that of the whole abysmal house, at least the few ghastly portions he’d been privy to. Two blinks away from decrepitude, it somehow seemed wrong to be meeting the infamous Lady Scandal in such a desolate atmosphere. Agonizingly wrong, given how he’d anticipated their meeting occurring at Amherst and not this rachitic ruin.
And after what he’d just seen her footman do, the prior candidate’s shouts of outrage at being manhandled by a manservant sufficient inducement to lure both Zeus and the lone remaining applicant into the hallway for the show, Zeus wasn’t so sure he wanted his turn in these unsavory surroundings. Wasn’t so sure his relinquished hat would be spared mangling from the beefy hands he’d just witnessed trouncing the foul-mouthed sod who’d gone directly before him—and been swiftly evicted from the premises.
Zeus glanced again into the room he was expected to enter, so dingy and pathetic he suspected even moths and mice would pass it by.
Remember why you’re here. What she can give you.
Prompted, as always, by the overwhelming goal that continued to guide his every action, even now, years and lifetimes later, Zeus nodded his thanks toward the burly fellow who, after wiping blood and “bad spirits” off his hands and person, had deferentially escorted Zeus through the gloomy maze.
A fortifying breath and Zeus stepped over the threshold. For good or ill, he was committed to his course.
And ill it just might be, given the way his nose prickled at the sour hint of stale smoke that hung in the air. But unlike the crypt of a study he’d been stashed in all day, along with other expectant contenders, where he’d forbore puffing tobacco or drumming fingertips—and outwardly expressing his anxiety—this particular room, upon closer inspection he was delighted to note, exhibited several rays of sunshine to brighten its dreary reality.
Rays of sunshine that proved a balm to his weary soul. A number of them streamed in from the unboarded windows facing west, several splashed about in the form of wild-cut flowers bunched in disreputable vases, and one presided regally before him, her dress every bit as yellow and sunny as the sporadic unfaded rectangles on the walls, bright patches of paper and plaster, loudly proclaiming the paintings she’d been forced to sell off.
She. Lady Scandal, sitting patiently behind her desk, a look of wary resignation on her face.
One glance put him in mind of a fetchingly plump and eminently beddable tavern wench. The kind he’d feasted on in his youth, the kind he’d avoided of late. The anti-lady.
Over the last weeks, he’d built Lady Scandal up in his mind as a genteel, dainty creature, desperate enough for funds to overlook his disreputable birth. Though his blighted beginnings certainly matched the state of her home, the regal daffodil looked anything but desperate.
Although appealing in an earthy, buxom way, she was not what Zeus had primed himself for, and he couldn’t stop the dual pings of disappointment—that she didn’t resemble the elegant “lady” his deuced imaginings had conjured, and that he wasn’t attracted to her as he ought to be his wife, the one woman he’d forsake all others on behalf of until death did they part.
His primed poker wilted a bit, expressing its dismay. In opposition, Zeus stiffened his legs, and shoved any dirk disappointment aside. He wasn’t here for her, he reminded himself; he was here for what he could get from her.
“Madam.” He proffered a perfunctory bow. “Z. J. Tanner, at your service. I believe we have much to discuss, you and I.”
She smiled at him, a true welcome meant to put him at ease, and another brilliant beam of sunshine graced the tired room.
Unexpectedly, his heart went out to her, this brave woman willing to sacrifice all to rebuild her surroundings, and if no other part of his anatomy made its empathy or potential excitement known, well…Zeus determinedly stamped down any discontent. Brains over ballocks, he mentally prompted, repeating the refrain that’d become his constant companion and bedfellow of late.
After making his introduction, he allowed his gaze to journey once more around the spacious room. Behind the daffodil—the future Mrs. Tanner?—an intricately embroidered screen occupied the corner. The magnum opus looked woefully out of place, more suited to a museum than this mausoleum.
