Page 52 of The Baronet’s Bartered Bride

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Astir came from the direction of the private parlor, and the door opened to emit a cloud of fragrant tobacco smoke. Two gentlemen dressed in the style of the country, with old-fashioned coats and powdered wigs, tumbled out of the door, arguing. A third strolled behind them, holding a pipe to his mouth and puffing on it.

“—rests his entire system of classification on chives,” one was saying. His speech, and the red knobs of his cheeks, hinted that he had already imbibed a great deal. “He ought to have based his classes on the number of pointals.” He grasped a lapel of his coat with a decisive gesture, as if that closed the debate, and pointed a finger at his compatriot.

“But that too is highly debatable.” The other shook his bagwig, tied up with a large black ribbon. The hair of the wig was yellowed and the whole in desperate need of refurbishment. “He ought’ve considered empalement as the organizing structure of his system.”

The third puffed his pipe with a thoughtful air. “I still say he’s confusing his orders and genera. One would take the construction of the florets into account before the arrangement of the chives.”

“And—oh, I say.” The first stopped short and fumbled with the chain over his waistcoat, producing a quizzing glass, which he held to his eye. “Suffice to observe that the production of perfect seed is the obvious use of the flower!”

“Lord in his heaven,” breathed the second, staring with reverence. “How is such a vision of loveliness descended on the George?”

The third, feeling no need to join the competition, merely mouthed his pipe and stared in obvious appreciation. Joseph followed the direction of the man’s gaze and found he was looking at Inez.

She had pinned her bodice back in place and tied a fresh apron over her petticoat, but she had left off her neckerchief, and the ruffled border of her shift left the full tops of her glossy brown breasts on display. Her cap was perched far back on her head, accenting rather than concealing the cascade of soft black curls and bringing attention to the proud, elegant slope of her neck. She walked with a saucy cant to her hips, and when the men of the philosophical meeting paused to gape at her, she fluttered her lashes at them.

Then, noting their rapt attention, she gave all three a sweet, small smile.

The little trollop. She had come downstairs looking so fresh and coy just to bait him, and Joseph rose to the lure with a snap.

“And why haven’t you been serving us?” one of the men said with a smack of his lips. “We came to request more claret. I hope you will be the one who brings it.”

Inez offered a low, throaty chuckle. “I don’t work here, sir. I am a traveler passing through, much like yourself.”

“Oh, we aren’t travelers.” The second man was eager to put himself forward. “We are philosophers here for the meeting. I am Robert Smith⁠—”

“And I am his brother, John Smith. Elder brother.” The first asserted his claim with firmness.

The third blew on his pipe and surveyed Inez with the air of a connoisseur, his gaze lingering on breast and hip. “And you may call me Squire Heath. Where’s such a pretty pet from, might I ask?”

“London,” Inez said primly, smoothing her hair. The gesture drew attention to her lovely profile and also her lovely breasts. “Just this morn.”

“Oh, I know a bit of London,” the first man said. “I was just recently there, put down at the Swan with Two Necks⁠—”

“I travel to London all the time,” the second interrupted. “For my business. I am a dyer of cloth. Quite well off, it may be said⁠—”

“And what brings a Londoner here?” The third man, without appearing to move, placed himself so that he was closest to Inez. In the perfect position to look down her bodice, or take her arm and steer her away from the others. He seemed older than the other two, more seasoned and more perceptive, and he had the hawkish stare of a practiced rake.

“Me.” Joseph rose and shouldered his way into the group. “I brought her. She is my ward.”

“Ward!” one Smith spluttered.

“Ward,” the second muttered, with the clear connotation of mistress.

Inez narrowed her eyes at Joseph and pressed together her lips. This gesture only served to emphasize their fullness, and likely she knew that. He could have kissed those lips not half an hour before this. He could have had his mouth on any part of her body, if he hadn’t been an incompetent arse.

“We shall see how much longer I continue as your ward, shan’t we? For I have the sense you weary of me, Mr. Illingworth.”

“Sir Joseph,” he corrected, because he did not want her dressing him down in front of these local men. The curve of her lips said he’d fallen into the first of her traps.

Smith elder cleared his throat. “I say, miss, if you should require assistance—if this man has abused your gentle nature in any way⁠—”

“I can offer you lodging,” Smith the second fell over himself to say. “And unlike my brother, I do not have a wife.”

Inez looked him over, and the man colored profusely at the lewd implication of his generosity.

“You are not going anywhere but back up to your room,” Joseph told her. “Whatever you need, I shall have it sent up to you.”