Kitabı oku: «The Regency Bestsellers Collection», sayfa 7
Chapter Eleven
“Lie back on the bed for me.”
From his seat on the edge of the mattress, Barrow regarded him. “That is not in the terms of my employment.”
“Just do it, will you?”
Barrow complied. “Mind, I am only doing this because it’s five o’clock, and I value being on time for dinner more than I value my pride.”
“No, no. Not like that. On your side, facing me. Prop yourself on one elbow and rest your head on your hand.”
“Are you going to draw me like one of your French girls?”
“And keep your boots off the mattress. It’s new. Finest quality a shameless rake can buy.”
Barrow rolled his eyes.
“Now.” Chase lifted a gilt-framed mirror and positioned it on the wall opposite the bed. “Tell me, can you see yourself?”
“Partly.”
“Which parts? The good parts?”
“That’s it.” Barrow rolled to a sitting position. “I’m done.”
“Come along, man. I can’t do this by myself.”
“Well, I can’t run the Belvoir estate by myself. You’re the one with power of attorney.” He sighed and gave in. “A few inches to the left. Now up. A bit more. No, no. That’s too much.”
Chase strained under the weight of the mirror. “Hurry up, would you?”
“Tilt it forward a smidgen . . . There.”
“Took you long enough.” Chase drew a nub of chalk from his pocket and marked off the corner. Then he set the mirror down with a groan of relief.
“Now,” Barrow said, “we need to discuss the land steward at Belvoir Manor. He might be a wizard with crop rotation, but he can’t write a report worth sheep dung. You need to pay him a visit yourself and sort matters.”
Chase checked his marks with a level, then hammered two hooks into the wall. “We have a hundred other matters needing attention. The planting’s done for the summer anyhow.”
“In point of fact, the planting was not yet done when I first raised the subject. In February. You’ve been avoiding the discussion for months.”
“I have not been avoiding the discussion.” He hefted the mirror again, hanging it on the hooks. “I’ve been avoiding my uncle.”
“The duke’s too ill. He won’t even know you’re there.”
“He’ll know I’m there,” Chase said softly. “He always knows I’m there.”
Eager to change the subject, he turned and propped his hands on his hips, surveying his handiwork. The Cave of Carnality was finally complete. Now it could start living up to its name.
“Very well,” he told Barrow. “I’ll make the journey to Belvoir soon.”
“Excellent. I will pin a date to that promise, I hope you realize.” Barrow rose from the bed, reached for his hat, and headed for the door. “But it will wait for tomorrow. I’m late getting home as it is.”
“Give Elinor a kiss for me.”
“The hell I will,” Barrow said, shutting the door behind him. “Find your own wife.”
That wouldn’t be happening. But a little matrimony had never stood between him and a kiss.
God, that stupid kiss. Days ago now, and he remembered the taste of Alexandra as clearly as he recalled his own name. Fresh and sweet. Like cool water straight from a mountain stream.
Enough.
He left the retreat through the kitchen, locking the door after him, and mounted the stairs to his bedchamber, intending to change for the evening.
He hadn’t even reached the first landing when a piercing cry pulled him to a halt midstep. It was followed by a blood-chilling scream. Not a girlish scream, but a womanly one—coming from the direction of the nursery.
Alexandra.
He jogged up the remaining flights of stairs, pausing on the third landing for breath. The silence was ominous.
Dear God, they’d killed her.
He took the last flight of stairs at a sprint, rushed down the corridor, and flung open the door to the nursery, steeling himself for the sight of her bloodless corpse splayed on the floor.
The scene that greeted him, however, was anything but lifeless.
“Ready the cannon.”
They took no notice of his entrance. Chase used the following moments to survey the nursery. At least, it had been a nursery. He wasn’t certain what it had become since Millicent’s funeral early that morning.
The girls’ beds had been pushed side by side, with a gap of merely a few feet between them. The curtains had been removed from the windows and strung from the bedposts. Standing amid it all, Daisy squinted into a spyglass fashioned from a discarded paper cone, and Rosamund brandished a crescent-shaped object that resembled nothing so much as a cutlass.
Millicent sat on the opposite bed, wearing a paper sailor’s hat and, as was her usual, an unsettling smile.
Rosamund slashed her blade through the air. “Fire.”
From behind them, Miss Mountbatten made a series of the most fantastic noises. A boom, then a whistled glissando, followed by a rumbling crash that she accompanied with a brisk shake of the bedpost.