An unlit, crumbling fireplace commanded the opposite wall. A simple settee, low table before it, laden with two of the fragrant bouquets, and a couple of rigid-looking, worn parlor chairs filled the rug where he’d halted.
She gestured toward the ugly chairs. “Please sit, Mr. Tanner. I’ll endeavor to make this as painless as possible.”
“I’d prefer to stand, if that’s agreeable.”
“By all means.” She smiled again, the cheerful expression lessening the sense of doom he’d refused to acknowledge since seeing a number of other like-minded dolts summoned and summarily discarded before him, until it was down to him and one other. Though the remaining man, a former seafaring one, appeared a good sort, Zeus was determined to win the lady—and her accompanying bounty.
When she cordially explained, “I am Olivia Hales, my lady’s companion. She has entrusted me with the task of ascertaining your responses to several questions,” Zeus’ fading apprehension roared back to the surface, intensified beyond measure.
How many more mountains must he climb before meeting “my lady”?
First obtaining the plethora of character references then enduring the punctilious Hastings, who insisted on reading them all save the one from his former mistress—thank God for small favors—and now this…vetted by a servant. Ah, well. If it meant gaining Amherst, he could withstand anything, Zeus told himself, blowing out his frustration on a hearty sigh.
At the sound of his impatience, the daffodil raised one eyebrow.
“I’d initially taken you for her ladyship,” Zeus confessed, widening his stance since it appeared he’d be here awhile. He locked his hands behind him, determined not to display any further unease.
“You did?” If possible, that brightened her smile. “My lady regrets she was called away. She’ll join us as soon as she’s able.”
“I admit to being more than a trifle disappointed that I now must again postpone making the acquaintance of such an obviously admired woman.”
“Pardon?”
“Both you and Hastings appear to be troubling yourselves extensively to aid in her…shall we say…quest for a savior.”
“She seeks a spouse,” the companion chided, “not someone sent from the Almighty.”
Zeus allowed his gaze to pointedly fix upon the tattered upholstery seat of one chair. “She seeks someone to save her from the poorhouse and her posterior from ill-padded cushions.”
He thought he heard a snicker, but it was quickly muffled behind her hand. “Yes…well, be that as it may, shall we proceed?”
“I am at your disposal.” As long as you do not dispose of my suit.
“What prompted you to respond to my lady’s advertisement?”
“The inducements stated therein.”
“Are you overly fond of dogs?”
“Not excessively, no.” Not since a vile one chased him, instilling terror in a five-year-old’s heart.
“Would you have any aversion to your wife spending her pin money on fripperies?”
“Fripperies?” Was he about to shackle himself to some gadfly spendthrift? One who’ll have no respect for the chink he spent years acquiring? “Can you please expound upon what might constitute a frippery in her mind?”
“Oh, you know, simply things of nonsense…hair ribbons. Yarn.”
Ribbons…yarn? Neither of which amounted to the vast sums he’d feared at the question. “None whatsoever.”
“Please share your thoughts on the education of children.”
That was unexpected. Dogs, yarn… Hell, most all these deuced questions were unexpected. Regretting the monstrous servant who’d relieved him of gloves and hat, Zeus flexed his empty hands. He knotted them in place at the base of his spine. “Education for the wee ones? I…I confess to never giving that topic lengthy consideration.”
“Please do so now, if you would.”
“Ah…children. They need some manner of learning to gain a foothold in this world, to keep them from starving in the streets. Book learning might do well for some, but trades are good too.”
She seemed to hesitate and he caught a slight rustle behind her. Then she straightened. “What about girls?”
“Girls? What about them?”
“Should they be allowed to learn?”
“I don’t see why not.” He thought of his mother and her lack of options once being used and discarded. “Otherwise they’re dependent upon the whims of men.”
“You are to be commended, Mr. Tanner.”
He was? “I am?”
“You’re very progressive in your thinking.”
Avoiding the look of surprise in her gaze, Zeus shifted his. “Suppose that makes up for all my regressive living.”
