Page 13 of Desperately Seeking Seduction

Small bones and a youthful face. Not to mention those remarkably changeable eyes of his. There was something soft in every move he made.

Stratford caught the stunned valet’s face between his fingers and gently turned it this way and that, studying the high cheekbones, clenched jaw and pointed chin, wishing the man would smile again.

Winston could pose for him wearing the red dress and a smile while he painted, no one would suspect the end result was an approximation. The valet was exactly what Stratford needed to finish the project without having to trudge all the way back to London just for a few more days of work.

He was needed here more. The cousins were undoubtedly circling the new duke while Stratford was away from the drawing room. Looking at Algernon and plotting how to get their hands on his money, most likely. Not that Ravenswood had any funds to give now, of course.

Stratford’s brief study of the ledgers was the final proof of the dire straits the estate was in. He did not doubt Nash’s assessment of the situation or the plan to spare their elder brother the embarrassment, either. They all owed Algernon a debt of gratitude for his protection from their father’s schemes and wrath over the years.

He wanted to do his part too.

He let his fingers drop away from Winston’s face reluctantly, absently noting the smoothness of the valet’s skin. How many times a day did the man shave himself to have such smooth and supple skin? He simply could not be four and twenty years with that face. “I will pay you well to pose for me.”

Winston drew back, clearly horrified by the idea. “I’m not wearing female clothing for you. I’m no Molly.”

“I never imagined you were, and it’s not as if I’m asking you to parade about in skirts beyond these four walls.” He winced. “That would be embarrassing to us both. I just need you to remain here in the mornings, lying across that bed in the red gown while I paint you.”

Winston shook his head. “No.”

“Think about it.” He drew closer to the fellow. “Tell me what you want by way of compensation and it’s yours, I swear.”

He could not offer the valet more coin. What he had, or might earn in the near future, was already promised to support the estate for the next few years. But there were riches in his chambers he could share, items far beyond the reach of someone like Winston. The mantel clock alone would be worth the equivalent of five years of his current wages since it was inlaid with gold and ivory. Or perhaps he coveted a permanent position in the duke’s household. Stratford could easily recommend him for employment in the family. He was more than satisfied with his meticulous attention to his duties. The new position might not be as a valet, but there were other roles in other households in need of a competent, reliable fellow.

“Should you not return to the duke and his guests?” Winston asked impudently.

“Yes, but…” Stratford flipped the ends of his cravat, which he’d somehow managed to spill a drop of soup on during dinner. He’d intended to take care of that, too, until he’d been distracted by a new source of inspiration for his art.

Winston rushed away to fetch a clean and pressed replacement cravat and told Stratford to sit in a chair so it could be tied about his neck. Stratford removed his coat and waistcoat to make the job easier for the valet, but he kept his eyes on him as he sat down. The man was turning a deep shade of pink…and doing so as prettily as any woman could in a candlelit chamber.

He put his hands on his thighs and glanced at his current troublesome work. The urge to paint again was strong and nearly irresistible now. “I dread going back down,” he murmured, hoping to illicit some sympathy from the valet. He had to find a lure that would convince Winston to go along with his outrageous idea.

He only made a grumbling noise.

“Dealing with my family is a chore,” he confided.

The sound came again, and Stratford twisted at the waist, puzzled. The noise had come from the man’s belly, not his mouth. He looked up and saw Winston’s face becoming an even more alarming shade of pink.

“Are you unwell, sir?” Stratford could not afford to lose the services of a competent valet again. He considered himself damn lucky to have found Winston in the first place.

Winston clamped his hands on Stratford’s shoulders and turned him forcefully to face the front again. “I missed dinner.”

“How did that happen?”

Winston was silent as he skillfully tied the cravat back in place from behind, barely touching him. And yet Stratford’s neck and scalp tingled as the valet’s breath stirred his hair. He gulped, surprised to have that reaction to a man who worked for him. He was hardly aware of Cuthbert whenever he was near.

When it was clear the work of replacing his cravat was done, Stratford turned around on the chair and looked up at his valet’s unsmiling face. “I asked you a question, sir. How did you miss dinner?”

Winston sighed. “An accident saw me locked outside.”

“An accident?” Stratford could not believe that, given the way Winston would not seem to meet his eyes. “I see.”

Had the other servants taken a set against Winston already? New employees were often the butt of jokes and tomfoolery in their first days. He’d known of one London footman who’d been sewn into his bedsheets because he’d snored too loudly. No harm had come of it, other than a harsh rebuke for being tardy starting his duties the next day.

Realizing that Winston might have faced similar treatment annoyed him more than it should. What went on in the servants’ hall was really none of his business. But he’d felt a connection to the young man who’d so boldly asked to replace Cuthbert. He’d made Stratford’s life infinitely easier so far this week. Stratford could surely do the same for him…and perhaps he’d get what he wanted.

Winton urged him into his waistcoat and left him to do up his own buttons while he fetched Stratford’s coat again. “I will eat in the morning,” he promised.

“The morning is a long time away,” Stratford warned, studying the young fellow. “I also fear your growling stomach might keep me from my rest tonight, or even the entire household perhaps. I cannot have the duke’s sleep disturbed for any reason.”