Free The Lady’s Secret by Joanna Chambers Page B

room was open and it was so silent she could hear everything. The swish of the bath sheet as he shook it out to dry himself with. The pad of his bare feet as he walked. The shush of a drawer.
    “Fellowes? Where are my stockings?”
    She walked to the dressing room, halting in the doorway. He was already wearing drawers and a shirt that was translucent where it clung to his body. His damp hair tumbled over his pale brow, as darkly sleek as an otter’s pelt. Georgy ignored the familiar pang of desire. “I shall fetch them, my lord,” she murmured.
    She located stockings and handed them to him, immediately turning away again to fetch his breeches and waistcoat, refusing to allow herself to watch him smooth the silk over his firmly muscled calves.
    They accomplished his toilette in silence. She was holding his jewel case open and he was poring over the rings when there was a light knock at the door. It was Tom, announcing that Viscount Maybury’s carriage had arrived and was waiting. Harland picked out a sapphire ring and pin. He pushed the ring onto his long index finger and handed Georgy the pin. She leaned forward and fastened it deftly in the folds of his cravat.
    He didn’t even check his appearance in the glass. Just walked to the door.
    “Eight o’clock tomorrow morning, Fellowes,” he said as he strode out.
    “Very good, my lord.”
    Once he’d gone, she walked into the dressing room and surveyed it wearily. Her shoulders were tight and knotted, her eyes gritty with exhaustion. She looked at the deep-filled bath longingly. It would be lovely to have a bath, a proper bath, rather than the two inches of water servants were allowed. She dipped her hand in the water.
    It was surprisingly warm.
    The thought of just getting into the bath that Harland himself had so recently vacated assaulted her. Dared she? She bit her lip, weighing the risks. Harland was gone—or soon would be. Jed and Tom would only come for the bathwater when she rang for them and she often didn’t do so until long after Harland left for the evening. No one else would intrude upon her. Nevertheless, it felt dangerous.
    And tempting.
    After worrying her lip for a half a minute, she decided to go and see if Harland had gone yet. She took the servants’ stairs to the kitchen and found Tom sitting at the table, eating bread and cheese and drinking a mug of ale.
    “Not eating again!” Georgy exclaimed in mock disgust. Tom grinned.
    “Got to keep me strength up, George lad,” he said. “I’m hoping to slip out to see Polly later.”
    Georgy chuckled and tried to look knowing.
    “You got a kettle of hot, Mrs. Sims?” she called to the cook, who was sitting beside the fire, knitting.
    “Aye,” she said in her flat Lancashire accent. “Mary, fetch that kettle for Mr. Fellowes and put a new one on for my tea.”
    While Mary levered herself up to fetch the kettle, Georgy looked at Tom again. “Harland not taking his own carriage tonight?” she asked casually.
    “No. That friend of his came for him—Maybury. Thick as thieves, they are.”
    “They’re gone already?”
    “They are. Maybury didn’t even shift from his carriage, he was that keen to be off. They’ll be getting themselves some opera dancers now.” Tom laughed in a comradely way, bracketing himself with Harland and Maybury.
    Mary approached with the kettle. Georgy took it and fairly tripped back up the stairs. She let herself back into Harland’s bedchamber, kicking the door closed behind her. She was grinning as she skipped into the dressing room. A bath! She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a proper bath. She poured the whole kettle of water in and leaned over to feel the rising steam on her face, inhaling the scent of cloves and cinnamon, the spicy evocative scent of her master.
    With a pleasurable sigh, she began to unbutton her waistcoat.
     
    Even with the curtains closed, Harland sensed that Ross’s carriage was not going in the right direction.
    “This