Free Midnight Bride by Barbara Allister Page A

had not protected Susan as he should have.
    The butler, never afraid of the man whom he had known since before he was in short pants, raised his chin and said proudly, "Miss Beckworth and Lady Ramsburg follow the same policy, sir. The girls are new; they joined the household when Susan did. I will do my best to inform them that they are not to fear a beating. Losing their favorite dinner will be enough."
    "Make sure that Cook knows, too," Charles ordered. "Is my sister still in her morning room?"
    "She was a short time ago. Shall I seek her out, sir?" Jeffries looked at his master with more interest. Only yesterday he had declared that the young master was a wastrel and nothing more. Maybe he was wrong. Perhaps Master Charles would mature to become the landholder his father had been.
    "No, it will be quicker if I go myself." Charles crossed the room hurriedly. He paused at the doorway. "Tell Cook that we will be five less for dinner, will you, Jeffries?" He dashed up the stairs, taking the narrow steps two at a time.
    "And I'm certain she will be as happy to hear that as to hear the meat pie for our luncheon was ruined," Jeffries muttered, knowing that the man had planned an elegant meal. Then the butler's face brightened. "With them gone, we will have our fill of Cook's best dishes."

Chapter 5

    Well before the appointed hour she had so reluctantly agreed upon, Elizabeth was in her morning room, dressed in the apricot sprigged muslin. She discussed the menus with her housekeeper, checked with Jeffries about Susan's departure, and ordered that the space under her bed be totally dusted.
    When her housekeeper asked her about the latter, she stammered something about a shoe she had misplaced. With effort she kept herself under control, but as soon as her two retainers were gone, her face flamed. She drew a sheet of paper from the drawer, planning to write a thank-you note to Amelia and her husband. Staring at the white paper, all she could think about was the white sheets covering those wide shoulders, those long legs poking out of the hangings on her bed. A fierce longing engulfed her. Her hand tightened and she crushed the quill she held. Not even a stern discussion with herself could erase those memories.
    Dunstan, like Elizabeth, had found that the memory of that morning adventure could not be forgotten. Elizabeth, despite her rounded charms, was not really classically beautiful; even Dunstan had to admit that she would never be acknowledged an incomparable by the ton. But she had something that would never fade, an inner fire that delighted him. He could hardly restrain his impatience to see her again. By the time he decided he had waited long enough, he had forgotten her anger and had convinced himself that she would agree to be his.
    When they met again, neither was prepared for the shock, the embarrassment. Dunstan had entered quietly, so quietly that Elizabeth, concentrating on her letter, had not heard his footsteps. "Good morning again," he said, his voice low and caressing.
    She jumped, splattering ink on the letter, fortunately only half finished and largely incoherent. She looked up and then lowered her eyes quickly. To his surprise, Dunstan was as embarrassed as she. Both their faces flamed. The clothes they were wearing did not matter. Neither could see them because the memories of that morning kept getting in the way.
    Falling back on the polite behavior she had been taught from childhood, Elizabeth asked, her voice not as steady as she could wish it to be, "Would you like some tea?"
    "No." Dunstan cleared his throat nervously. "No thank you." She motioned that he should take a seat and positioned herself as far from him as she could. For several minutes neither of them said anything, each waiting for the other to break the silence.
    "Miss Beckworth ." "Viscount Dunstan," they began at the same time. They they both fell silent again.
    Dunstan sneaked a look at her. She was staring at the floor, her cheeks a rosy