He’d meant it as a jest. Didn’t seem funny once voiced. Zeus rolled his shoulders, hoping the tenseness with which he held himself didn’t show. Wondering how much longer he’d have to wait to greet Lady Scandal. Just the name conjured sweaty bodies and entangled limbs. Delivering hot, wet kisses over the pale skin of her throat, the small of her back. Running his tongue down the arch of a dainty foot while said lady sprawled nude before him, basking in the decadent attention, her impassioned moans begging him to bring his staff closer to her waiting lips.
Zeus licked his, ready to savor her scandalous taste, bask in her flavor, in the fragrant aroma he just knew would be exuding from her—
“Have you any experience successfully managing estates?”
The question came from far off, miles from the darkened bedchamber invading his mind.
“Mr. Tanner.” The daffodil recalled him to the room, the ugly, anything-but-succulent room, and asked again, “Have you any experience successfully managing estates?”
Estates. Now this was more in line with what he’d expected. Amherst over amour, he reminded his wayward-thinking mind and answered truthfully. “None at all.”
Keeping his attention firmly entrenched in this room, he allowed his gaze to be drawn behind her, to the crewel work decorating the framed partition. The outdoor scene was magnificently rendered.
“You’ve experience, then, managing them unsuccessfully?”
“No, not that either.” He turned to face her, catching sight of a forlorn expression. “No experience overseeing estates at all.”
“Yet you wish to do so now?”
“With all my heart.”
“Are you so very confident of your success, then? At so new an endeavor?”
“I cannot claim it with absolute certainty when so many facets beyond my influence come into play, mother nature being but one. It is a vast undertaking we discuss, of that I’m aware, but I vow to give it my unceasing effort.” Again his gaze fell on the screen’s outdoor scene. Shade trees, a waterfall, intricate vines of flowers adorning the perimeter…all created with yarn.
“What are the biggest failings you declare?”
“My failings?” His brows rose and he left off inspecting the impressive landscape to turn his attention to what—or who—might lie beyond it. “Would you not rather have an accounting of my successes? Estate management aside, I’ve had a number—”
“Let me articulate it differently. What are your most significantly unpleasant character traits? Deficiencies in your personality a wife might need contend with?”
Personality deficiencies? These questions were enough to make his stomach roil!
After leaving Duffield at first light and traveling the seventeen miles on horseback to this neglected property where Hastings insisted he report—and not Amherst as he’d anticipated—then cooling his heels for hours in the grim study while studying his competition, Zeus realized hunger was likely the culprit, but regardless, he simply wanted to be done with these infernal questions. Wanted to meet the real Lady Scandal in the flesh, evaluate how eager his flesh was to join with hers.
Ready to bear his children, indeed. Vexing woman wouldn’t even bare her face. “I’m an absolute bear when hungry,” he fairly growled.
How much longer would he be obliged to wait? First the interminable delay in Duffield where Hastings had somehow scrounged the ballocks to order Zeus not to venture past the village. In defiance, he’d set out for Amherst three times, only to have ferocious storms boil up from nothing, forcing him back. As if Fate didn’t want him catching a glimpse of his long-denied reward.
“Very prettily answered. Now please tell me something less cavalier.”
He ordered his hands to stop strangling each other and brought his mangled fingers in front of him, clapping his palms together. “I’m impatient. I tend to be unforgiving when wronged. I don’t suffer fools, and in my experience, most all aristocrats act foolish. I don’t—”
“’Tis enough, I’m sure.” She held up one gloved hand, biting back another smile if he wasn’t mistaken. “Can we then assume you aren’t a thief nor a murderer?”
“We?” His eyes flicked toward the partition behind her. Lady Scandal, my patience is hanging by a thread…
“You and I,” the companion replied, plumping her cheeks by freeing another of those cheerful smiles.
“A murderer? Nay. But I have been a thief.”