The girls gave a rousing cheer.
“Dead-on hit to the broadside,” she declared. “Bring the ship about and ready the plank.”
Rosamund yanked on a curtain tie, and a white “sail” unfurled from the top of the bed frame. Meanwhile, Daisy reached for a board that looked to have been ripped from a crate and cobbled together with rope.
“Ready for boarding!”
She scrambled from one bed to the next and held the cutlass to Millicent’s throat. “Hand over the plunder!”
Chase had seen enough. “Ahem.”
All three of them froze. Four, if he counted Millicent. The room went silent, save for an audible gulp from Miss Mountbatten.
“What is going on here?” he demanded.
Daisy spoke first. “Millicent’s been wounded.” She drew the “blade” across the doll’s neck. “Kerchief, please. She’s losing a great deal of blood.”
Chase ignored the doll’s death throes and stalked across the room to have a word with his governess.
“I can explain,” she said.
“You had better.”
“The girls and I . . . Well, we’re playing a game, you see.”
“You weren’t hired to play games.”
“But this is an educational game.”
“An education in cutlasses?”
She bit her bottom lip. “Only partly.”
Her eyes flitted toward the slate, and he followed her gaze. “Piracy?” He read the word aloud with horror. “You’re instructing them in piracy.”
“It isn’t how you’re thinking. I—”
Chase caught her by the elbow and guided her to the far side of the room. He needed space to berate her properly. “You are meant to be teaching them to be proper young ladies.”
“They’re not ready to be young ladies. They’re girls. They need to play, and they’ve forgotten how.”
“They need to learn their lessons. Letters, numbers, stitching samplers with misshapen flowers and dire Bible verses.”
“They are learning.” She directed his attention to the world map on the wall, where a series of pins guided a string from England to the West Indies. “We’ve plotted a course to Tortuga. There’s geography.” From there, she walked to the slate and pointed to a stack of figures. “Calculated the length of the journey, how many days it will take. How many rations we’ll need aboard. That’s arithmetic. I’ve even taught them a bit of French.”
Chase read aloud from the board. “‘Donnez-nous le butin, ou nous vous ferons jeter par-dessus bord.’ What does that mean?”
She hedged. “Hand over the booty, or you’ll walk the plank.”
“Millicent’s dead,” announced Daisy. “It will have to be a burial at sea.”
Chase rubbed his temples. “Right. This little game of yours stops. At once.”
“If I’m the governess, I must be allowed my own methods.”
“I’m your employer. You’ll do as I instruct.”
“Or what? You’ll hire another of the candidates queuing up for the post?” She made an exasperated gesture. “I’m succeeding where all the others have failed. How many is it you’ve been through again?”
“Fifteen,” he replied. “But I can always find the sixteenth. London is rife with women who’ll happily submit to my wishes.”
“No doubt it is. I’m not one of them.”
They stood locked in a stalemate. Dangerously close together. Perhaps it wasn’t that he was unwilling to step aside. Maybe he didn’t want her to get away.
Maybe he wanted her closer.
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than he got his wish. He felt a tight cinch about his rib cage. She made a startled cry.
In the space of a moment, they’d grown very close indeed. Indecently close. Chest-to-chest close. And if not for a few layers of fabric . . . the kind of closeness that meant skin on skin.
God.
Baffled, he attempted a self-protective step in retreat. A force resisted. “What the devil?”
His hellion wards collapsed on the bed with laughter.
He looked down. They’d been tied together with a length of rope. Tied and knotted, it would seem. Apparently while he’d been lost in her fiery eyes, the girls had managed to loop a rope about the two of them—and then cinch it tight.
“Oh, dear.”
“You little . . .” Chase wriggled, attempting to turn and chastise them. He succeeded only in craning his neck. “Come back here at once.”
“Daisy, do you think there’s cake in the kitchen?”
“I heard there’s jam, as well.”
The girls linked hands and skipped toward the door.
“Don’t you dare.” Chase hopped in their direction, dragging Miss Mountbatten with him. “Get back here, or I’ll—”
Or he’d what? Shut them up in the nursery? Send them to bed without their tea? He’d tried all those punishments, to no avail. His well of threats had run dry.
“Rosamund!” he bellowed.
“Oh, I answer to Sam now.”
“Sam? Where did this come from?”
“It’s right there in my name. Ro-SAM-und.”
