Page 10 of Desperately Seeking Seduction

Since the painting was not going well, Winston felt a change of scenery might do Lord Stratford the world of good.

She turned away from him and fetched a clean damp cloth. His fingertips were smeared with fresh paint again despite his rubbing at them, and she fretted he’d wipe them over the white linen shirt she’d already forced him to don. If he ruined that perfectly pressed garment, or the cravat she had painstakingly forced him into earlier, she’d never forgive him.

Winston asked for his hand and carefully began the slow task of wiping the paint from his skin. He had nice hands, hands that were not pampered or as soft as she’d first assumed they would be.

“You have a very gentle touch, Winston,” Stratford murmured, staring at the painting still. “Small, like the rest of you.”

She turned his hand over with a little more force and rubbed his skin a little harder. “My father was a small man,” she murmured. If her father was still alive, he would be much the same, she expected. A little over her height now but older. His grip had been strong, almost crushing to a small hand like hers. Father had constantly complained Winston was not growing fast enough for his liking.

“My own father was on the large side,” Stratford confided. “Quite intimidating. I’m the youngest of my brothers and was a constant disappointment to him.”

Lord Stratford had not talked of his father much beyond saying he was dead, and Winston was wise enough not to offer a comment on her employer’s appealing size. Lord Stratford was lean and well-muscled, but she would not describe him as large, except where it mattered most to men. She kept her eyes firmly on his fingers, but she’d seen him naked enough times to know parts of him were impressive. How could she have avoided noticing when she dressed him each day and he hadn’t a modest bone in his body?

She felt his eyes on her as she worked on his other hand and struggled to control a telling blush as she checked for paint under his nails.

“The family is quite used to seeing paint on my fingertips at the dinner table, Winston,” he promised in a whisper, leaning in. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Of course,” she agreed, drawing back a little.

But that did not mean she had to accept that near enough was good enough when it came to her employer’s presentation. When Winston finally judged his hands clean enough to sit down to dinner with the duke and others, she fetched his gold embroidered waistcoat. He held his arms back so she could slide it onto his shoulders, but he did not assist in tackling the buttons at the front. His entire interest remained on the lifeless portrait on the easel before him.

Winston did not ask his permission to finish dressing him. She simply moved in front of him and slipped each button through their assigned hole, fiddled with the placement of his cravat until it was perfectly arranged, and then looked up.

Lord Stratford was looking at her now with an odd smile playing on his lips. “You know, your eyes are a remarkable color,” he murmured. “I can’t decide if they are gray or blue.”

“I have my father’s eyes,” she said in as offhand a manner as possible. “As changeable as the weather, I’m told.”

“Ah, that explains my difficulty with deciding upon their color,” he answered, and his lips turned up at the corners even more. “Yesterday, I thought them almost green when you looked upon Ravenswood,” he said, obviously attempting to tease her for wanting something she could never have.

She did not rise to the bait and sought to end the exchange with her silence, as she had at every turn around him. She did not envy him a home such as Ravenswood, but his fascination and continued taunting was a bad sign. Too much curiosity and Winston risked discovery. She quickly snatched up his coat, the exquisite navy-blue superfine she’d discovered when unpacking, and helped him into it. It was not a garment that required buttoning, so she turned back to gather up his pocket watch and gloves from a table.

She held them out, foolishly admiring him in his finery. He was every inch the lord, and a rich and handsome one to boot. He could have the ladies eating out of the palm of his hand tonight, especially so if they had any idea what he looked like naked the way she did.

Winston withheld a sigh. The perk of this position, and the pain of it, too, was that she had found a man who attracted her and could never do anything about that. It was not a pleasant discovery to have learned about herself. He made her wish for things best left alone. Things other women giggled and whispered about behind their fans.

She had trained herself to be above such desires.

Finally, Lord Stratford began to help prepare for the evening ahead. Adding rings to his long fingers from a crystal tray beside his bed, attaching the heavy gold pocket watch to his waistcoat, and then he slipped several coins into his waistcoat pocket. He strolled to the mirror to admire his reflection, adjusting the collar of his coat unnecessarily. He was utterly perfect just as he was.

“Excellent,” he said, smiling slightly.

“Indeed, my lord.”

The man met her gaze in the mirror. “I find the my lords grow tedious the longer you are in my employ, Winston. Especially in here. You may call me Stratford or Sweet, if you care to, when we are alone.”

She would not dare do that. Formality was essential between them. It helped her remember her place. “Very good, my lord.”

His lips quirked. “I’d best be on my way then.”

“Yes, I expect so,” she said, smiling tightly. Did he ever just waltz out the door without dragging his feet first? “Enjoy your evening with your family.”

But instead of turning away, he returned to look at the painting again. His face settled into unhappy lines. “I should never have left Lisette without completing the work, and now I fear it might never be done to my satisfaction.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Well, it’s my own damn fault.” He raked a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable.

He took his leave without bothering to explain who Lisette was to him and why the house party no longer seemed enjoyable. He’d been so happy to be coming home yesterday. Even she had started to feel a sense of anticipation the closer the estate had become. Clearly, all was not going well.