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Chapter 9

Verity

My Dear Lady Verity,

Some men need to be told the way to your heart.

Yours Truly,

Lady Wyndam

Founding Widow of the Widows’ League

“Why is your head in your hands like that?” Gawking at the expanse of shoulders she had been clutching earlier in the day, Verity verily snapped out her question. Unintentionally. It was just—drat—it was all this pent up emotion. Which she hated. Alas, her hatred only added more undesirable emotions to the mix. She felt like a dog chasing her own tail.

“What?” he asked almost in a haze.

Oh. This was not good. He was sitting unnaturally still, eyes everted, not really meeting her gaze. Those deep, long, ragged breaths. And him swallowing a lump of clay down his throat? Drat. The man looked guilty as sin. He looked as edible as sin, as well. Should sin be edible…and if it were…it would be a trifle—no, a syllabub. Wait. It would definitely be a Floating Island. Mmm…yes, that’s exactly what he was. A Floating Island she wanted to eat up in all the different ways she’d learned of from The One With the Wanton Woman, because lord knows she didn’t learn anything from her marriage.

But he looked so guilty.

Which was really quite beyond irritating. If anyone should be irritated, it should be her. Her life was the one spiralling out of control. She was about to lose her home. She needed to find a man—a passive man—to marry. To protect her for the foreseeable future. Certainly she didn’t need him. Not some stablehand to dally about with. With everything unraveling around her, she just wanted to tie two threads together. Any two threads at all. Make something work. Have control over something. But something was right in front of her.

“Why do you look so guilty?” She didn’t even try to hide her impatience this time.

“It’s just—” He stalled by dragging his hands through his hair and dropping his chin to his chest, thus making him look only guiltier.

Oh no. She was not about to give this to him.

“You feel guilty about earlier?”

“Yes.” Still, he didn’t meet her eyes.

“Well, you don’t get to feel guilty about it.”

He paused for but a moment, then he pushed his legs out and leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing. “Why’s that?”

“If anyone should feel guilty, it should be me.”

“How’s that?”

“I’m your employer—”

“About that—”

“And, given our positions, I took advantage of you.”

He snorted. “I would definitely not say that you took advantage of me.”

“Good.”

“If anything I was taking advantage of you. You were…” But he seemed to trail off, as if he had said too much about something she didn’t understand.

“You certainly did nothing of the sort. I’m a widow.”

“Yes…” His eyes scanned her body as if it weren’t covered in an emerald green gown. And a corset. And a shift. And stockings. She could practically feel his eyes trail up her leg—

She cleared her throat. “Then it’s settled. And I will be not taking advantage of you again.”