“Uh-ahhh…” She seemed at a loss, choking on some sort of reply.
Well, good. Strangest accounting of questions he’d ever been a party to. Most frustrating as well.
Zeus caught the hint of a whisper then the daffodil cocked her ear toward the corner. So there was someone back there.
It irked him that these “ladies” were playing games with his life. “Why don’t you show yourself?” he called out, overloud. “Face your future husband and pelter him with questions directly?”
Let me see whether you live up to your name? And my infernal imaginings.
An
Exchange of Forfeits Goes Afoot Awry
“In due time,” the mysterious female rejoined immediately.
For not demurring, reluctant esteem for the woman rose in Zeus, though he couldn’t resist tapping one booted foot on the floor. When the edge of the rug that’d seen better years muffled the sound, he shifted back a step and tapped again. Louder.
“Exhibiting your lack of patience won’t hasten the process, I can assure you,” the same dulcet, unattributed voice admonished.
Plowing one hand through his hair, Zeus commanded his feet to still.
Assuming the composure he wished he felt, the companion calmly turned back to him. “Would you care to elaborate upon the circumstances which caused you to steal?”
“No, I would not.”
“Would you tell us anyway?” His mysterious wife-to-be asked through the screen.
Damn female, making it sound as though she uttered a sweetly phrased request when they both knew it was one he dare not ignore. He might hold the purse in this potential partnership, but she held all the strings. At least for now.
“Mr. Tanner?” his nebulous nemesis prompted.
“My mother was unwell,” he shared reluctantly.
It was a time he preferred not to dwell on or speak of, but when that brought no response from either of them, Zeus felt obliged to elucidate. “It was a harsh winter. She’d fallen ill and could no longer work. She was starving.”
“And you?” came the disembodied voice, subdued now. “Were you hungry as well?”
Zeus didn’t attempt to stifle his small but very real smile. “That I was, but my thieving had an unexpected boon when the butcher caught me pilfering his bacon.”
He heard a relieved sigh from the unseen woman. “Made you his apprentice, did he?”
“Nay, but he did make my mum his wife.”
“You may proceed to the next question, Wivy.”
“Why don’t you ask it yourself, madam?” His own impertinence surprised him, given all that was at stake, but he forged ahead nevertheless. “It is with understandable urgency that I desire to make your acquaintance through something other than an embroidered barrier or the indomitable Hastings.”
“Soon enough, my impatient applicant,” she said with an indulgent smile in her voice. “Do carry on, Wivy.”
The blonde grinned at him, and if Zeus didn’t know any better, he’d think she gave him an encouraging nod, indicating he was doing well. “Please tell us about your strengths—and before you ask, I don’t mean how many stone you can lift or carry but your personality strengths, those that comprise your moral fiber.”
From the hidden corner, a rusty cackle of what he thought passed for laughter jolted through him, chasing the shadows from his memories. “I think we can glean that one ourselves, Wivy!”
“Madam?” He turned to face his invisible adversary and bowed his head in a show of respect before yanking it upright and glaring at that damnable shield. No doubt, she could see him while obscuring herself. “What character strength do you believe you’ve already ascertained and on such short acquaintance?” And by God, what the deuce was he doing bantering with her? This virago who hid herself and ordered others to do her bidding, likely so ugly or so old she feared running off suitors at first glance. But no…that oddly enchanting, uninhibited cackle of a laugh couldn’t belong to a crone. Or could it?
In return, the chosen applicant will receive a genteel, amiable wife ready to bear his children. Female in question is of sound intellect and generally appealing countenance, he recalled, hoping to mitigate his growing concerns. Appealing countenance, heh? He’d like to see for himself.
“Honesty, Mr. Tanner. Based on your pithy replies, it is quite apparent you possess forthright honesty.” Before he could react to that pronouncement, she continued. “Please tell us about your education.”
“It came from the streets of London. Back alleys too.”
