Free Not Quite a Lady by Loretta Chase Page A

Logic.
    Darius made himself straighten.
    What he couldn’t do was keep his mind on house maintenance.
    When she talked of stoved feathers—cooked first, she explained, to kill vermin—to fill mattresses, he saw himself lifting her off her feet and tossing her onto a bed.
    He saw her grinning wickedly up at him, the same wicked grin she’d worn when she delivered him to Mrs. Steepleton.
    She’s playing with you, said Logic. Maiden she may be. Naïve she isn’t.
    He firmly banished the pictures from his mind. “It seems a great deal of work,” he said. “I wonder at Lady Lithby’s undertaking it. Though others will do the actual labor at Beechwood, she must supervise and keep track of everything.”
    “Not if you hire a competent house steward.” Lady Charlotte tipped her head to one side and studied the sketches with a critical eye. The movement set her eardrops swaying. One lightly touched her cheek. “Your land agent Quested will find the right man for you.”
    “He’s finding me a land steward,” said Darius. At two hundred pounds per annum. “I understood that the steward would manage the household as well as the land.”
    “That is how Lady Margaret arranged matters,” she said. “And that is how my grandfather did it. But it is an old-fashioned system. Not at all efficient. Ask Papa.”
    “Beechwood is not like Lithby Hall,” Darius said. “It is a more modest dwelling, and my needs are far more modest than those of a convivial peer with a large family and an extensive acquaintance.”
    She turned her head toward him. Captivated by the teasing eardrop, he’d drawn closer, so very close that he could feel the warmth radiating from her body. Her clean scent was everywhere, it seemed. His mouth was mere inches from hers.
    Her gaze lowered to his mouth.
    Her breath came a little faster.
    He leaned in a little closer.
    She turned away. “Colonel Morrell,” she said. “What is your opinion regarding house stewards?”
    Darius swore silently, casually eased away from her, and looked in the same direction.
    The colonel crossed the threshold and quickly covered the length of the room.
    She must have spotted him in the pier glass. But how long had she known he was there?
    How long, before she noticed, had Morrell stood in the doorway, watching and listening?
    “I should think a butler sufficient for a smaller property, particularly a bachelor’s abode,” he said. “But we soldiers are accustomed to spartan living. I should consider a housekeeper and valet and perhaps a few day servants more than sufficient. However, I am told that this is a disgracefully nipfarthing, cheeseparing way of getting on, not at all in keeping with my consequence.”
    He did not say who had told him this, probably because the critic’s husband snored nearby.
    Morrell joined them at the table, taking a position on the other side of Lady Charlotte.
    “I was ordered to come and look at the pictures and discover ways to make my house grander,” he said. “Is this your work, Lady Charlotte? Your draftsmanship is very good.”
    In the process of taking up the picture, he contrived, without being obvious about it, to draw nearer to her.
    She edged away from him, which brought her closer to Darius. He ought to move away, too, to give her space. But he knew that Morrell hadn’t closed in merely to be near her. He knew she would back away, and he thought Darius would retreat to give her room. This would push Darius to the very edge of the table. One more such maneuver would force Darius to the other side of the table, where he must view the material sideways.
    A territorial move, in short.
    One could be amused, and let the fellow have the lady to himself. After all, Darius had no use for her.
    However, he had grown up as the youngest of five aggressive males. He never gave up ground without a fight.
    He moved not an inch.
    Morrell reached out to pick up another sketch, moving nearer still to Lady Charlotte as he did so.
    She