“You can’t answer to Sam. That’s absurd.”
“It’s not absurd at all. Ask Miss Mountbatten. Her friends call her Alex. I want to be called Sam.” She beckoned to Daisy. “Come along. The kitchen is just waiting to be plundered. Maybe there’s custard.”
They disappeared, shutting the door behind them.
Chapter Twelve
Chase strained in the bindings, attempting to wriggle loose. His movements only seemed to make the ropes tighter.
To add to the predicament, all that wriggling began creating other problems. Virile-man-with-a-functioning-cock problems.
Be calm, he told himself. This was hardly his first time dealing with an unwanted cockstand. He could coax it down.
Cricket. Think about cricket. That’s what they say, isn’t it?
Unfortunately, Chase didn’t know much about cricket. His knowledge began and ended with heavy balls and long, rigid bats—not particularly helpful right now.
“How the devil did they manage to do this?” he asked.
“Knots were among our pirate lessons.”
He rolled his eyes. “Of course they were.”
“They’re an essential part of seamanship,” she said, as if this should be an acceptable excuse. “I’ll have us out of this in a trice. They’ve only learned the simplest types so far, and they made the mistake of leaving me one hand to untie it.” She moved her free hand along the rope lashing them together. “Now where is the knot?”
“At the small of my back, unfortunately.”
She had her arm around him as far as she could reach. As if they were locked in an embrace.
“Just a little further. Aha.” Her fingers traced the contours of the knot where it lay against the small of his back. “A simple reef knot. I’ll have it loose in moments, if I can just . . . find the proper . . . angle.”
She moved up and down, sliding along his body to angle for a better grip. If he had any hope of subduing his swelling erection, it quickly evaporated.
No cricket could save him now, unless he took a bat to the head.
Alex felt it. The thick, hard ridge pulsing and growing against her belly. Her fingers froze in place. She’d already been overwhelmed by the scent and heat of him, and the solid wall of his chest. But this? The crude, unmistakable proof that he was feeling it, too? It set her brain spinning.
Thank heaven he was so tall. At least she was staring, crimson-cheeked, into his waistcoat rather than his face.
Ignore it, she told herself. Think of celestial navigation.
But his swelling groin proved difficult to ignore. Its size was an inconvenient wedge between them, making it even harder for Alexandra to work the knot loose. She would have a devil of a time freeing it with one hand.
“Perhaps we should talk.”
“Yes,” she jumped to answer. “Let’s talk.”
“So your friends call you Alex.”
“It’s simpler. Alexandra is quite the mouthful. And your friends call you Chase, I gather.”
“It’s Charles, properly. But ever since school, I’ve answered to Chase.”
“Ah. So your schoolmates gave you the nickname.”
“No, I chose it.”
“You chose your own nickname?” She laughed to herself. “That is a bit pathetic, I’m sorry to say.”
“The name didn’t fit my lifestyle. Charles is dull. Chase sounds roguish. Exciting. No woman wants to cry out, ‘Oh, Charles! Yes, Charles!’ in bed. I mean, would you?”
“Er.”
“Forget I said that.”
Alexandra would try, but she doubted she would succeed.
“Tell me about your schooling,” he said.
“My schooling?”
“Boring lessons, grim schoolrooms. If by chance you had any dour, dried-up, snaggletoothed headmistresses, I’d love to hear about them right now. In detail.”
“My least favorite teacher wasn’t dried up or ugly at all. She was quite pretty, as a matter of fact, but she would spank us for misbehaving.”
“Really,” he said, groaning weakly.
“A smart thwack of the ruler, straight on the backside.”
“On second thought, let’s not talk.”
She managed to snag a fiber of rope with her fingernail. “I think I’m making progress.”
“Thank God,” he breathed.
“I’m not certain I can loosen it without a bit more slack. Is there any way you can press just a bit closer? A few moments, no more. All I need is a half inch.”
He made a strangled noise. “If you must, but do it quickly. Otherwise we’re going to move a good seven inches in the wrong direction.”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
Alexandra leaned in, turning her head so that her cheek rested on his chest. His chin settled atop her head, heavy and square. The hollow thump of his heartbeat drummed in her ears and echoed in her belly.
For a moment, she forgot all about the knot. And the nursery, and the children, and anything else in the world that wasn’t his hard, lean male body. She was wrapped about him like a sailor lashed to the mast in a storm. And then his hand gripped her hip and pulled her closer still. As if they were lovers in an embrace.
