“From now on, have Daisy deliver the trays to my bedchamber when I have company.”
Perkins gave a brisk nod. “As you wish.”
Turning back to the window, Bishop felt a great deal of satisfaction. One of his ladies would soon be on her way to a divorce if he was correct about Marguerite, if she was, in fact, as he suspected, a sleuth hired by a distrustful husband to get at the truth regarding his wife’s absences. Perhaps she wasn’t quite as easy to read as he’d thought. He had to admire her for possibly being incredibly conniving, but then so was he.
And if he was wrong, where was the harm? She was hiding something. He’d wager all he possessed on that. He was quite looking forward to discovering the truth of her. He was known for being willing to do anything to win a game. He intended to be victorious at this one as well.
Chapter 5
Daisy couldn’t believe her good fortune. She’d been given the chore of carting up the evening tray because Perkins had heard it was something she wanted to do and he’d grown tired of Tom grumbling about it.
Tuesday night, carrying out her new duty, she was surprised to discover Bishop sitting opposite Mrs. Mallard, who was perched on the edge of the settee as though she wanted to slide into a pond and paddle away. Unlike Mrs. Parker, who’d worn a gown that bared her shoulders, she was buttoned up tight as a drum, with only the skin of her throat and face exposed. Daisy was astonished the woman would be so nervous around her lover, barely lifting her eyes from her gloved hands clasped in her lap. She was also taken aback by Bishop tracking Daisy’s movements to the table, his gaze a continual caress along her neck.
She set down the tray with an unsteady hand, grateful no china sat upon it to rattle and alert him that she was very much aware of his presence. Of course, it dominated the chamber, but more it seemed to dominate her, to envelop her in a comforting embrace, while at the same time stirring to life embers of passion thatcaused those warm and tingly sensations, the ones Sarah had mentioned she experienced when looking at Tom, to ripple through her. Blast him for having that effect upon her. She refused to become one of those ninnies who fell at his feet or into his bed with the crook of his finger.
“Will there be anything else?” She was incredibly proud of her voice for not warbling, of her breath for not sliding out on a sigh.
“Not tonight.”
Another night then?Her mind had become frightfully inconvenient, popping thoughts into her head that had no place being there. It was the heat in his eyes that conjured up images of naked, entwined bodies lost to rapture, like those she’d seen in paintings at the National Gallery.
With a brisk nod and a quick look at his guest, who seemed far too shy for a man such as Bishop, Daisy walked briskly out of the room. She couldn’t fathom what aspect of Mrs. Mallard appealed to him. He required someone bold, defiant, and interesting. A woman who would lounge upon his lap as Mrs. Parker had done. Perhaps he enjoyed a variation in his encounters, and she wondered if it ever crossed his mind that she would provide a different experience.
Wednesday night she discovered that he no doubt did worship the notion that variety was the spice of life, because when she reached the door to his bedchamber, she heard laughter coming from the room, his deep and joyful mingling with a lighter more carefree mirth. She didn’t much like the little spark of jealousy that erupted because he was so enjoying his latest paramour. In addition, she found being privyto the sound felt intrusive and prying, more so than walking in to see a woman draped over his lap.
“You are such a scamp,” a feminine voice sang out. “I hardly know what to do with you.”
“Oh, I think you know very well what to do with me.”
Before they could begin doing anything with each other, she knocked smartly on wood.
“Enter.”
She was becoming skilled at balancing the tray while releasing the latch. Although tempted to peer around the door to ensure she wasn’t going to blush deep red, she carried on through because she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he could affect her in any manner.
The couple sat on the settee, one at each end, but they were angled so they faced each other. His arm rested along the back, his fingers hanging down and trailing over her bare upper arm, up and down, lazily circling. It wouldn’t take any effort at all for the woman, who sported a few strands of silver at her temples that stood out in stark relief to the auburn elsewhere, to slide up right against him and fit herself into the beguiling nook his posture provided. If Daisy had to guess, she’d put the strumpet at forty, if not a tad older. It seemed Bishop sampled all variations when it came to harlots.
“What temptations have you brought us?” the tart asked her with a bright smile.
“Am I not temptation enough, Chastity?” he asked.
Chastity? Good Lord, was there any woman with a more inappropriate name?
“Of course, you are, darling.” With a heavily bejeweled hand, she patted the empty space on the cushion between them. “Why don’t you place it here?”
Daisy glanced at him to see that amused smile that he wore far too often when she was in this chamber, but in his eyes, she saw the dare: Will you come this close?
Yes,damnyou, yes, I will.
She marched forward like a condemned woman on her way to the scaffold, her nerves atwitter. He was once again in shirtsleeves, this time with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows, his muscular forearms on display, the hair thick and enticing. Her mouth went dry. When she lowered herself to set down the tray, she caught a peek inside his shirt, where it billowed out slightly, and saw the dark brown disk—
At the unexpected, intimate view of his nipple, she straightened so quickly that she tottered. With one smooth unfettered motion, he immediately grabbed her upper arm, while pushing himself to his feet and pulling her against his firm body to steady her. “Are you all right?”
Nodding jerkily, she stared at her hand that had come to rest against that tantalizing V. His skin was so hot, the hairs coiling around her fingers so soft. She wanted to stroke his sternum, slide her hand along what was covered by linen.
With regret, she moved her troublesome appendage away before it could engage in any wickedness—wondering why she felt as though she’d lost something precious—stepped back, and shifted her attention to where his large hand was still folded around her slender arm. Slowly his fingers spread wide, and she wasfree, and yet there was such exquisite joy in being his captive.
His fingers curling into a fist, he dropped it to his side. “That’ll be all.”
