Page 2 of Love and the Shameless Lady

At least they weren’t burned, which they would have been if Sally hadn’t prompted her. Yet another reason why Daisy shouldn’t dwell on handsome but boring men. The real reason, though—the most important one—was that if she let her thoughts wander in that direction, she might consider bedding one of them again.

No, she wasn’t that much of a fool. Once was enough.

“Haven’t really tried, have you?”

Daisy started. “Tried . . .?” She bloody well had tried, and . . . Oh, Sally was still talking about rock buns. “Yes, I did my best to pry the recipe from my brother’s cook, but she says she’s never written it down. She won’t want me in her kitchen watching her make them.”

“Tell her she has no choice,” Sally said. “If I was gentry-born, it would be do as I say, or else.”

“I daresay, but she’s not my cook, and she’s been with the family for eons, so I couldn’t sack her even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. We’ll find a recipe elsewhere, or we’ll adjust yours until we get them just right.” Nothing like a nice, safe conversation about food to take one’s mind off a man.

How could she be interested in men after what she’d gone through? It made no sense at all, and yet she kept on noticing them—their teasing grins, their powerful arms and thighs, their tight arses—and imagining how their cocks would look when aroused . . .

She must be mad, but she couldn’t help it.

“He’s acquainted with Mr. Bennett,” Sally said. “Staying there, not here, so you don’t have to worry that he’ll try tiptoeing to your bedchamber at midnight.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Daisy scoffed.

“The way he’s eyeing you, maybe you should be,” Sally said.

“Look, but don’t touch.”

Sir Julian Kerr raised a hand of welcome to the older man who’d just walked into the Diving Duck. “Mr. Bennett! I hoped you would find time for a tankard of ale. Writing poetry is all very well, but one must have one’s recreation, too.”

“No doubt, Sir Julian, but don’t turn my warning aside.” Mr. Bennett, the retired smuggler in his fifties who was Julian’s contact on his current mission, settled himself in the chair next to him. “Just because she’s in the kitchen doesn’t mean she’s available.”

Julian hadn’t the slightest intention of doing more than looking, but he couldn’t resist teasing a little. “Which, the redhead or the dark one?”

“Neither.” Bennett called for a heavy-wet. “The redhead is the landlord’s sister, and although she’s lifted her skirt in the past—her daughter being proof of that—she’s all set to marry a local lad now. The dark-haired girl, at whom you continue to stare with your mouth a-cock, keeps a knife and a loaded gun in her chamber. Not only that, if she should happen to screech, the entire household will rise up to defend her.”

“Arousing my curiosity is not the best way to discourage me,” Julian said.

Bennett went on as if Julian hadn’t spoken. “If you should happen to escape her fierce protectors, I would advise you to quit the country in a hurry. The last man who did so happened to die anyway, but at least he had a chance at survival.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Julian said, his curiosity growing.

The pretty redhead arrived with a tankard and a saucy grin. Julian wondered what the dark-haired girl’s smile was like. This mission, like most of them, was likely to prove tedious at best and distressing at worst, so why not ponder something more pleasant?

The door to the inn banged open, and a little girl ran in. “Mum! Mum!” Tears ran down her face. “Belch can’t walk no more.”

“What now?” the redhead said. “I swear, that dog is ten pecks of trouble and no use at all.”

The dark-haired woman came out of the kitchen. “What’s wrong with him, Jenny-love?”

“He can’t walk!” The child led the dark woman out the door, while the redhead returned to the kitchen. Julian reached the window just in time to see the woman squatting in the dusty yard beside a spotted mutt. He recognized it as the three-legged dog he’d seen basking in the inn yard earlier. A friendly little creature; all that remained of one of his forelegs was a stump.

The woman said something to the little girl, who raced back through on the way to the kitchen. “Mum, I need the tweezers and a strip of rag. And some brandy!”

Brandy? Curiosity, spiced with a touch of libido, took firm hold, and Julian strolled outdoors to assuage it.

The object of his interest now sat on the paving stones in the slanting light of the early evening sun. She caressed the creature with one hand whilst attempting to examine one of its hind feet. Every time she touched the pad, the dog flinched and evaded her grasp. “Blasted mutt.”

“Allow me.” Julian sat on the dusty ground near the mutt’s head.

The woman’s eyes met his, cool and unfriendly. “He may bite.”

Julian smiled his unconcern. She didn’t return the smile, simply lifting a shoulder in a graceful, indifferent shrug. He let the dog get accustomed to his presence before attempting to touch it, then took over stroking it whilst holding it still with the other hand.