No, he did not. He hacked into his closed fist, then looked up and attempted a game smile. Despite her assurances to the contrary, was she in truth trying to kill him? “Would it please you were I to do so?”
Kick the bucket or finish the scone, Zeus was no longer sure what he inquired after.
“Very much so. Complete the scone and tea, and an explanation shall be yours.”
“I’d rather have the sight of your face, the taste of your lips,” he told the embroidered waterfall, surmising she blushed beyond.
When a small gasp was her only response, Zeus steeled himself, picked up the silt pile, and took a second briny bite. Gnashing past the Sahara, praying again for saliva, he wondered what manner of woman lurked beyond fearsome footmen, stubborn solicitors and dusty dainties?
Was she, too, as dilapidated as her home? As tattered and worn—his eyes drifted to the other chair—as her surroundings?
He braved another swallow, managed not to sputter dust, and shifted upon his uncomfortable perch. Was she as unyielding as her furnishings?
The third bite made its way to his tongue, and as his mind drifted toward pleasant, favorable thoughts, so his salivary glands followed.
Or was she, perhaps, the opposite of everything around her? Impeccable, immaculate, and…yielding? As soft and welcoming as her prickly, affectionate cat? As ready to sit upon his lap?
The next bite went down easier. He opened wide for the remainder, ready to finish the task for the reward she’d promised.
Would her taste beguile him, as did her peculiar laugh? More raspy rooster than girlish giggle, the sound wound through every lonely, belligerent corner of his soul each time he heard it, infusing the dark, scorned patches with light…and hope.
Damn, he wanted to see her, touch her. Taste her.
As if he lived for parched, salt-dunked scones, Zeus swallowed and smiled, his lips anticipating their first taste of the lady and the laughter behind the curtain. After a cursory brush with a napkin, he held up empty hands.
“Bravo! I am delighted!” She applauded.
He reached for the remaining tea. “That I ate a,” sorry-arse, “scone without choking?”
“That you did so without spewing crumbs nor spittle down your shirtfront!”
Tea abandoned, he gained his feet. “That was the test? What manner of barbarian do you take me for?”
“Not you, Mr. Tanner, never you.” The assurance didn’t mollify him until he heard the sigh of relief she expelled. Damn. Ole Lecherous had been worse than Zeus had suspected. For the first time, he started to think he’d been better off disdained.
“Now…” she continued. “You have the remaining character I requested?” she said. “On your person, I assume?”
The abrupt switch surprised him.
“The one from my former mistress?” The only one Hastings hadn’t scrutinized, saying everything else looked to be in order and a man’s bedroom proclivities should remain private. It was about the only thing the two of them had agreed upon. “Aye. I have it.”
But Zeus made no move to retrieve the missive from his pocket. Let the secretive chit ask for it. Better yet, let her come and fish it out.
“Bare your chest for me, please.”
“What the—” While Zeus’ tongue floundered, his lower body speculated whether she’d desire buckskins be eliminated next. Wayward loins!
Not that he minded disrobing, not when the urge struck him. Which it hadn’t. Not here, in this dismally cheerful room with its sweetly shabby furnishings and appallingly intriguing owner.
On second thought… “Why, if you please? If I’m to disrobe in front of someone I’ve yet to see, much less been formally introduced to, I’d like to be given a compelling reason.”
And he hoped she supplied a damn good one because his fingers were now itching to reach for the buttons on his waistcoat.
“I would… I would see the chest of the man I think to take as husband.”
Up to this point, only one person had been in control of everything—Lady Scandal. By way of Hastings, she had his name, his references, his financial worth…everything but the bloody measurement of his drawers. To be frank, she had his ballocks in her grasp, and what did he have in return? Only her deuced advertisement and the anticipation of Amherst. And an insatiable curiosity about the woman, one just begging to be appeased.
So, she wanted to see his nude torso? “As far as reasons go, it’s not the strongest,” he mused, fingers tapping along buttons, “but I could be amenable to an exchange of forfeits.”
“An exchange?”
Zeus contemplated. There were four items of clothing to be discarded before his chest was bare. What might she be willing to relinquish for each of them? “I’ll remove my tailcoat in exchange for one of your slippers.”
After an expectant moment, one dainty slipper sailed over the partition and landed at his feet. His fingers flew in their haste and his tailcoat met the back of the settee.
“Your other slipper for my waistcoat.”
“Ahh… I have but the one.” She replied in a whisper that only raised more questions than it answered.
“One slipper? Or…” Something he’d not considered… “One foot?”
3
Applicant Twenty-Four Bares All (Or Nearly So)
“Two feet!” Several giggled snorts, then a full-out gust of jocularity burst free, the sounds twisting something in his gut. “I assure you!”
Curious. “Then…your stocking in exchange for my waistcoat.”
Silence.
Too bold?
Nay. For there came the light rustle of skirts being lifted, of silk descending…the envisioned sight of a creamy thigh…
Then victory, as one pale pink stocking soared gallantly toward him. His right arm shot out to halt its journey, rough fingers snagging on the delicate treasure.
Zeus wound his arm in a flying arc, twining the silk stocking over the back of his hand and leaving his fingers free to make short work of his waistcoat.
Once off, he flung it beside his discarded tailcoat. Eyes narrowed, he stared at the damnable screen, wishing he could see the vexing prize beyond. Debating just what he’d ask for next.
For though he could easily put an end to their little game, dispense with her vexing show of mystery, Zeus found
