“Is that the law? Is there a law of mistresses somewhere, a book that solicitors study?”
It seemed the farther they traveled from a bed, the bolder she became. He wondered how she might react if he informed her that he could bed her without a bed, that the plush cushions of his carriage would do just as nicely. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to silence her. She made him want to smile, a real smile, not the wolfish one practiced over the years to imply victory before a battle was even fought.
“Yes, I believe there is.”
She angled her chin haughtily, her pert little nose going up ever so slightly. “I should like to see it. I suppose you know all the laws where mistresses are concerned.”
“The important ones.”
“How many have you had?” she asked.
“Laws?”
She scowled. He suspected she imagined that she looked quite ferocious. Instead, she looked kissable. Utterly and fascinatingly kissable. “Mistresses.”
He considered lying. But what would he gain? Nothing. He reserved falsehoods for when they were useful to obtain what he sought. “You shall be my first.”
Her eyes widened. “Why me?”
Why her? That was the question, wasn’t it? The one he’d asked himself a thousand times since that night in Wortham’s study.
“Ekroth wanted you. I don’t much care for Ekroth.”
“I seem to recall he has jowls and pudgy fingers.”
“Quite.”
She glanced out the window. “I didn’t like the way he looked at me. I didn’t like the way any of them looked at me. As though I was beneath them. But you didn’t.” She looked over at him, gave him a sad smile. “I thought you were incapable of caring any less about me. Yet, here I am with you. What if Lord Berm had spoken up for me?”
“He has rancid breath.”
She gnawed on her lower lip, and he thought she did it to stop herself from smiling. It irritated him that she might laugh at him. “Lord Pennleigh?”
“He has too many years on him. He’s bound to be wrinkled in places where he shouldn’t be wrinkled.”
She studied him intently, and he fought not to squirm. Why weren’t they at the blasted dressmaker’s yet?
“Who would have been acceptable, do you think?” she asked.
Any of the other lords, sweetheart. Even Ekroth, Berm, and Pennleigh, truth be told.
“It hardly matters,” he said. “You’re with me now.”
The carriage came to a stop.Thank God.
“And we’re at the dressmaker’s. Let’s see about getting you some proper clothing.”
Proper clothing? As though what she was wearing wasn’t proper.
But when she stepped into the shop, her irritation with him dimmed. She’d been in shops before, but never a dressmaker’s. Two well-dressed ladies were at the counter, obviously making their purchases. Another elegant woman was sitting in a plush chair in a corner studying what appeared to be drawings of patterns.
A large woman bustled toward them. “Sir, how might I be of service?”
Rafe tugged on his waistcoat. “I wish to be attended to by the proprietor.”
“I am she. Madame Charmaine.”
“I expected a French accent.”
