Page 31 of Tempting the Marquess

“Ha! What a generous estimation, my dear. Are you always so kind? I hope not, the tabby cats of the ton will eat you alive.”

Samantha shrugged and smiled. “Perhaps. But I am fortunate enough to have the company of protective family and friends whenever I goout.”

“Ah yes, the most worthy Earl and Countess of Westleigh. And a special friend in the Marquess of Standish, if the gossip is factual.”

The events of the previous evening flashed through her mind, and she was torn between blushes and a groan of frustration. Those indescribable kisses. The way William had held her. Touched her. The raw heat that had throbbed between her legs when he’d delved under her bodice and teased her nipples. Nothing had ever felt so good, or so right. And yet he’d pushed her away. Apologized repeatedly. Sworn it would never happen again.

“I have known Lord Standish since I was very small, yes. Are you acquainted withhim?”

Mr. Ashcroft dabbed at his lips with a napkin and nodded. “As a matter of fact, I am. Got to know him rather well through my grandson, Paul; they were at Cambridge together. A most upright and gentlemanly character, Standish is, although I must say it cannot be easy juggling his day to day life with his, er, other activities.”

“His what?” she said, startled.

“I refer to his work for the government. Oh dear, perhaps I’m speaking out of turn. Please ignore an old man’s musings and let us enjoy this berry syllabub instead.”

Unaccountably, mention of the government sent a frisson of uneasiness straight down her spine. Yet the emotion was waging a battle with the strong desire to find out more about William.

Curiositywon.

Samantha leaned closer. “I am not long back to town, Mr. Ashcroft. Has Lord Standish assisted the government for a longtime?”

“Indeed. Both he and Paul were recruited by the Home Office straight out of Cambridge. Smart young whips they were, very good with languages.”

“Ha! Yes. I remember my Uncle Andrew once scolded Lord Standish because he broke a vase and cursed in French, Latin, and Spanish!”

Mr. Ashcroft chuckled. “My word, Paul was the same. Ran rings around his poor mother with his mischief, and still has a wicked gleam in his eye to this day. Actually, I must say my grandson misses his old friend since Standish transferred to another division.”

“Oh?”

“I shouldn’t judge,” he said, his smile fading. “No doubt you will think I am a stuffy old boot. But I cannot approve of his new placement.”

Under the table, Samantha’s hands clenched in the folds of her gown. “What is he doing? Is it…is it dangerous?”

“It could be, but my opposition is more, well, moral in nature. Covert interrogation of women and children just doesn’t seem a gentlemanly thing todo.”

Her uneasiness returned in full measure. Suddenly she wished she had never started this conversation. “I’m sure Lord Standish would never do anything underhanded. He is not that kind of person,” she said firmly.

“Forgive me, you are quite right. Other men with no conscience or integrity might question under the guise of friendship or pretend an attachment to stay close to their target, but not the marquess. As you say, he is a good and honest man. Would you like some more dessert?”

“No thank you, Mr. Ashcroft. Actually, I am not feeling well at the moment—I might excuse myself from the table.”

“My dear! I certainly hope I haven’t said anything to upset you,” he said, his face creasing in a frown of concern.

“No, no, just a touch of the headache. Good evening, sir.”

Pushing back her chair, she made her way around the table and leaned down to whisper in her mother’s ear. Eva frowned in irritation, but granted her permission to leave with an impatient wave. After curtsying to the others in the room, Samantha left, ensuring three doors were shut behind her before she picked up her skirts and hurried to her chamber.

Her bed looked welcoming, but her feet wanted topace.

Why had that conversation with Mr. Ashcroft made her feel so wretched? He surely must be incorrect. William would never involve himself in anything devious or deceitful—he wasn’t that sort of man. Even when she’d been a little girl trailing along behind her cousins and demanding they have a tea party with her, William had always been kind. A protector.

Perhaps Mr. Ashcroft was wrong. Or his grandson had been misinformed.

Taking a deep breath, Samantha perched on the side of her bed and kicked off her slippers. Asking William about this matter would be awkward, but she needed answers for her own peace ofmind.

Besides. Nothing could be that bad. Surely.

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