“Then you know nothing of estate management?” She sounded vastly disappointed.
“I wasn’t asked about my education in the realm of estate management, now was I? Only of my experience.”
“I’m asking now.”
“Last I checked, the streets of London contained lending libraries. While my practical application of such knowledge may be nominal…” He placed the tips of two fingers to the side of his head and rapped lightly. “The information is here, I promise you, simply waiting for the opportunity to be utilized.” Zeus started to rattle off a number of facts about Amherst and the vast lands comprising it but decided demonstrating his extensive knowledge of crops and herds, of tenants and taxes could wait until he garnered some answers. “I’d like to begin asking a few questions of my own, starting with how the blazes a female who lacks the gumption to show her face expects to convince me of her ‘readiness to bear my children’? That is part of the bargain, as I recall, and unless you intend to practice immaculate conception right along with the Blessed Virgin, you’ll be showing me significantly more than your face before the deed is done!”
“Mr. Tanner!” The daffodil’s face flamed. Her hands fluttered. “I— I…”
He felt rotten. Mum had taught him better. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to render you speechless nor take my honest impatience out on anyone.”
A muffled snort then another splurt of hilarity met his ears. “Wivy, you may leave now. I’ll conduct the rest of the interview.” The embroidered scene trembled, followed by yet another snort. “I do believe I’d like to be alone with our guest.”
Satisfaction surged through Zeus. Now he and the mysterious Lady Scandal would get somewhere. Somewhere that led him closer to her body, and closer to Amherst. Although, at the moment, he was more eager to meet the “lady” who possessed such unladylike laughter—laughter he somehow found eminently engaging—than he was to seek redress for ancient acts of contempt and derision. Trifling now, they almost seemed, when he was faced with his future.
Though since meeting her—or nearly so—his conscience nagged, poking at him like a pointy pebble in his boot. Tell her the truth. All of it. Ignoring the annoying sense of scruples, Zeus rammed his hair back, wishing he could see through the partition as easily.
As she admired the slightly muddled specimen of male perfection through the divider, Juliet had to remember she was invisible to him. One wouldn’t know it, the way he fixed his gaze upon her precise location, fairly stripping her bare with the fierce expression he directed her way.
An evocative warmth spiraled through her in the wake of his heated gaze, tensing her muscles and setting her on edge. Flickering about her stomach and bringing a boldness to her tongue she’d not employed before, not with a father and then a husband who each maintained womenfolk should be blindly—and silently—obedient in all things.
Feminine opinions were not to be voiced. Certainly not heard and considered.
But with the way Mr. Tanner held himself and beheld her through the screen, all confident cockiness and self assurance in spite of the outrageous answers he supplied, Juliet doubted he’d allow himself to be threatened by any “mere” woman.
In fact, part of her dared speculate…might he solicit her opinions on occasion, given how, even though he made his reluctance keenly apparent, he remained amenable to discussing each and every query topic she broached? A husband who talked with her! Would that not be sparkish fine?
And Lord how her throat hurt! He made her laugh, this particular applicant. Causing the rusty, seldom-used reflex to scrape up her neck and emerge without constraint, sounding somewhat like a braying donkey she feared, but oh, how wonderful it felt. Almost as wonderful as the wicked, wanton urges he brought forth with nothing but his presence.
Juliet’s fingers ached to touch the strong, corded muscles of his neck visible above his simply tied cravat, the muscles that even now worked as he clenched his jaw. No surprise, given the subterfuge he’d caught her enacting. But unlike the previous man who’d turned nasty when he’d found her out, Mr. Tanner only challenged her to face him, to speak with him.
“Please, Wivy,” she whispered, not above pleading with her friend to leave them alone, but not wanting him to hear how desperately. After the plethora of unsuccessful interviews they’d conducted the last couple of weeks, after all she’d endured, she’d truly begun to despair of ever finding a potential, decent mate.
