Page 21 of The Cutthroat Countess

“I think that will be plenty of time to rest.”

He turned to go, and Jo caught his arm. “Yes?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.

“I meant what I said earlier—about rescuing me. Thank you.”

He looked surprised. “Of course, Jo.” He gave a slightly self-conscious laugh. “Besides, I think I’m still a rescue or two in your debt after France.”

Jo shook her head, holding his gaze and willing him to see what was in her heart—to know the truth of what she felt but could not find the words to say. “Not just for saving me from Gray, but for . . . changing my life. For believing I was worth the effort of persevering. I—I love you, Elliot. A great deal.”

His lips parted, and she heard him draw in a breath, but he didn’t speak.

She clumsily kissed him and opened the door before he could do it for her, her vision becoming blurry as she glanced to and fro, looking for the stairs Crisp had mentioned.

As she hurried to her room, Jo cursed her unusually emotional state, and dashed the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. No doubt she’d feel much calmer after some rest.

Yes, that was all she needed: rest.

Chapter 27

Thanks to the inestimable Crisp and Sin’s strapping footmen, Elliot was reclining in steamy luxury beside the kitchen hearth a few hours after Jo had gone up to rest.

He had not been idle while he waited.

In addition to taking Angus out for an airing, he’d composed several urgent messages that he’d sent to his former employer in the Secret Office, Sir Wardlow; an extended message to his eldest brother, the earl; and a far briefer, and more circumspect, letter to his grandmother, assuring her that he’d be visiting her within the next few days.

Crisp had been busy, as well. Savory smells drifted from the hearth, and two fresh loaves of bread were cooling on the kitchen table. Elliot was sipping a delightful claret, and there were two other bottles to accompany dinner, not to mention fresh flowers miraculously appearing here and there.

Sin had sent one of his servants haring back from London with a large valise of clothing for Jo, and a bottle of his prized whiskey.

Indeed, he’d sent so much clothing that one would have thought he and Jo were spending a week at the former interrogation house, rather than one brief night.

Elliot soaped up the cloth, washed his feet, and contemplated the evening ahead.

Tonight wasn’t the right time to press his suit with her. Now that her family’s reputation wasn’t just likely to be cleared, but her father declared a national hero for all that he had suffered, she would have an entirely different perspective on life among the ton. Elliot had seen the way some people had held her and her cousins at arm’s length now and knew how much of a toll it had taken to be thought of as a traitor’s daughter. Now that she no longer had such opprobrium hanging over her head, she would be mobbed by prospective suitors.

It wouldn’t be fair of him to pressure her. Especially as he wasn’t even employed any longer. Not that his modest income would mean anything to a woman as wealthy as Jo.

“More hot water, sir?”

He looked up from his foot to see Crisp waiting with a large can of steaming water.

When he hesitated, Crisp pointed to a narrow groove that ran down the center of the kitchen floor. “If you are worried about making a mess for me to clean up, you needn’t. The excess water will drain.”

The door to the kitchen opened, and Jo—wearing only her breeches, stockings, and a loose linen shirt—stood in the doorway.

Elliot hastily sat up, sloshing water over the side. “You’re up,” he said stupidly.

She gave him a slow, sensual smile, her lids lowering over her eyes. “I am. I came to see if you were . . . up, as well.”

He gave a choked laugh and immediately glanced at Crisp. His proper valet had twin red flags flying over his narrow cheeks and was staring at the far wall, clearly wondering what his next move should be.

He needn’t have bothered.

Jo strode toward him, her hand out. “I’ll finish bathing Mr. Wingate.”

Crisp cleared his throat, cut a desperate glance at Elliot—who nodded—and then handed Jo the can. “There is more heating on the hearth,” he murmured. “If you will excuse me, my lady, sir.”

“I think you’ve shocked my valet,” Elliot said when the other man fled.