Free Beware of Virtuous Women by Kasey Michaels

that you're in no danger of my housekeeper addressing you as you poor dearie ever again. Now, what do we do? Correction, what do you do, because this is your mess, Eleanor, and it needs cleaning up before Eccles and Phelps come to dinner tomorrow night."
    Eleanor, who had been mentally reviewing Thomas Paine's Rights of Man in her head as she wondered what she'd done wrong, was suddenly all attention. "You've invited them here? But why?"
    "I don't know, Eleanor. Perhaps I've become disenchanted with spending my nights attempting to find new ways to lose my money to a fool as thick as Phelps when others are watching and wanting into the game. You'd be amazed at how popular a bad card player with plenty of money to lose can be in London society. Besides, I told them to bring anyone else they wished to bring with them, as my cook is one of the best in May-fair and my new bride is a real beauty who hasn't recovered enough from our wedding trip to go into Society yet."
    Eleanor could feel a flush of color reddening her cheeks. "You make that sound as if—well, never mind."
    Jack found himself feeling embarrassed, as well, which was a very uncommon feeling for him, so that he immediately resented it. He began pacing the carpet, still longing to hit something and hoping to dissipate some of his angry energy. "Be that as it may, my new friends, and whoever they bring with them—please God let it be Chelfham—aren't the sort who expect to dine on bubble and squeak."
    "Yes, whatever that is," Eleanor said, also beginning to pace, only stopping when she realized what a ridiculous pair they must look, each of them marching up and down the carpet in different directions.
    Jack paused in front of her on his trip up the carpet, and just looked at her.
    As she looked at him.
    And then, much to the surprise and amazement of both of them, they began to smile. Their smiles turned to laughter, and Eleanor actually reached out to lay a hand on his arm, to help support herself as her mirth threatened to overcome her.
    "I really have to do something, don't I?" she asked at last, looking up at Jack...who was looking at her rather strangely. "Um.. .about the servants."
    "You have a pretty laugh," Jack heard himself say, wondering where the words had come from. "And your eyes...they light up when you smile. I've stayed at Becket Hall several times. Why did I never notice you?"
    Eleanor nervously wet her suddenly compressed lips with the tip of her tongue. "I'm sure I have no idea. I... I really should go downstairs and...and apologize to Mrs...um, that is, to Mrs..."
    "Hendersen," Jack told her, his smile slow as he placed his hands on Eleanor's shoulders. "Fine name, Hendersen."
    "Oh yes," Eleanor said, rushing into speech. "A fine name. Um...do you think you could let me go now?"
    Jack considered this for the length of a second, if that. "No, I don't think so. I'm rather enjoying myself at the moment. Are you aware that there are small golden flecks in those huge brown eyes of yours?" He tipped his head to one side, leaned down lower. Closer. "Yes, I can see them. I can also see myself reflected in your eyes. Your most amazing eyes."
    Eleanor would have blinked, but she seemed to have forgotten how to do that, and her body wasn't responding to any commands save the ratcheting up of her heartbeat and breathing. "Are you going to kiss me now, Jack?" she asked him because, obviously, all her usual good common sense had taken French leave so that all she was left with was a curiosity that she was powerless to deny.
    Jack smiled. "Would you like that, Eleanor? Would you like me to kiss you?"
    "As purely an experiment, you mean?" Would she just shut up and say yes? What was wrong with her? The man wanted to kiss her, for goodness sakes.
    "An experiment in precisely what, Eleanor?"
    "I...well, I was thinking about what you said that first night we were standing here. Precisely here, as a matter of fact, although why you are always in my bedchamber rather