If you can convince her to wed a bastard.
His fist tightened on the sultry stocking, trying to strangle out the nagging voice of reason. If she’ll have you, once she knows all.
There was the rub, he realized, as the words of the great, doomed Hamlet rang like a gong against his conscience. To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub.
Did he dare dream she’d have him?
Juliet never dreamed a man such as the one before her would respond to her advertisement. Just a fraction shy of haughty, a shade away from arrogant, his confident stature and striking countenance attracted her mightily. She stroked her newly bared toes across the wood floor, her gaze transfixed on the man in shirtsleeves breathing hard in the center of her sitting room.
When he’d first strutted into her sanctum, in no way could she have anticipated how her interview with applicant twenty-four would go. As it was, she feared she might be half in love already, given his oft-impertinent yet altogether candid replies. He certainly wasn’t one to quibble or evade. Nor did he balk at conversing with females. That alone nigh earned him a spot in her heart.
And now…now viewing his bare chest was but a garment or two away, she realized as a streak of awareness settled between her thighs, causing her to again squiggle in place.
She awaited his next proposed forfeit exchange, the thrilling thrumming he created in her growing. “Mr. Tanner?” she prodded. “What shall we trade next?”
“Have you another stocking on?”
“Nay.”
The strong column of his neck worked when he swallowed. “Petticoats? A shift? Stays?”
“Aye.” Though how will I get the last off by myself? “Which would you like to claim in exchange for your neckcloth?” Then, to preserve modesty she wasn’t feeling but knew she ought, Juliet added, “Although just because you request it may not make it so. There must remain some level of uncertainty even between courting couples, wouldn’t you suppose?”
He threw back his head and laughed. And laughed. When he was done, his gaze again speared her through the screen. “Is that what we’re doing? Courting?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Very well. Courting.” Though his lips still quirked with humor, his voice was as solid as a mountain. “To answer your question, I would not choose to have any measure of uncertainty between myself and my spouse. Uncertainty nor screens nor unnecessary clothing.” He brought one hand to the simple knot at his neck. “What do I want for this? Ahh…let me think.”
She watched Mr. Tanner contemplate their next exchange as though the weight of the world rested upon what he posed. He paced a tight circle around the table. Then another, his gaze sweeping from her hiding place to the doorway Jacks and Wivy had left through, a smattering of hmmms escaping his throat.
Instead of completing a third revolution as she thought he might, he swung around and his Hessians clipped confidently across the room. Toward the exit. She choked back a cry. He couldn’t leave! Not now!
“Mr. Tanner!” Juliet protested, her spine going rigid, her entire body listing forward as though she could reach him through the screen and stop his retreat. “Don’t go! Please!”
“Go?” he said casually over one shoulder, still moving inexorably away. “Who said anything about going?” He paused at the closed door and made a great show of slowly turning the lock.
The resulting snick was quiet enough that Jacks failed to hear.
Vastly relieved Mr. Tanner had, instead of exiting the premises as she’d feared, locked himself in, she sank back into her chair.
“What do I want for my neckcloth?” he repeated again, one hand worrying the silk knot above his collar. A mischievous grin on his formidable face, he prowled forward, stopping once he reached his previous spot on the rug. He stared directly through the waterfall before giving the neckcloth a final flick. “Nothing. Not a blasted thing. However, I am willing to grant you my shirt for your dress.”
She stifled the automatic squeak of dismay. Neckcloth aside, once his shirt was gone, she’d see him, know if he possessed the form she’d dreamed of and longed for. And you’ll also be a garment or two away from being a total wicked wanton! Mayhap, but was not Scandalous her new name? With an increasing sense of naughtiness guiding her tongue and actions, Juliet replied, “Just so. But you shall go first this time and toss your garment to me.”
Before she finished, he was struggling to push his neckcloth out of the way so he could lift the shirt over his head. Too agitated to watch the battle—in truth, too overcome by the sight of the decisive ridge growing more distinct at the front of his breeches—she squeezed her eyes shut. I will not act missish. I will not swoon from excitement. I will not—
Her efforts were hampered—nay, destroyed—when warm linen landed directly upon her head.
“Your turn, I believe,” his rough voice intoned as the crisp, woodsy scent of bergamot suffused her senses, seduced away her remaining sense. “My lady? I await your dress.”
Juliet eased his shirt away from her face. “And so you shall have it.”
She wore a simple day dress, one fastened with buttons below her nape and made fitted by the sash beneath her breasts. Loosening her grip on his shirt and keeping her eyes downcast—for fear he wouldn’t live up to her imaginings?—she leaned forward to undo both buttons and bow with fingers that fumbled.
“Have you cried coward?” he asked silkily, and it sounded as though he’d moved toward her. “Changed your mind?”
“Nay!” she choked out, ordering her fingers to firm up and cooperate. Though she lacked a dedicated one at present, Juliet informed him, “There’s a reason ladies have maids, Mr. Tanner! Our attire isn’t meant—”
“Shall I come round and assist?”
“Nay! Stay where you are!” Finally the long end of the
