Page 38 of How to Tempt an Earl

“I didn’t charm Jenkins.”

“Oh? He’s nearly tripped over his own feet to greet you, and he’s been fussing in the library all evening to arrange everything just so.”

“I left Jenkins a note the last time I was here. He was merely following my instructions.”

“If you say so.”

She glared at him and changed the topic. “I’m surprised you retained a housekeeper so quickly.”

“You told me to, remember? I’m merely following your instructions.”

“I didn’t expect—”

“You needn’t worry. I’m paying her enough to keep our arrangement secret.”

The thought hadn’t entered her mind. Clearly, he’d misinterpreted her concern. Unlike her first visit when she’d feared Jenkins would gossip about her presence and a scandal would ensue, Grace hadn’t worried when she’d met the housekeeper.

Ian was right.

Was she beginning to trust him?

Her stomach fluttered at the notion. But the truth was that her reputation remained secure, and she no longer feared him. She had spent hours alone with him in his home…in his bedchamber…and he hadn’t physically harmed her in any way.

But he had kissed her.

Would he try to again? And why did the thought not cause alarm, but rather anticipation?

She frowned at her thoughts. She was easily forgetting who he was—not just a wealthy earl but the owner of a gambling club, the worst kind of establishment in Grace’s mind. He took advantage of gamblers—addicts who were as drawn to the tables and the roll of the dice as those who became dependent on opium. The effect was the same. It ruined men.

She must not forget this about him.

She cleared her throat. “If everything is ready, we should begin.”

“Of course.”

She climbed the stairs beside him and stole a glance at his face. His profile was strong, and her gaze swept from his shoulders to his broad chest.

An eager look flashed in his eyes. “I believe you will be quite pleased at what you see.”

He ushered her to the library and opened the door. A table with pristine white tablecloth, fine china, crystal, and silver gleamed beneath the candlelight. Everything was arranged for an intimate dinner for two—a rendezvous for lovers. The rows of books on the shelves only added to the romanticism for Grace.

“Will this do?” he asked.

She waited for her quickened pulse to quiet. “It’s sufficient.”

“Cook went home hours ago. I regret there is no food, but there’s a fine bottle of wine.” He motioned to a bottle on the table.

“Food is not required to teach proper table manners. Most balls have supper rooms, and you must be able to take a meal with family and friends without mishap.”

He held her chair as she took her seat, his fingers once again lingering on her shoulders a moment longer than necessary. Her heart seemed to rush to the spot he touched, and she bit her tongue to keep from commenting. Why draw attention to it?

He settled across from her, and candlelight flickered off his handsome features. He reached for the bottle and poured two goblets.

He handed her a glass and their fingers brushed. She felt a familiar shiver of awareness and feared he could hear her uneven breathing. She sipped the wine. It was delicious and went down smoothly.

“Where do we start?” he asked.

“Sit straight and with confidence. Never place an elbow on the table. A footman will serve you and stand behind you during the meal.”