He exhaled a shaky breath. The sigh gave her just enough space to work with. She wiggled her trembling fingers into the loop of rope, then pulled.
There. The knot was undone, and so was she.
They weren’t prepared. Pressed together so closely, they had all the stability of a lawn bowls pin. The sudden release sent them toppling, and his grip on her backside meant she tumbled with him.
And landed atop him, as they hit the floor with a thud. He cushioned the fall, taking the brunt of it.
“Oof.”
Alexandra levered herself on her elbows. “Are you injured?”
“No.”
“But you thunked your head.” She felt his skull. “Say something.”
“Ouch.”
She laughed, both relieved and nervous.
“Now I know what that dratted doll feels like.”
“Are you hurting terribly?”
“Tomorrow I will be. At the moment, I’m fine.”
“You’re certain? Perhaps I should—”
“Alexandra.” He cupped her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. “Enough.”
Goodness. The sound of her name from his lips, in that forceful, husky voice . . . He still clutched a handful of her backside.
“I know you don’t approve of the piracy game, but it’s the one way I’ve found to reach them. Daisy’s struggling with her lessons. She can scarcely read. Rosamund is so protective of her. Her instinct is to push me away rather than risk being hurt. They need patience.” She paused. “More than that, they need to feel safe and loved.”
“I’ve told you. I cannot give them that.”
“You could if you tried.”
“I thought you understood this from the very first day. I’m a bitter disappointment, remember. A poor excuse for a gentleman. A man incapable of understanding the consequence of stockings.”
“But you’re also a man who holds a little girl’s hand and eulogizes her doll every morning. A duke’s heir who builds cozy window seats and bookshelves by hand for his orphaned wards.”
“How did you know that?”
“I guessed. Downstairs, you were hanging your own paneling. Thank you for my verandah, by the way. You’re good with your hands.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” he growled. He gathered another handful of her bottom and squeezed.
An electric thrill forked through her. After zinging wildly all over her body, the sensation settled in her nipples, drawing them to tingling points.
“See? Don’t waste your time attempting to ‘reform’ me. It’s a lost cause.” He muttered, almost too low for her to hear: “I’m a lost cause.”
A lost cause?
That wasn’t the sort of conclusion one came to on one’s own. Someone had taught him a lie, etching it not only on his mind, but in his soul. Whoever it was, Alexandra despised them—on behalf of Rosamund and Daisy, and on behalf of Chase Reynaud himself. She couldn’t allow such a falsehood to pass unchallenged.
“Chase.” She softened her touch, smoothing back his hair. “No one’s a lost cause.”
His eyes held a clash of emotions. Doubt, mixed with a desperate yearning to believe. Denial, warring against desire. Push, tethered to pull.
Don’t imagine things, she told herself. In all likelihood, his eyes merely reflected the confused emotions in her own.
His grip on her bottom went firm as a decision. Her breath caught. In a flash, he’d rolled her onto her back, pinning her beneath him.
“Listen to me,” he said. “If I were any sort of decent man—one who could be trusted to care about anyone other than himself—I wouldn’t have a governess flat on her back, beneath me, on the nursery floor. If you refuse to believe that, I’ll have to teach you a lesson.”
She gave him a teasing smile. “What if I teach you one first?”
She kissed him square on the forehead.
He kissed her back, square on the lips.
And the passion of it took her breath away.
Chapter Thirteen
Chase kissed her forcefully, to prove what he was. There was no tenderness in it, only punishment. A good lashing with his tongue rather than a switch.
If everyone else was playing pirate, he was going to play pirate, too.
Pirates took. They seized. They plundered.
He kissed his way down her neck—her delicate, lovely neck—while he skimmed his hand the full length of her torso, tracing the contours of her body through the thin muslin of her frock. The embrace he meant to be punishing became much too tender.
“Alexandra,” he whispered.
Her friends called her Alex, but he wasn’t her friend. He was her employer, her superior in society, and a practiced rake. One who could ravish her right here, right now on the creaking schoolroom floor, amid the scattered books and slates and chalk.
Instead, all he wanted was to kiss her for hours. Days.
Every woman was unique, but she was just so different. Strange and brave and clever. She made him different, too. For once, he wanted to slow down, take time to explore and notice everything about her, rather than hide from himself.
Her tongue shyly caressed his. Each light, teasing pass was a gift. Her first tastes of passion, and she shared them with him. Freely. Sweetly.
