Page 19 of Desperately Seeking Seduction

Lord Stratford was staring at her behind like he’d never seen one before.

He stood slowly, eyes lifting to hers, then his gaze dipped to her rear again, which was still turned in his direction.

Winston spun about to face him, attempting to act as if nothing was unusual in the way he looked at her as she headed back to finish her chores. But his approach never faltered, slow and very deliberate in her direction.

She wet her lips as a chill raced over her skin. Danger was near. She held his gaze. “Is there something else I can get for you, my lord?”

His silence had her heart thumping wildly, and then his eyes dipped lower again. He frowned as his gaze lingered on her chest, and the expression deepened as his stare drifted slowly downward to her hips, where her hands rested.

His eyes widened suddenly. “Small bones. Delicate features. The lightest of touches,” he whispered, and his eyes narrowed. “I think I am owed an explanation.”

“For what, my lord? The gin?”

He was suddenly right in front of her, looking down from his greater height, and she fairly trembled. His fingers reached out and caught her by the chin. “I was mistaken earlier when I said you could pass for a woman.”

Winston’s pulse fluttered and she knocked his hand aside. “I don’t understand?”

“It was wrong of me to say you could pass as a woman wearing that dress,” he whispered. “I should have commended you on your ability to wear a gentleman’s clothing so well.” He stepped back and inclined his head. “My dear, I believe it is past time for a proper introduction.”

CHAPTER 7

Damn it to hell, he’d employed a woman to be his valet!

Stratford stared at Dane Winston, waiting to hear the woman’s real name tumble from her tightly pressed lips. Those eyes, those small hands, that damn lying tongue. Whoever she really was, she was a fascinating creature, but an utter fraud from the top of her head to the soles of her dainty feet.

He cursed his own blindness. He’d known this woman a week without suspecting her gender was not as professed by her manner of dressing.

Dear God, he’d stripped for bathing and dressing, strutting about naked afterward, without thought for the woman’s likely shock or sensibilities. His cheeks warmed a little now at that remembrance.

He’d compromised her.

“Your name?”

“Dane Winston.”

“Dane Winston? Hardly?”

Her mouth pursed momentarily. “I assure you it is true.” She wet her lips nervously.

He blinked slowly, tracking her tongue, but was not about to be deceived or diverted. He was being lied to still. “It’s obvious to me now that those hips belong to a young woman.”

Winston’s cheeks darkened. Her anger at being found out all too apparent. “That’s not true.”

The red-faced valet turned away, but Stratford was having none of that. He grabbed her forearm and put her directly in front of him again, noticing she was light but not as fragile under his fingers as he’d anticipated. She resisted him. He sensed a strong body, muscled and sleek, and judging from the obstinate set of her jaw, a strong will, too. “Well, not so fast, whoever you are. You and I have a lot to talk about.”

The fellow—the young woman—glared at him. “Take your hands off me or I’ll knock your block off.”

“You won’t strike me, not if you wish to keep this quiet,” he warned quickly.

The threat of taking a blow from this woman did not worry him, but the threat of creating a scandal, of becoming engaged to her, was utterly unappealing. He’d not the faintest idea of who she was, or who she was related to.

The initial shock was subsiding a little, and Stratford was not letting this creature out of his sight until he had some answers. “The last thing I want to do is marry some chit foolish enough to think that parading about in breeches is the way to catch herself a husband.”

“Why would you think I want to marry someone as blind as you?”

She had a point. He had been blind about a few things lately. First Crawford and now this. “If anyone finds out about you, we would not be given a choice.” She attempted to shake him off, but Stratford tightened his grip. “Who. Are. You?”

“Your valet,” she insisted, scowling up at him. “Employment is all I want from you, I swear.”