Free Margaret Moore by His Forbidden Kiss

servant!” he declared fervently, as if being their servant were the dearest desire of his heart. “Mistress Burroughs, you are lovely!”
    She had been told that a hundred times by Philip, but never once with this sincerity. She smiled as she curtsied. “You are too kind, my lord.”
    “Your servant, Lord Cheddersby,” Uncle Elias said, a slight emphasis on the “lord.” His eyes gleamed as his gaze darted between Vivienne and Lord Cheddersby.
    She knew that gleam. He got that when he was contemplating a bargain likely to come out in his favor.
    A bargain involving her and Lord Cheddersby?
    Paying no heed to her uncle, Lord Cheddersby addressed her with enthusiasm. “I saw you from afar and asked Mr. Harding if he knew who you were, by any chance. Imagine my delight when he said he did! I insisted he do me the honor of introducing us.”
    “How kind,” Philip muttered.
    Mr. Harding turned his cold gaze onto the nobleman. “I could not deny
his lordship,
surely.”
    Philip scowled, but said nothing.
    Mr. Harding then turned his attention to the orange girls in the pit. Their job was to sell fruit to the theater patrons, but they seemed a performance in themselves with their witty jests, blatant innuendoes, brazen smiles and the way they swayed their hips, the boxes of oranges moving from side to side.
    Was he attracted by their antics, or repulsed? Did he even see them at all, or was he contemplating something else entirely?
    Why should she care what he thought about the orange girls or her or anything at all? He was Sir Philip’s solicitor, and nothing more.
    “If you will all excuse me,” Mr. Harding suddenly declared, speaking to everyone, it seemed, but her, “I believe I see a client of mine below. I should speak with him before the play begins.”
    “By all means,” Lord Cheddersby said genially.
    “No leisure for lawyers,” Uncle Elias added with a companionable chortle, as one businessman to another.
    Vivienne said nothing. If he had to go, goodbye and be gone, she told herself. That was better than having his cold presence near her.
    Especially when she seemed to feel so hot.
    “Does the famous Heartless Harding represent you, too?” Philip demanded of Lord Cheddersby after the solicitor had departed.
    “Yes … no … sometimes,” Lord Cheddersby stammered, looking as if he’d been ambushed. “Not exactly. Our family’s had the same solicitor forever. I think the fellow must be about a hundred years old. He certainly looks it. But this … this was a special case, requiring, um, special expertise.”
    “And we know the kind of expertise he has,” Philip muttered darkly. “You must be rather desperate for company to bring your solicitor to the play.”
    “As a matter of fact, I am,” Lord Cheddersby acknowledged. “Lord Farrington and Sir Richard are apparently permanently ensconced in the country with their families these days. Not that I begrudge them that, of course, for they are very happy.”
    “Is he arranging a marriage settlement for you, too, my lord?” Uncle Elias suggested.
    “Oh, good God, no!”
    The gleam in her uncle’s eyes brightened.
    “You sound as if you miss Lord Farrington and Sir Richard,” Vivienne noted.
    “I do. I have nobody left.”
    “You have Mr. Harding.”
    “Oh, yes, I do, I suppose. But he’s not exactly a talkative chap.”
    “No, he’s not,” Uncle Elias agreed. “Still, devilishly clever, so they say.”
    “Have you known him long?” Vivienne asked.
    “Unfortunately, I haven’t, except by sight and reputation and what happened with Richard. He was Lady Dovercourt—that is, Richard’s wife—he was her solicitor before Richard or I had heard of him. I gather he is very good at the law.”
    “I assume he is well educated?”
    “Vivienne, there is no need to interrogate Lord Cheddersby,” Uncle Elias growled.
    “Oh, I don’t mind,” Lord Cheddersby replied.
    “He had a good teacher,” Philip interjected. “I gather they were