In her arms, he could almost dream he deserved it.
No one’s a lost cause.
He’d never wanted to believe anything more. But she didn’t know—couldn’t begin to understand—how far he’d strayed from the path of respectability.
Chase was so lost, he’d fallen straight off the map.
He broke the kiss and rose up on one elbow, needing to see her. She stared up at him with dark, glassy eyes. Her lips were plump and reddened from his kisses.
“By God, you’re lovely.”
Her skin warmed with a bashful glow. If she’d been lovely a moment ago, she was radiant now.
And he was in very deep trouble.
The moment was precipitously ruined by the sounds of two girls crashing up the stairs. He and Alexandra were barely able to scramble to their feet and straighten their clothing before Rosamund and Daisy barreled into the room. Each girl had a slice of cake in one hand and a jam-stuffed roll in the other.
“Boo.” Daisy used her sleeve to wipe jam from her mouth. “You escaped.”
“We’ll practice our knots and do better next time,” Rosamund told her sister.
“There will be no next time,” Chase said sternly. “No more piracy.” He waved expansively at the piratical decor. “In fact, tomorrow I am going to take all—”
“He’s going to take all of us on an outing,” Alexandra interjected.
“An outing?” Rosamund sounded incredulous.
Chase was incredulous, too.
“I thought we weren’t allowed outings,” Rosamund said.
“You are absolutely correct,” Chase replied. “And that is why I’m—”
“He’s making an exception tomorrow,” she interrupted.
Oh, now really. This was an act of shameless betrayal.
Daisy cheered as she bounced on the bed. “Where are we going?”
Chase stood tall. “I am not t—”
“Mr. Reynaud’s not telling.” His treasonous governess spoke over him once more. “He said it’s meant to be a surprise. Isn’t it wonderful?”
Chase glared at her.
She smiled back.
He left the room on an exasperated curse.
Very well. If they wanted an outing, he would give them one. And it would be highly educational.
“The Tower of London,” Alexandra mused aloud. “A bold choice. So much rich history. We can view the crown jewels.”
“Jewels are not on the schedule. I have a specific history lesson in mind.”
They proceeded directly to Beauchamp Tower, where Chase—she couldn’t think of him as Mr. Reynaud any longer—marched them up a spiraling stone staircase.
They emerged onto a floor shaped rather like a flower. A round space in the middle, with small alcoves sprouting from the center, like petals.
Daisy popped in and out of each alcove, skipping in circles. “What is this place?”
“It’s a prison,” Rosamund answered. “This middle here was for the gaolers, and those little bits you’re dancing around were cells.”
“How do you know?” Daisy replied.
“Because this is the Tower of London, ninny. If you don’t believe me, ask the prisoners who left their marks.” Rosamund pointed at letters carved into the wall. “See, here.” She traced another mark, a bit higher. “And here.”
“Everywhere,” Daisy said, turning in place.
Hand-etched graffiti crammed every bit of stone that a man could conceivably reach. Sometimes, merely initials or a date. In other places, elaborate crosses had been chiseled in bas-relief. Bible verses stretched for yards across the walls.
“Why would they do that?” Daisy asked. “It’s terribly naughty.”
“They were criminals,” Rosamund said. “They didn’t care about right behavior.”
“People want to leave a mark on the world,” Alex said. “It’s human nature. Some are remembered by their accomplishments, or their virtues. Others live on through their children.” She trailed her fingers over Daisy’s back as she strolled by. “And if he has none of those to leave behind, a man carves his name into the wall. We all want to be remembered.”
“Oh, they were remembered—as criminals.” Chase stood in the center of the room. “Do you know who ended up in a prison like this one, girls? Murderers. Traitors.”
“And pirates,” Rosamund finished dryly, having caught on to her guardian’s lesson.
“Yes. And pirates. A few hundred years ago, you’d have been brought in through the river entrance, dragged up to one of these cells, and left to rot for a year or five. Only straw for your bed. Crusts and weak soup, no meat. You’d have been crammed in with other unwashed prisoners. Covered in filth, lice, rats, disease.”
“Disease!” Daisy cheered. “Which ones?”
“Very, very boring ones,” he said. “And don’t cheer. It was misery. Now if all that wasn’t bad enough, once you were convicted in court?” He drew a finger across his neck in a throat-slicing gesture.
“Beheading,” Daisy said, awed.
