Page 27 of Desperately Seeking Seduction

But kissing her again tonight had clearly been the last thing on his mind and the last thing she should ever want him to do. He’d only kissed her earlier to rattle her, and perhaps to confirm his suspicions that she was in fact a woman.

She finished the wine and hugged her knees, watching him sleep so peacefully beside her.

Despite everything, she would like to stay in Lord Stratford’s employ, talk to him again like they had spoken tonight. A little teasing. A little fun and flirtatiousness between them now and then, perhaps, as well. It would amount to nothing, of course, but she’d never had that with anyone before. She had quite enjoyed their sparring. Winston had never had a real friend. She’d always needed to keep other boys at arm’s length.

Again, that feeling of Stratford being familiar returned. She couldn’t recall ever seeing him upon the long road of her wandering life. Perhaps she’d known him before that time.

Winston went cold all over at that thought. She sincerely hoped she had not known Stratford before her father had taken steps to be rid of the embarrassment of her existence.

CHAPTER 9

Stratford paused to look behind him. “Winston, do hurry up or I’ll miss the sunrise!”

Lower down the slope, he heard a few unkind utterances shouted back from his struggling valet’s saucy mouth. He smiled and drew in a deep breath of fresh morning air.

Stratford had awoken that morning with the unstoppable urge to be in the outdoors painting, so of course, he needed to take his valet with him to carry his easel and paints. It was either that or spend the day wondering if Win might have been found out or fled while he was gone.

It was good to be out of the palace for a while, too. There was only so much of his extended family he could take. And none of them had mentioned plans to leave the house party early, much to his disappointment.

He glanced over his shoulder to watch Win continue to struggle up the hill. Stratford had truly underestimated the depths of her stubbornness. He’d offered to help carry the easel some time ago and had been roundly rebuffed. But now they were far beyond view of the palace and there was little need to keep up appearances.

He charged back down the hill. “Give me that, woman.”

“Do not call me that,” Win hissed, trying to avoid his outstretched hands.

“Why not say it here? No one could possibly hear me. If I did it in the palace, you’d have the right to complain,” he promised and reached for her waist as she stumbled. He caught her easily and righted her again. “For heaven’s sake, the easel is twice your height. Give it to me before one or both of you become broken,” he demanded, and succeeded in taking the easel and everything else from the woman pretending to be a man still.

“Damn it,” she complained, staggering the rest of the way to the top before collapsing on the ground untidily. “I should have been able to manage. I’m sure Cuthbert would have,” she said in a tone that mimicked a woman complaining about a comparison he hadn’t even made.

“Cuthbert would have made two trips,” he assured her.

She gaped, causing Stratford to laugh at the stunned look on her face.

Now that he knew Win was merely aping the ways of a man, and a valet, too, he couldn’t help but find everything she did this morning highly amusing. “Tell me, how long have you gone about pretending to be a man? Surely I’m not the only one to be fooled.”

“Long enough.”

“No, really, I must know.”

She shrugged. “All my life.”

“All?”

“Indeed.”

“My word! Even from the cradle? That is remarkable. No wonder you used your teeth to pull the cork from that second bottle we drank last night.” He put his hand to his head. “At least my aching head is almost gone. How is yours now?”

“My head wasn’t aching to begin with,” she assured him.

He shook his head and looked at her again. “Even more remarkable. I suppose next you’ll claim you could drink me under a table anytime you want.”

“It wasn’t me sleeping on the floor next to the bed this morning,” Win reminded him. “I can handle my liquor far better than you, apparently.”

“Sleeping on the floor was a conscious choice on my part,” Stratford promised with a shrug. “I did not want to wake beside you. You’ve already threatened my life should I fail to resist your appeal.”

“You should have woken me, and made me sleep on the floor rather than your bed,” she complained, scowling fiercely. “I’m sure Cuthbert never would have been allowed that dubious honor.”

“Indeed, no. However, you had climbed under my blankets by that point, complaining that I let you forget about the fire enough that it died out, if I remember correctly. I couldn’t see the harm in letting you enjoy a little comfort. It didn’t hurt you to sleep in a proper soft bed. But I admit, I did briefly consider carrying you to yours. However, I came to my senses quite quickly. I feared you might get the wrong idea about what I was trying to do and attempt to inflict real harm on my person,” he promised, discretely covering his groin.