Page 45 of One Night with a Rake

“Irritate isn’t quite right either. It’s like you’re…a burr under my saddle.”

“Well, what woman doesn’t live to hear that?”

He exhaled noisily. “You don’t understand. When you have a burr under your saddle, you have to stop and fix it.” He caught her with his intense gaze and for the life of her, she couldn’t look away this time. “Don’t you see? You make me…Georgette, you make me want to stop what I’m doing and fix things. You make me want to change.”

She blinked in surprise. That was possibly the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her. She swallowed hard.

“What are you doing that you ought to stop?”

He leaned toward her. “Trying to seduce you.”

“Oh.” She felt herself being drawn to him and found not a particle of will to stop it. “Perhaps we could begin with other things about you that need changing first.”

His smile lit up that dimple in his cheek again. “Perhaps we could.”

When his lips met hers, all the frustrations of the evening melted. She melted. The whole world slipped away in the liquid warmth of Nathaniel Colton’s kiss.

There was no pending match with the Duke of Cambridge to fret over. No residual discomfort from her conversation with that smarmy Lord Fishwick.

There was only this moment, this man, this mingling of souls.

Until she realized vaguely that the carriage had come to a stop and someone was pounding on the door.

“Oh, my lady!” Mercy cried.

Georgette leaned across Nathaniel and peered out through the slit in the curtains on his side of the carriage. By the light of the gas lamp near Yorkingham House’s front door, she could see that Mercy’s face was wet with tears and her nose was running.

“Thank God, ye’re home.” Mercy clung to the carriage handle but didn’t wrench the door open.

“Come away from there, girl.” Mr. Humphrey, usually the picture of decorum, came bolting out of the big double doors and bounding to the street with unaccustomed speed. “You know better than to be seen in front of the house. What are you troubling my lady about?”

“It’s all right, Mr. Humphrey,” Georgette said as Nathaniel handed her down from the carriage.

“This note…it came whilst ye were gone.” Mercy waved a bit of foolscap as if it were a white flag. “Oh, they’ve gone and done it. And there ain’t no comin’ back from this.”

“Please, Mercy, not on the street,” Georgette said. Who knew if the Duke of Cambridge had other watchers posted besides Lord Winthrop? “Besides, I can’t very well read it here. Come inside.”

Mr. Humphrey gave a surprised sniff when Georgette put her arm around Mercy’s shaking shoulders, but wisely refrained from comment. Georgette paused in the foyer long enough to allow the steward to divest her of her cape before shepherding Mercy into the parlor. Nathaniel lit the wall sconces and the room blazed with light.

“You’re shaking like a leaf,” Georgette said. “Here, Mercy, have a seat.”

Mr. Humphrey had turned their outer garments over to a waiting valet and followed them into the parlor. “Begging your pardon, milady, but it’s highly inappropriate for one of the staff to be seated in your presence.”

“Would it be more appropriate to allow Mercy to collapse on the floor? Sit,” she ordered. Mercy did. Georgette ignored the fact that her maid cast a sly smile toward the steward. It was merely Mercy’s way to tweak those in authority, and besides, her expression returned to one of abject misery quickly enough. “Please bring us some tea, if you would, Mr. Humphrey.”

Once he was gone, Georgette studied the note. “It’s for you, Lord Nathaniel. The seal is broken.”

Mercy swiped her nose on her sleeve and had the grace to look chagrined. “I could see it was from Mrs. Throckmorten, and I ain’t heard from Vesta for a couple days. I thought she mighta gotten herself into a spot of trouble, so I figured if I could sort it out without troublin’ the pair of ye, well…but I can’t sort this out.” She erupted into fresh sobs.

Georgette pulled the lace handkerchief from her own sleeve and handed it to her maid.

“What’s this about, Mercy?” Nate asked.

“They killed her.”

“Killed who?” Georgette tore open the much folded foolscap and ran her gaze over Mrs. Throckmorten’s neat script. Unfortunately, Mercy’s tears were making Georgette’s vision cloud up as well. No one ever wept alone in her presence, and she found she couldn’t read the note.

“I think that was meant for me,” Nate said as he removed it from her grasp with gentleness. “I am Mrs. Throckmorten’s employer, after all.”