Free What an Earl Wants by Shirley Karr Page B

was thirteen, not even when Nigel had given her a chaste kiss upon their betrothal.
    She stumbled a step. Sinclair was not likely to steal a kiss from her anytime soon. Ever. She shook her head. She must focus on the job duties she had been hired to perform, not on her employer’s bare leg.
    She located the folio that had been delivered moments before she’d received the odd summons, and felt in control again by the time she neared Sinclair’s bedchamber.
    His bedchamber. If she had managed to keep fooling him about her gender, she wouldn’t be surprised that he’d summoned her there. But he did know, and had sent for her anyway. Was this merely an example of him accepting her presence? Treating her as he would a man? And was it for her benefit, or for the other servants watching their interactions?
    Thompson was nowhere in sight, forcing her to open the door herself. She managed to not blush this time. Though he was still in bed, Sinclair had donned a deep green satin dressing gown, and the blankets were pulled up to his waist. She squelched a jolt of disappointment. Sinclair pushed away Broderick and his shaving brush when she entered. “Will you need anything else?” She handed him the papers, fervently hoping none of her previous thoughts were apparent.
    Sinclair shook his head. “How goes your investigation?”
    “There are bills owed to merchants I’m not familiar with. I think it best for me to pay them in person. If I take your carriage, I should return by lunch.”
    “Go alone? I don’t think—” Sinclair interrupted himself. “Yes, of course.” He glanced at his valet. “Care to take Broderick with you? He resembles a mother hen this morning.”
    “That won’t be necessary, my lord,” Quincy said as Broderick choked on a reply.
    “Do take Thompson with you, though. He may prove useful.”
    “Thank you, my lord,” Broderick and Quincy said in unison.
    Quincy settled into the carriage a few minutes later, Thompson riding up top with Elliott, the coachman. Just as she had this morning, she snuggled against the soft squabs and rubbed her bare hands across the smoky gray velvet. Once upon a time, Papa had a fine carriage such as this, pulled by matching bays. She sighed and leaned back to enjoy the ride.
    “Is this the place, Mr. Quincy?” Thompson held the door open for her when they arrived.
    Quincy glanced at the address on the bill and compared it to the number above the chandler’s shop door. “Yes, Thompson, thank you.” She started for the shop but stopped. “Thompson, have you been in his lordship’s service very long?”
    “Almost six years, sir. He hired me and Tanner afore he went off to fight the bloody Corsican.”
    “Good. You may hold the purse. I trust you can count without using your fingers and toes?” She looked up at him sideways, grinning.
    Thompson chuckled. “Yes, sir. Lady Sinclair insists all her staff learn to read and write and cipher.”
    “Really? Well, let’s get on with spending Lord Sinclair’s money, shall we?”
    Thompson grinned and opened the shop door. “Yes, sir!”
    The chandler closed his mouth with a snap when Thompson gave him his money due, and pumped Quincy’s hand, pleased to meet Lord Sinclair’s new secretary. “The last one had beady eyes, don’t you know,” he said with a wink.
    It was the same with the baker, the greengrocer, and the tailor. They glanced at Quincy and stared at Thompson. Despite the drizzle, the footman wore a powdered wig, which added another two inches to his already impressive height. Some merchants even reduced their bills for “prompt payment.”
    The butcher was different. With a barrel chest and hands like hams, he was several inches shorter than Thompson but twice as wide. “What happened to Johnson, eh? Sinclair catch on and tan his sorry hide?”
    “I believe Mr. Johnson decided America was more to his liking. What do you mean by ‘catch on’?”
    He stared at Thompson. “Nothing.”
    “Please