It was a miracle she hadn’t canceled the entire scheme. While she’d seriously contemplated abandoning everything a time or two during some of the more wretched interviews, she hadn’t.
And now a man stood before her, his responses nearly so absurdly perfect, Juliet was half afraid to ask him anything else. But ask she must.
Others were dependent upon her.
Merely because her melting insides craved for him to be the one, she couldn’t hide from the reality that his last response didn’t bode well. His lack of estate management experience should’ve been the red flag that waved him on his way. But she couldn’t turn loose, not yet. Not of him, nor of her hopes.
Because on so many levels, Mr. Tanner seemed exactly right. Time and again, his at turns baffling and belligerent responses proved he was the first candidate to appeal to her in all areas she’d set forth:
~ cordiality to Wivy and Jacks (An indication, she believed, of how he might treat tenants, children…and wife.);
~ integrity and candor (She allowed his responses up to this point indicated both. If they also indicated an unwillingness to be led by a ring through his nose, all the better. She needed a man who wasn’t afraid to stand up to those who thought they were better than everyone else.);
~ a willingness to educate females (He’d managed to supply this perfect response without once smirking, earning her undying devotion early on.);
~ a disinclination to pander to whining whelps (She’d added this requirement just last week.);
~ interest and knowledge of estate matters (Grasping at straws, she reasoned Mr. Tanner’s inexperience in this area was offset by his abundance of honesty.);
~ and not most important of all, her mind insisted, but as though staging a mutiny, her body persisted upon disagreeing, it was paramount she found him attractive. Visually riveting. (Which she most assuredly did!).
If Juliet was to barter her future by willingly shackling herself to another man, then, sure as tits trilled and cocks crowed, she wanted to want him. With everything in her.
The low, constant pressure building deep in her abdomen and flittering about her chest told her she wanted Mr. Tanner.
At least clothed, she did.
And that gave her pause. Attired, despite his advanced years, Lord Letheridge had cut a tolerable figure. But once the padded jacket was removed, the contoured stockings stripped, and his sunken chest and pasty skin revealed, his bare form had repulsed her every bit as much as his repugnant personality.
Therefore, Juliet had two vital qualities to ascertain before deciding whether Mr. Tanner was the spouse she sought: how he appeared unclothed and how he conducted himself as a lover.
The idea of Mr. Tanner, naked and acting the lover toward her? It was more than enough for Juliet to discard all pretense of decorum and steer the interview in the naughty direction she hoped it might take. She swallowed past the knot of nervous excitement the torrid thought brought forth.
“Wivy, you must leave,” she demanded as quietly as she dared. “Please heed me on this.” Then louder, “Olivia, do please tell the remaining gentleman how very appreciative I am he expended himself to such a degree but that I won’t be able to see him today.” Poor fellow, she really should compensate him for his time, but funds were so very low. Cook did make a thumping good scone however. (When they weren’t out of sugar, that was.) “I’m afraid I can’t reimburse his travel expenses, but if you would see he’s served refreshments before he leaves?
“Oh!” Goodness, she’d nearly forgotten her other area of evaluation, not having many occasions to administer it. “And tell Jacks he may bring in the refreshment tray at his convenience.”
Wivy shot her an inscrutable look and muttered, “I like this one but I certainly hope you know what you’re doing.” Then she quit the room, skirting around Mr. Tanner but only after imparting something to him Juliet couldn’t make out.
Hmm. Now what was Wivy about? No matter. Juliet had just gained her goal: time alone with applicant twenty-four. A hitch to her breathing told her she hadn’t been this excited in years.
Juliet smiled. But then she frowned. Her lower half was decidedly uncomfortable. She shifted on her hard chair, attempted to cross her legs—to squeeze out the lingering ache that’d settled there—to no avail. The ache persisted. “Well, now…it’s just you and I, Mr. Tanner.” She shifted again and tried not to sound so out of breath. “Shall we continue?”
