Silence settled between them, save for the increasing boom and blast of thunder as the storm exploded violently overhead. Paying no mind to its fury, Juliet inspected the arse of the man before her. Strong and gently curved, pale yet pleasing, the firm portion of his anatomy she’d never once thought to consider on any other beckoned her onward, as did his front. Tempted her to further wantonness—how might such inviting-looking flesh feel? To her hand, her lips?
But Rome wasn’t built in a day, and multitudes of strictures weren’t abandoned without effort, so when he spun back around to face her, in all his near-naked splendor, Juliet chose not to grumble.
After all, only a paper skull would complain about sampling the banquet Mr. Tanner allowed her to feast optically upon.
“Does it not prick your conscience, my lady, to reside there so composed and clothed while I stand here thus?”
Arms outstretched, silk neckcloth swaying, buckskins clumped over the tops of his tall boots, the wretch attempted to assume a pitiful, put-upon expression. Attempted and failed spectacularly. This man couldn’t look pitiful if someone dipped him in a vat of pathetic and coated him with grimy goose feathers.
At the image—the one in her mind, of what she suspected Mr. Tanner thought he portrayed—Juliet laughed. Then laughed again. A less pitiful man she’d never seen! “Pardon me,” she gasped out between grating giggles she couldn’t seem to snaffle. “Your attempt to garner my sympathy is having the opposite effect, I fear.”
Juliet bit down on both of her lips, compressing her smile as flat as she could, doing her best to harness the humor and exhibit a more dignified demeanor. For seriously, was this not a most serious occasion? Did not inspecting the, um, masculine paraphernalia of a potential husband warrant every bit as much the solemnity of one inspecting a horse?
Though she doubted any horse ever had hindquarters as fine as the ones she’d been given leave to evaluate.
And that thought set her off all over again.
For though she may not be overly familiar with horses, she did know stallions were prized for certain attributes. Attributes she had no doubt the man posturing before her in his altogether possessed in spades.
Grinning gamely at her weak efforts to appear solemn, which was difficult to achieve when she was feeling so joyful she could float, Mr. Tanner dipped his head and raised his brows as though about to impart a confidence.
When he paused, she leaned forward and released her lips to prompt, “Yes? Have you more to add?”
“I love your laugh,” he astonished her by saying.
“My laugh? Are you infirm? Have your ears gone on protest? Down to Piccadilly perhaps?”
“My lugs work splendidly, I assure you.”
“I laugh like a crone.” Or so Father had said once. Letheridge had concurred, casting a rheumy scowl toward his newly intended, enticing Juliet to keep her laughter to herself.
“I think the rusty cackle you free when tickled is charming. Uninhibited. Absolutely adorable, as is the woman behind it.”
Blinking away not tears of mirth now but ones of emotion so profound she couldn’t fathom how to express it, Juliet only said, “There’s been precious little in my life to laugh about until recently.”
Very recently, as in once applicant twenty-four prowled into her sitting room and forever took command of her heart.
“Well, I hope you laugh often and loudly,” he told her emphatically, as though seeking to convince her of his sincerity. “I find it unfettered and unpretentious, everything I never knew a lady could be and I realize now I cannot imagine my life without the sound.”
She scrubbed away any remaining trace of moisture. Her croaky laugh—he liked it? “I do believe, sir, that’s likely the sweetest compliment anyone’s ever paid me.”
Mr. Tanner beamed as though she’d given him two bricks of gold. “Then I say you’re just now mantling yourself with the correct type of company.”
As he spoke, Juliet heard shuffling, a mild disturbance just on the other side of the door. No doubt Wivy must be despairing of her by now, given how long she and her favored applicant had been ensconced.
The slight noise served to return her focus to their express purpose. She needed to conclude the official interview. Then, perhaps, if luck and God and Fate were all smiling down on her today, she and Mr. Tanner might be able to veer into some of those more intimate, unofficial regions together. Although, given the proximity and positioning of his spectacularly stript person, she could scarce imagine how much more intimate they might become.
Relieved when the sounds beyond her sitting room abated without anyone interrupting their interlude, Juliet forced her mind back to the remaining item. The letter.
She still needed to know what manner of lover Mr. Tanner was. But when she opened her mouth to concede it was time that he drew up his drawers and commenced reading, that wasn’t at all what emerged.
5
An Unplanned Eruption
Oliva watched as the fluffy paw shot out from beneath the sitting room door, tufts of sandy-orange fur protruding from between each razor-sharp claw.
Glad for the distraction from her chaotic thoughts, Olivia told her speeding heart to calm and knelt to rub her index finger across Henry’s front leg.
Her hair flopped forward and beads of water dribbled from the tips. Henry swiped his paw over the droplets, the cat’s antics bringing forth a shaky smile. Good for him. The floor could certainly use a thorough mopping.
Cringing at the strands uncomfortably glued to her neck, she gathered the sodden mass over one shoulder. The smile faded, transforming into a frown at the mess she continued to make—on the floor and of her life.
Because holding a conversation with a cat was preferable to castigating herself or noticing how her drenched dress was plastered to her body, she whispered, “And what exactly do you think they’re discussing now, hmm?”
She’d heard enough to surmise things were going