“Right out there in the yard. That’s if you were of noble birth. The rest were hung by their necks, and their heads went on pikes by the river as a warning. All the blood dripping down. Eyes pecked out by ravens.”
Hands behind her back, Alex ambled over to stand by her employer. “Surely there are less gruesome ways of teaching history, Mr. Reynaud.”
“Surely there are less irritating methods of teaching geography than piracy.”
She had no answer to that.
“Be grateful I didn’t choose an outing to the Fleet.” He crossed his arms over his chest and addressed the girls. “Now. I expect that this little visit will have cured you both of your criminal behavior. There will be no further stealing, piracy, or . . . dollicide. Not unless you want a scene like this one in your future.”
“In our future?” Rosamund looked around the ancient cell, considering. “Locked in an upstairs room, given only crusts to eat, and plagued by disease. Seems rather like the life we have now. We may as well have a few high-seas adventures while we can.” She beckoned to Daisy. “Let’s go see the menagerie.”
Chase tipped his head back and gave an exaggerated groan of despair.
“Wait.” Alex rummaged in her reticule. “You’ll need a shilling each for entrance.”
Rosamund rattled two coins in her hand. “Our guardian gave us the coins already.” She cast a cheeky smile at his pocket. “In a manner of speaking.”
Daisy skipped to follow her sister, singsong chanting all the way down the stairs.
Alex moved to follow them. She only made it two and a half paces before his deep voice arrested her progress.
“Not yet, Miss Mountbatten.”
“I should follow the girls. It isn’t safe to leave them without supervision.”
“They’re fine,” he said. “Rosamund won’t let Daisy out of her sight.”
“Oh, I know the girls will be safe.” She gave him a deceptively carefree smile. “It’s the lions and tigers I’m worried about.”
“You’re not going anywhere.” He pulled her into one of the room’s stone alcoves. “I need a word.”
He needed a word. Which word, she longed to know. Could it possibly be “lovely”? Because that was the only word she’d been able to think since the previous night.
By God, you’re lovely, he’d said.
He called you lovely! her brain had sung. And it hadn’t stopped singing ever since. Lovely. Looov-eh-leeee. Lovely lovely lovely lovely. L-O-V-E-L-Why? Because he finds you lovely. Also, lovely.
“I could have told you this outing wouldn’t work the way you hoped.”
“Since I hired you, Miss Mountbatten, nothing has gone the way I hoped.”
“Try to see the positives. Rosamund and Daisy are bold, clever, resourceful girls. Even if the mischief could be beaten out of them—and I suspect there’s a solid chance the rod would splinter first—their spirits would be broken, too. What a tragedy that would be.”
“Oh, yes. A tragedy indeed.”
His ironic tone didn’t fool her. Alex was coming to see the fondness he harbored for his wards. If he didn’t care about them, he wouldn’t bother to try.
“They’re children. They have a natural curiosity about the world, and a desire to learn. They merely need the encouragement and opportunity. The freedom to pursue their own interests. Aren’t you concerned with the improvement of their minds?”
“I’m chiefly concerned with the improvement of their behavior. They must learn to move in society. My duty as guardian is to provide Rosamund and Daisy with a secure, comfortable future. A young woman’s best hope at such is to marry, and marry well.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “The same way your parents married well?”
“Oh, I’ll make certain they do better than my father. They could scarcely do worse. But in general, yes. That is how the English aristocracy works.”
“Perhaps the English aristocracy needs to do better.”
He made a derisive sound. “I’m flattered you think I’ve the power to change the world.”
“I don’t think you have the power to change the world,” she replied. “I think Rosamund and Daisy do. If given the chance.”
“Is that so.” He drew closer. “And how are you planning to change the world, Miss Mountbatten?”
“I couldn’t tell you, Mr. Reynaud. At the moment, I’m too busy changing the sky.”
After staring into her eyes for an eon or two, he sighed dramatically. “You are the worst example of false advertising. I was led to believe I was hiring a prim scold. Then I learn you’re remarkable and bold and interesting.”
Well, Alex thought, that stupid song in her brain had four words now.
She stammered, “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that.”
“I wish you didn’t make me think things like that. So we’re square.”
“We should go after the girls.”
“Yes, we should.”
Neither of them moved.
Alex bit her lip. “We’re going to kiss instead, aren’t we.”
He caught her in his arms. “You’re goddamned right, we are.”
