Free What a Lady Demands by Ashlyn Macnamara Page B

solid days. Not since she’d made her weekly report along with the other servants, but he hardly counted that particular interview, even if she had shown more cheek in front of his staff than he ought to tolerate. His mind would much rather dwell on an earlier event, when she’d left him on the grounds to make his wearisome way back up to the house step by painful step.
    He’d had no choice but to send her on. It was that or allow her to help him, but her arm about his waist, her hip to his, the softness of her breast pressed into his ribs would have been too much. Too many lungsful of her fresh, feminine scent and he would have tossed her skirts there on the lawn, and the devil take propriety.
    Just as well he hadn’t seen her or the boy. At least that meant she was doing her job, even if her methods struck him as unorthodox.
    But with her brother due to arrive for supper at any moment, he began to wonder. Would she even bother to put in an appearance? Sanford didn’t know she was here. To hell with that. Whether or not she showed her damnably fetching backside this evening, Sanford was likely to find out the truth either way. And if the situation angered him, then God help her.
    God help the both of them.
    Moreover, an overly irritated Sanford just might defect to Battencliffe’s side. That was the last thing Lind wanted. He needed Sanford’s cooperation, and if he couldn’t get that, he must at least ensure Sanford wouldn’t help Battencliffe, financially or otherwise.
    Lind eyed his empty tumbler and stared at the carafe of brandy on an end table across the room. He could summon a servant or shuffle.
    He’d taken his first painful step when the door opened. Smithers loomed on the threshold. “Mr. Alexander Sanford has arrived with his wife.”
    “Yes, yes.” Punctual as ever. “Show them in.” Damn it all, where was Cecelia? “Has Miss Sanford been alerted her presence is required?”
    “I believe Grant has been seeing to her, since Miss Sanford has no lady’s maid.”
    Grant? Ah, yes, the new girl. Naturally Cecelia had no maid. Governesses did not usually require such luxuries. Unheard of. What a singular situation he found himself in. “Please notify her that she is expected without delay.”
    With a nod, the butler retreated, only to reveal Lind’s old school chum hovering in the doorway, just behind his wife. Lind hadn’t seen Henrietta
nee
Upperton in over eight years, since the time of her original engagement to Sanford. She’d never been a great beauty, although a wealth of intelligence sparkled in her light blue eyes, but the years had been kind enough to her. She floated into the room, the embodiment of self-possession, her husband marching behind like a man about to face a firing squad.
    An awkward sort of silence fell over the room. Yes, and the last time Lind had seen Sanford hadn’t been any more comfortable. Too many obstacles lay in the road to renewing their acquaintance on its former terms—the biggest one of all, a bastard named Battencliffe. Lind muttered a trite pleasantry and bowed to Henrietta before extending a stiff hand to his former schoolmate.
    Damn it, where the hell was Cecelia? Not that her presence was likely to relieve the tension in the room. She would only shift its focus, but that would have to do.
    Plastering a taut smile on his lips, he gestured to the carafe. “Brandy?”
    “Don’t mind if I do,” Sanford replied.
    “Smithers should be along shortly with some sherry,” Lind added to Henrietta.
    Her lips stretched into a valiant attempt at a smile. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this invitation?”
    “To congratulate you on your recent marriage and welcome Sanford back to England, as well. I’ve been rather remiss in renewing our acquaintance.” He winced to hear himself. He’d never been handy with these sorts of social niceties. He’d always left that to Lydia, and in the past, he hadn’t needed to worry about putting on such a façade for