“Tell me what I can do to make up for the problem I have caused.”
She didn’t have to think long about that. The words came quickly. “Never, ever interfere in the running of my shop again. And that includes your sister’s choices.”
“Done.”
She shook her head, almost laughing at the ease with which he said it. She already knew that he was much too high-handed to do as he promised. It wasn’t that he was malicious, just unthinking. He would interfere without remembering his past promises or any future consequences.
“Swear it, my lord. Upon your honor, upon your family’s honor.”
He reared back, startled by her demand. But she was the daughter of a drunken earl. She knew that the only thing an aristocrat valued above his brandy was his family’s good name. In the end, her father had valued his drink more than his name, but she didn’t think Lord Redhill was the same sort. So this oath would bind him as securely as anything.
“Your oath, my lord. Or you may leave my shop now.”
His eyes narrowed in anger, but he complied. “You have my oath as Viscount Redhill, as the future Earl of Willington, and as a man of honor that I will not interfere in your business again. Not unless you ask.”
“I shall never ask.”
He arched a brow. “That remains to be seen. Now, am I forgiven? Will you accept my apology?”
She exhaled, relieved that one of her difficulties had been solved. “Yes, you are forgiven. Now if you please, it has been a long day.” She started to stand, but he forestalled the movement by touching her arm.
“We spoke of tea. Would you still like some?”
She felt her shoulders slump with weariness. Really, would she never be rid of the man? Did he not understand that his very presence added more work to her life? “Tea has to be made and served, my lord. Will you do that for me? Or will you snap your fingers and demand that my partner leave off her work to wait upon us?”
His frown deepened. “I had thought I would get it myself. I was still in shortcoats when I learned how to make tea and slice a loaf of bread.”
She bit her lip. She was being churlish, and he was acting rather kind. More kind, in fact, than her own father had ever been. She wished she could tell him to go to the devil. But he was Lady Gwen’s brother and she needed the man’s goodwill. And even worse, she rather liked that he had offered her tea. Though she very much doubted he would actually rise and make it himself. And right there was the solution to her problems. All she need do was keep demanding things from him. First tea, then something more improbable. Then more. Eventually he would tire of the game and leave her alone. And in the meantime, she could amuse herself by watching the man try to serve her tea in her own establishment.
She leaned back against the settee and released a long breath. “Tea would be lovely, Lord Redhill. The tray is over there. Pray do make us a pot.” She waved languidly in the direction of the kitchen.
He smiled at her, as if he knew exactly what she was doing, then immediately grabbed the tray. A moment later he disappeared into the kitchen, which was really part of the back workroom. Helaine waited, listening to the bang of pots and the like. What was he doing back there? And where was Wendy? Wouldn’t they be talking or something? Unless his lordship refused to speak to someone so low in status as a seamstress. But that couldn’t be true, could it? And really, it was rather bad of her to send the man back there and
So it was that within a minute of resolving to have him serve her, Helaine pushed to her feet to see exactly what disaster he was creating in her ordered kitchen. She moved quickly but silently, the instinct to keep invisible well ingrained from her childhood. Which meant she was able to observe him as he scooped filtered water from the bucket and into the pot. His movements were efficient, his bearing easy, as if he had indeed made tea for himself many a time. But how could that be? He was the son of an earl!
He set the kettle to boil then went about searching for the tea tin. He found the fancy tea, the one purchased for clients, and was already pulling it down when she stepped forward. “Not that one. Behind it. That is what I drink.”
He frowned then peered into the cupboard, finally bringing out the cheap tin. As she expected, he opened the lid and wrinkled his nose at what was inside. “Surely you don’t prefer this.”
She arched a brow. “It is what I drink. You may of course take from whatever tin you choose.” But that would require two different pots of tea. She waited for him to refuse or simply make the expensive tea and convince her to share it with him. But he didn’t. He put away the expensive stuff and waited with her for the kettle to boil.
Meanwhile, Helaine glanced at the rest of the workroom. Wendy was nowhere in sight. Her work was laid out, but the room was empty. It wasn’t like her to waste daylight when she could be sewing. “I wonder what happened,” she said to herself as she moved through the back room.
He followed her as she meandered among the tables. Then she saw it: a box opened on the chair Wendy usually used. Out from the box spilled the most gorgeous scarf she had ever seen. Blue, black, and gold danced about on fabric almost too delicate to touch. The design was paisley, but that in no way described the elaborate, shimmery display.
Behind her, Lord Redhill whistled in appreciation. “Your seamstress is most fortunate in her lover.”
Helaine turned around. Trust a man to leap to the most scandalous conclusion. “A lover! No, no, this is from Wendy’s brother. He’s a seaman and sends her the most beautiful things from wherever he visits. This must be from China.”
“India, I believe. And I assure you, this is not a gift a brother sends.” He lifted the piece up from the box. The scarf was larger than she’d thought; indeed, the sheer fabric went beyond the length of his arms and down almost to her knees.
“Do you know what a man thinks when he sees something like this?” He did not wait for her to answer, but stepped up to her and slowly draped it across her body.
“We shouldn’t touch that. It’s Wendy’s,” she said even as she was marveling at the smooth caress of the fabric against her cheek.
He didn’t listen but slipped the scarf around her shoulders. “He imagines her naked and wearing just this. He sees the pink blush of her skin as it mixes with the gold threads, and he wonders what part of the pattern will touch the dark rose of her nipples. He thinks of slowly unwrapping her like a present on his birthday, one that is revealed in the sweet privacy of his bedroom. And he dreams of laying her down on top of this as he gently settles between her thighs.”
“Lord Redhill!” Helaine squeaked, her face burning in embarrassment. “That is a most inappropriate conversation—”
“If you would consent to be my lover, I would buy you the most amazing fabrics from India, China, and even the Americas. We will dress you up in them and I will stroke the fabrics across your flesh so that you can feel every exquisite caress. And as the colors skate across your skin, I will kiss every inch. Silk, velvet, even soft wool shall float across you until you are delirious from the sensations. And then, when you can take no more, I will lay you down and show you even more.”
Helaine stared at him, her thoughts whirling with the images he described. They were not even all that graphic. He spoke of skin and kisses, and every inch of her body responded. Her insides went liquid from the intensity of his gaze, and when he stroked his thumb beneath her jaw she gasped as a tremble seized her. It was a quiet sensation, like a shimmer just under her skin, and it frightened her almost as much as it intrigued her.
Never before had a man’s words stirred her so effectively. And never before had a man looked at her with such sensual promise in his eyes. Other men had wanted her, but it had been for their pleasure, their amusement. Lord Redhill talked of what she would enjoy: pleasure such as she had only imagined.
Then he leaned forward to take her lips. She wanted to deny him. She knew she ought to turn away, but she could not. She wanted to feel what he promised, to know what women with good lovers experienced in their beds.
She let him kiss her. She lifted her mouth to his and let him tease the edge of her lips with his tongue. Her flesh swelled beneath his stroke, and she closed her eyes to better experience it. She felt his teeth, nibbling along the edges until his tongue thrust inside. He was not bold in his possession, but careful and so very thorough. She did not know what to do. And yet, apparently she did. Without conscious understanding, her tongue dueled with