He brought one well-muscled leg forward then stopped. “Not until you tell me how I fare. Talking to an invisible Lady Scandal—”
“Lady Scandal? That’s what they’re calling me?” Of a certainty, scandalous fit how she felt, staring waist-high at his flexing thighs and…um, things centered above and between.
“Aye, but at being denied your actual acquaintance, I’m feeling the bamboozled dupe, thinking I’m here on a sleeveless errand and nothing more.”
When he looked back toward the door, as if contemplating escape, Juliet stammered, “Nay! I’m not trifling with you! To be sure, I find you intrepid and impudent and a host of other things I’m too much a lady to mention.”
“That bad, eh?”
“That good, I fear.”
After emerging into the hallway and instructing a curious Jacks to fetch the tray, Olivia pulled the door shut behind her and turned to look at it, surprise making her reluctant to release the tarnished knob.
Well. That had been unexpected. Leave her charge and bosom friend alone with a truthful thief? And a formidable, scowling specimen to boot.
Peeling paint marked the stout door she hesitated to move from, the chipped antique white antiqued more by time than design. After it had collapsed off its hinges their first week in residence, Jacks and their remaining stable boy (who needed more than one when they no longer had any horseflesh that required stabling?) had rehung it to its current non-listing exactness.
The exchange of indistinct murmurs reached her from the depths of the sitting room, one deep and just a shade from belligerent. The other carefree. Joyous almost.
Recalling his sincere look, and the quickly masked vulnerability if she wasn’t mistaken, in Mr. Tanner’s gaze just before she acquiesced and quit the room convinced Olivia that Juliet was in no danger. Unlike that lout they’d interviewed just prior, the one who’d exhibited no ability to laugh at anything, much less at himself, she sensed Mr. Tanner possessed enough self-assurance and inherent composure that nothing unduly untoward would occur.
Pah. Applicant twenty-three. To resort to violence and all because the ruffian took exception to being “duped by two bitches” or so he’d claimed when Juliet had the misfortune to sneeze, giving them both away. Crude churl! Thinking he could buy his way into respectability, as though money answered everything. Give her a man with a ready smile and a good appreciation of the absurd, a hard worker not afraid to get his hands dirty and able to laugh in the process. She’d take that over one with sovereigns to spare any day.
Actually most days of late, Olivia would be grateful if only a man would look at her and really see her. It’d been a long, long time since a fellow had paid attention her direction with something akin to interest lighting his eyes. Companions were paid (or not paid, in her particular case) to blend into the background. To become invisible. Something she’d perhaps accomplished with too much zeal?
She thought of the way Mr. Tanner had gazed at the screen. With hope. And determination.
And that was before he’d ever clapped his peepers on the fair Lady Juliet. Aye, her mistress was in good hands at the moment. Safe, strong hands, if she didn’t miss her guess, and Olivia had always considered herself a fair judge of character.
With a decisive nod, she steeled her resolve and abandoned her station. Duty called.
Tell the final applicant he wasn’t needed? It was a task she dreaded. To be cast last and now discarded without an audience? What man would take kindly to such news?
“Oh, bother it, Wivy!” Unconsciously, she used Juliet’s pet name. Perhaps in an attempt to shore up her own shaky confidence? Lord knew sweet Juliet didn’t lack in the courage department.
Determined to see the onerous task over and quickly, Olivia swept down the long hallway, cringing when a bit of wall plaster dusted her dress when Jacks approached, his arms laden with refreshments, and she stepped aside.
“This bodes well, do ye think?” Jacks halted to ask.
“What? That she wanted to be alone with Mr. Tanner? Aye, I do. Tell me, Jacks, is our remaining guest still situated in the study?”
Jacks gave a brief shake of his head. “Asked if ’e could stretch ’is legs a bit when I came for the Tanner gent. Believe ’e’s out back, walkin’ the garden fer a spell.”
“Very well. Carry on.”
