Page 28 of The Return of the Rake

King’s mouth kicked up at the corners. “A fine woman, Mrs Fairway. An excellent cook.”

“I am sure I could not say, sir,” Repton said, very much on his dignity as he strode away.

King chuckled and could not resist calling after him, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” before hearing the adjoining door close with a sharp snap.

Taking a last look in the glass and satisfied that his clothes would not disgrace a gentleman, even if the fellow wearing them was unworthy of the name, King headed for the door.

He had seen Mrs Fairway himself about an hour earlier, disapproval dripping from her every word, as she gave him instructions on how to find Mrs Adamson’s private parlour and at what hour.

“You mind no one sees you,” she had told him sternly, before leaning in and speaking with such fire glittering in her eyes he had felt the heat of it. “And if you lay one finger on that girl what she don’t invite, I’ll see you chopped into small pieces and serve you in a pie.”

“Oh, surely more than one pie, Mrs Fairway,” he had replied politely, to which unwise comment she had refused an answer, only giving him a look that could have etched glass.

Still, he was strangely gratified to discover she would look him in the eye and give out such a warning, for if she would dare to face him, she would certainly chase away the likes of the handsome captain who had so solicitously made Mrs Adamson coffee that morning. Or would she?

The thought occurred to him then that Mrs Fairway would do well to promote such a match, if she truly wanted the best for Anne. Captain Honourable-whatever-his-name-was had undoubtedly been a gentleman, and one who was respected in the town. Unlike King.

The thought soured his mood rather, but he shook it off, not wanting anything to spoil the evening. After all, it wasn’t like he was intending to marry the woman, but enjoy a pleasant interlude, whatever form that interlude might take. Naturally, he had his own ideas and had lingered over them whilst getting ready for the evening, but he was not the kind of fellow who pressed his attentions where they were unwanted. If, however, they were wanted…. He grinned, suddenly feeling a good deal better, and knocked smartly on the door.

It opened after a brief wait, and for a moment King could have believed the floor had dropped away beneath him, or perhaps like he’d been struck hard in the solar plexus, for he felt breathless and oddly unmoored.

“Good evening, Mr King,” Mrs Adamson said. “Do come in.”

Not trusting himself to speak and not entirely certain he could do so in any case, King merely nodded and entered the room.

“You’ll take a glass of wine with me before dinner?” she asked, casting him a smile, which he must have returned, for she busied herself in pouring their drinks.

As she did, King gloried in the sight of her. She had dressed with her usual care, though whether her gown was intended to knock his eyes out, or if she viewed it as a form of armour, he was uncertain. He only knew that he had seen no woman to match her in all his life. His work and his background being what it was, he was rarely if ever in the company of women who could be considered ladies in the strict sense of the word.

Mrs Adamson was a lady.

It was in the way she poured the wine, in every graceful movement, in the way she spoke and walked, even in the clarity of her skin, which glowed with the kind of health rarely seen in the places King had known all his life.

He told himself what he was feeling was the same gnawing hunger he had felt upon viewing the rubies, simply the desire to possess her, to have her for his own and to have the world know she belonged to him, with him, but he knew it wasn’t entirely true. Certainly, that was there, an undercurrent he could not entirely deny, but the truth was that she fascinated him, and he wanted to know everything about her, a need that was so unsettling he felt suddenly as if his skin was too tight, as if the clothes he wore chafed at him.

For he was exquisitely aware of one thing. No one would ever own this woman. If she came to him, she’d come willingly and stay only if she wished to. Her intelligence and independence, her stubbornness and her pride shone as bright as her beauty, perhaps brighter still, and King hardly knew which quality it was that struck him the hardest, only that the combination was more than he could endure.

She crossed the room, holding their glasses, and he discovered himself surprised and glad that, like him, she did not wear gloves, as fashion dictated. As she passed him his glass, he ensured his fingers brushed hers, and a thrill of sensation darted through him, as bright and electric as a lightning strike. That she felt it too, he was certain, though she did not react, but the colour in her cheeks turned from a soft pink to a darker shade and she avoided his eyes for a moment.

“Have you passed an enjoyable day, Mr King?” she asked him, settling herself elegantly on the settee opposite his.

“Enjoyable,” he repeated, considering this. “I am uncertain that is the correct word. I read for a little this morning, I suppose, which is a luxury I am rarely afforded, and that was enjoyable. As for the rest, it was… entertaining and aggravating at turns.”

“You have been visiting old friends, perhaps?” she suggested, her gaze holding his, her attention fixed upon him.

“Old friends?” he repeated, wondering if she had been listening to gossip. It would hardly be surprising in a place like this where one could not sneeze without the entire town speculating on whether you’d caught a cold or were about to succumb to influenza.

“Did you not say you were here visiting friends?” she asked, all innocence.

“No,” he replied, taking a sip of his wine, which was French, pleasantly chilled, and of a quality he had come to expect. “I did not.”

She smiled then, a pleased cat like smile that showed even white teeth. “My mistake. Why are you here, then? Little Valentine is a summer resort for those who do not live here year-round. It is an odd place to visit when the weather turns and the place becomes increasingly inaccessible, is it not? I hope you do not mind my asking such an impertinent question.”

“I don’t mind you asking,” he replied, returning her smile with one of his own, a panther showing a pretty house cat just how wide his jaws could stretch.

“But you will not tell me,” she replied with a sigh. “How very provoking you are.”

“Oh, come now, Mrs Adamson. I feel quite certain there are plenty of folk around willing to give you a dozen reasons why Jasper King is in town, none of them very complimentary.”