Page 12 of Unmasking the Earl

“What signal? What did he mean?”

Ganstridge pulled her to her feet and subjected her to a dark, disapproving look. She felt her cheeks grow warm under his scrutiny.

He said, “You already know that man’s a rake, one of the worst. You shouldn’t be surprised if he has ruses in place to stop his lady friends bumping into one another.”

Cassie glared. “You were listening!” she exclaimed in acute mortification. “How dare you?”

He gazed down at her, a mocking eyebrow raised. “I overheard, Miss Blythe. Overheard. Shall I take your pelisse?”

Dumbfounded, she let him remove the garment and fold it neatly on a chair next to her bonnet. Wycherley had better watch out. It appeared his servants weren’t all as loyal—or discreet—as he believed.

She wasn’t used to being gainsaid by one of the lower orders, but when she turned to confront him, Ganstridge put a finger to his lips.

“As we don’t know who’s at the door, you’d better not ring a peal over me. Or if you must, do it quietly. But I warn you, Miss Blythe, you are playing with fire here. Do not get involved with Captain Wycherley. He will ruin you.”

This stark statement left Cassie reeling. Of course she knew about Wycherley’s somewhat tarnished reputation. Coming to him for help was not a decision she’d made lightly. But why should she justify herself to a jumped-up servant?

“Mr. Ganstridge—” she began.

“If that’s your cousin come to collect you,” he said, ignoring her outraged expression, “we’d better do what the captain suggested. I see you fasten at the back. Forgive me.”

The next moment, Cassie was gasping with indignation. The man turned her about and was about to unhook the back of her gown. There was nothing clumsy about his fingers now, she thought—anyone would think he was the rake, and not his master!

She jerked away. “Mr. Ganstridge! Sirrah!”

“Yes, miss?”

Oh, but he was insolent beyond belief! She spun round to face him, her hands on her hips, her voice shaking with annoyance. “What do you think you are doing?”

He tilted his head to one side and gazed down at her with a look of studied innocence. “It’s far less shocking for a servant to tend to your, er…needs, than for a gentleman to have done it. I use the term gentleman loosely.”

Ah. He was, annoyingly, correct in this. It was better for a servant to attend to her, rather than Wycherley himself.

But Ganstridge didn’t behave like someone in service. There was nothing at all submissive about him at this moment, when he seemed intent on lecturing her. Before she could think of a suitable riposte, he placed his hands on her shoulders, bent his head, and looked deep into her eyes.

She gaped back at him.

And suddenly felt an intense pull of physical attraction.

Her stomach clenched as she fought against the feeling. Attracted to a servant? Impossible! She blinked, praying the rush of heat and awareness hadn’t shown in her face.

“Apart from the risk of ruin,” he told her softly, “you are not in any way increasing your chances of winning the man with whom you’re infatuated. No, don’t shake your head at me,” he added, as she tried to pull out of his grasp. “Hear me out. Flirtation is a meaningless game. It might lead to a bedding, but it’s less likely to lead to love. The same can be said of seduction, which is exactly what Captain Wycherley plans to do with you. If the man who has captured your heart cared for you, he’d have shown it by now. Love is not something which can be won by trickery.”

His hands, warm but heavy, held her prisoner. Once again, she had a sudden vision of him throwing her over his powerful shoulder and making off with her. After which he would do unspeakable things to her body…

Sweet Venus! Her throat went dry. What was she thinking?

“Mr. Ganstridge,” she rasped, “your advice is neither sound nor welcome. You don’t know Julian, and you certainly don’t know me, and even if you had a right to speak to me thus—which you don’t—there is no reason why I should listen to you.”

He pulled her closer, until she had to crane her neck to see his face.

“Wycherley is no better a tutor in the ways of love than the next man,” he growled. “You could learn just as much from me. But I value a lady’s honor. He does not. In fact, if you insist on going on with this ludicrous plan, why not learn from a woman? Wouldn’t it be better to let Lady Lucy herself teach you how to attract a man’s attention? She’s damned good at it, from what I’ve seen.”

Cassie’s gaze slid to Ganstridge’s mouth. A firm, masculine mouth. Very determined, just like its owner. A mouth she could imagine pressed against hers, kissing her with all the force and passion of this man’s rebellious soul.

Dazed and breathless, she shook her head, tore out of his grasp, and seized her bonnet and pelisse from the chair.

Her fingers trembled as she thrust her bonnet back on her head. She could learn as much from him? Never! It didn’t matter if he was a lackey or the Emperor of China—she could never allow him such a liberty.