“You’ll see to ’im then?”
See him off, he meant? “That I will.”
Olivia proceeded toward the stairs, thinking, and not for the first time, how this old, neglected home could shine if only someone would devote some tender love and thoughtful care to it. Much like yourself?
And where had that come from? Juliet was the one who’d instigated the Marriage Scheme. Olivia just wanted the whole ordeal over and her friend happily settled.
At least, that’s what she continually told herself. On-the-shelf companions weren’t considered marriage material. Far from it. And the sooner she quit contemplating otherwise, the more content she’d likely be.
Upon reaching the landing, she mentally chanted three, eleven and seventeen. Three, eleven, seventeen. Those were the ricketiest treads, the ones they all took pains to avoid. Beneath the board nailed over it, tread four had a boot-sized hole gouged in the baluster side, compliments of Jacks the day upon their arrival.
But the flocked amaranthus paper lining the opposite wall had an aged grace Olivia found charming. Truth be told, despite its sadly neglected air and propensity toward rot (thanks she was sure to the splintered roof tiles and resulting leaks) Olivia found the old house charming.
Especially the gardens.
Not nearly as overgrown as one might expect given the state of the structure they surrounded, the grounds still retained a glimmer of their former sparkle. Safely bypassing the last questionable stair, Olivia side-stepped a chipped tile in the entry and headed for the massive front door, wrenching it open after only two attempts. Better at weather predictions than any soothsayer or trick knee, the wood always swelled when rain approached.
The verdant, lush green of a spring in full bloom greeted her, lent a lift to her spirits, and Olivia fairly skipped over the flagstone path that circled the old manor. She was intent on intercepting their errant applicant before he came back inside. Bad news was best broken under a sunny sky, or so her mama had always claimed. Olivia spared a quick glance upward and decided a cloudy sky would have to do.
Rounding the second corner, her feet came to an abrupt halt. Her breath hissed inward. Her eyes nearly bugged to Bedfordshire and back.
And her heart? That hurly-burly organ took off like a galloping horse—stealing away with her common sense perhaps?
Because, instead of swooning or shying away, instead of yelling loudly for Jacks, Olivia stood, happily, hungrily in place. She stood stock-still and she stared at the sumptuous sight, watching the play of muscle across a strong, bare back as applicant twenty-five (for who else could it be?), completely unaware of her presence, wielded a Dutch hoe in one corner of the weed-infested herb garden. But most notable of all? He was dressed in nothing more than black tall boots and tight black breeches.
Obscenely tight breeches.
Well now. And to think, Juliet had complained there wasn’t anything of value remaining on the grounds.
Olivia begged to differ.
Neither did she make a sound to inform him of her presence. She might have been trained to teach proper behavior and exhibit it herself, but she knew enough about life and death, about expectations and disappointments to know opportunity didn’t often knock. Especially opportunities for observing and admiring a strong, sweaty man wearing absurdly tight breeches.
So she watched. And her dratted throat betrayed her, making some sort of begging, yearning noise that had her unexpected treat jerking upright and whirling around.
“Oh!” was all he said, a gruff sound of surprise.
Oh was right. Oh great day in the gloomy afternoon, she’d never seen such a handsome man. With his shirt off.
And staring right at her as though he liked what he saw.
Her.
Well now. Mayhap this wouldn’t be such an onerous task after all.
Zeus allowed his posture to relax and stepped aside when Lady Juliet’s servant brought in a tray laden with sweets and a steaming teapot, the advice—or admonishment, he hadn’t quite decided which—delivered by the daffodil on her way out still ringing in his ear: “She possesses more brains than sense, but it comes with a heart of gold. Be gentle with her.”
Gentle? What manner of treatment had this cautiously audacious lass been subjected to?
The burly man placed the tray on the table before turning to address the screen. “Milady?”
“That will be all, Jacks, thank you. Close the door and please see that we’re not disturbed.”