Page 18 of Desperately Seeking Seduction

He removed the other glove and threw it at her as well. “What did you tell them?”

“That I did not know where you were, my lord, which was the truth. You did not mention your destination or when you’d be back.” She inspected the gloves and set them and the hat aside to be tended to at her leisure. “He did not leave a message for you. He said he would find you later.”

“A good reason for staying in here all day. Keep up that habit of not saying where I might be found,” he requested before sticking one booted foot out.

Winston hurried to help him remove his riding boots. As she gripped the boot at the ankle, his toes flexed, making the task impossible. “A little help would be appreciated, my lord.”

“Sorry, I thought I was helping,” he murmured, and she caught a ghost of a smile on his face.

It was a struggle, but she managed to wrench the fine leather from his long leg eventually. The other proved just as difficult. Her employer was still in an off mood and determined to do nothing to help her attend him today. “Might I fetch you a drink to improve your mood, my lord?” she offered.

“Do you have a barrel of ale hiding under your waistcoat?”

She reached into her coat and produced a small silver flask. She held it out to him. “For medicinal purposes.”

He took it from her, unstopped the flask and took a tentative sniff of the contents. “What is it?”

“Gin. It’ll put hair on your chest.” At least that was what her father had claimed when he’d given her that flask to carry so many years ago. The gin was rough, and likely not what the lord was used to consuming. She wondered what his reaction would be to the drink.

He took a tentative sip, shot to his feet, and handed her the flask back on his way to the open window to spit it out. He was grimacing when he turned back. “You drink that poison?”

“Every day,” she promised. Winston took a small sip from the flask and tucked it away again in her coat. She relished the burn down her throat, knowing drinking was expected of a man. It helped her blend in and roughened her voice. “Shall I fetch you a sherry to sweeten your mouth, my lord,” she teased softly.

That made him laugh, and he sat back down again. “Where did you train, Winston? You’re more devious than the usual footmen employed at a coaching inn to have gotten me to drink that rotgut.”

“Your first instinct was the right one, my lord,” she answered. “As to my training, I gather knowledge as I go along.”

“You must have learned very quickly.”

“Why do you say that?”

Lord Stratford sat forward. “Well, you’re so young-looking. Couldn’t be more than sixteen years of age with that smooth face?”

“I’m older than I appear,” she muttered, picking up the hat and checking over his gloves. He owned a dozen pair but seemed to favor these for the early mornings so far. She laid them out to dry by the fire.

“How old are you then? And don’t lie,” Lord Stratford warned. “I know you’re not the age you claimed to be when I hired you.”

“I’m old enough to be a valet.”

“No really, I want to know.” He stood and drew closer. “Ever since the day we met, I’ve been puzzled by you. I never know what to expect.”

“I’m no different from every other servant. Looking to advance through hard work and grateful to make something of myself in your employ,” she replied in as deferential a way as possible.

He scoffed. “Grateful, you say? Then why not wear the gown and help me finish my work.”

“I am grateful for the many benefits of this position, my lord, but that does not mean I will wear a gown just to please you,” she answered, flustered. The questioning of her age could not be avoided forever. She did look young with her soft, pale complexion.

She snatched up his hat and applied herself to brushing the felt. If she carried on brushing and ignored him, he should eventually go off in search of better company and conversation. Talk to someone more deserving than a mere servant.

He’d had limited patience for her silences in the past. Besides, there were ample guests below who would enjoy conversing with the handsome fellow. Other women who might wear the dress for him, too.

The thought of him offering another woman the chance to pose for him made her speed up her brushing. She’d see them together. The woman would have to perch herself on that bed, thrusting out her bosom.

The brush was suddenly flying across the room from her clenched hand.

Winston blinked and then rushed to pick it up from the floor. But as she bent over, the back of her neck started to burn, and she glanced over her shoulder, suddenly self-conscious.

For good reason, too.