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“That is none of your concern.” She shot him a withering stare. “And I shall thank you to keep a civil tongue.” Jerking the papers back into position, she proceeded to continue ignoring him.
He chuckled and dropped unceremoniously into the chair next to her, helping himself to several items from the serving dishes.
Mélisande signaled a servant to bring coffee and another place setting.
“Where’s Charlie?” David bit off a piece of toast. “Shouldn’t she be up by now?”
“After all the excitement last night? Still asleep, no doubt—as I’d like to be myself.” She sighed, snatching back the piece of bacon he’d purloined from her plate and giving him another glare.
He took a piece of unguarded toast instead. “Good. I doubt you’d wish her privy to this discussion anyway,” he muttered.
Mélisande dismissed the servants after they’d completed their task. Her staff knew to keep silent about David’s frequent, unscheduled visits, but she wasn’t willing to take unnecessary risks where they could be avoided. The subject they were about to discuss was extremely delicate, and the fewer ears that heard it, the better.
She continued to sift through the documents while her guest ate. A frown began to crease her brow. After digesting several more pages, she looked at him in wonderment. “How on earth did you manage to come up with this so quickly? I thought it would take at least a day or two.”
Grinning smugly, he took a bite of bacon. “If you must know, I made inquiries for my own purposes over a week ago.”
She slapped the papers down on the table. “Oh, David! Not another mistress? And you’re willing to give your love nest up for me? How very altruistic. Who is your new ladybird, if I may ask?” she inquired, raising a brow and sampling her poached egg.
David’s smile broadened, but he remained silent.
Mélisande rolled her eyes. “I’m sure the papers will get wind of it soon enough. I’ll just wait and see from whose window you tumble,” she said, poking fun at one of his more embarrassing past faux pas.
“There will be no climbing out of windows for me, nor any hardship suffered,” he responded. “I simply told my solicitor that I required two new residences instead of one.”
“David! What must the man think?”
“What people think of me is their concern, not mine. I believe this one”—he plucked a heavy vellum sheet out of the stack, checked it, and placed it on top—“will serve your purposes nicely.”
Quickly, she perused the information. It was unfurnished, which was fine, as she preferred to decorate according to her own tastes. The location was decent, too. Not too close, but not an unreasonable distance away. And most importantly, it was available immediately. She didn’t even blink at the exorbitant asking price.
“If you approve, then I shall bow to your wisdom,” she said, handing him back the document. “What about furnishings and the other items we discussed?”
“I’ve already sent my man to seek appropriate staff. If needs must, I can see if a few of those already in my employ might be willing to split their services. I’m already acquainted with them well enough to know they’re trustworthy, and the location is conveniently close, which is why I’m not so loath to give up the place as you might think.”
Her brow furrowed. She must have misheard him. “Are you implying that you already currently support a mistress in that part of town?”
Eyes alight with humor, David sat back and folded his arms.
“And yet you’ve been looking for a place to house another?”
His lips began to twitch.
“Ye gods!” she whispered, aghast. “So now your solicitor thinks you have not two but three mistresses?”
“Again, it matters not what he thinks. I’m unconcerned with his opinion of my character so long as he obeys my orders. I don’t pay him to worry about my moral rectitude. Now, as for the interior, can I assume you prefer a similar décor to this?” David asked, gesturing vaguely at the feminine surroundings.
“No,” she replied without hesitation. “I wish it to be more like Papa’s rooms back home. Not a hunter’s lodge, you understand—I don’t want gloom, but I don’t want it to look like Lady Whitby’s powder room, either.”
“In other words, a place where a man can be comfortable?”
“No, a place where I can be comfortable,” she said with a fond smile. “I used to love spending time in Papa’s rooms better than any other place in the house. In fact, I may redecorate this house as well,” she mused, eyeing the delicate pink-striped wainscoting, lacy curtains, and floral paintings. “Maman adored pink, but I find it a bit much, myself. How long do you think before it’ll be ready?”
“Not more than a few days, I expect. Eager to traipse down the primrose path, are we?” he jibed. “Patience is a virtue, but virtues aren’t something you’re overly concerned with these days, it seems.”
“Ah, the pot calls the kettle black.” Ignoring his sniping tone, she smiled sweetly as she bit into another piece of bacon.
“Yes, but this pot has been black for some time and knows it.” He chuckled. “The fact that the shiny copper kettle has suddenly decided to
