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Before Letty could answer, the men entered the drawing room. At dinner, the duke looked like he had been poured into his coat, with nary a wrinkle to be seen, and Sir Phineas’s cravat had been tied in a lovely mathematical. Now, his cravat was a limp knot, and the duke’s waistcoat was missing a button.
They must have enjoyed themselves well, and not with brandy. Letty knew the signs of men in love, and these men had caught it hard. It would never do to draw attention to their pastimes. She respected Anne’s wish for discretion too much to say anything in front of her.
“What on earth do you think you’re about, Hawthorne?” Anne snapped. “Do you wish the whole household to guess at your endeavors?”
Letty smothered a grin into her teacup.
Hawthorne scowled. “We can do as we wish in the privacy of our own house.”
“It isn’t just our house. It never was, and it never can be. Not when dozens of others live here, and gossip about us to the neighbours. There is privacy enough in the bedchamber.”
His eyes could have sparked a fire. “The bedchamber that you dismantled prior to my arrival? I rather thought you were encouraging me to seek respite outside the traditional arena.”
“Youcannotbe so careless. Not when we have a reputation to uphold.”
“Perhaps I care more about my reputation than you may think.”
“You don’t act like it, giving anyone leave to think what they will about your pastimes.”
“Ah, but you have never understood, Your Grace. Maybe that’s exactly the reputation worth fighting for.” Hawthorne stalked out of the room, with Sir Phineas following close behind.
Letty took in Anne’s pale face and pressed lips and decided to try to lessen the tension. “Perhaps we should retire to your chambers. For dessert.”
Anne let out a shaky breath and leaned her head on her shoulder. Letty shifted and wrapped her arm around her waist. The long ruby-studded loops of Anne’s necklace dug into Letty’s arm, and her own dress constricted her from moving as much as she would like, but it didn’t matter. All that she cared about was having this woman in her arms, so close that she could smell her lavender perfume.
“We did miss dessert in my haste to leave the table, didn’t we? I believe Cook had prepared a strawberry torte, which is one of my favorites. I could ring for it now—”
“No, Anne,” she said gently. “Youare the dessert.” She grinned as she saw the startled realization bloom in Anne’s eyes.
“I am the dessert.” She sat with it for a moment, then her eyes sparkled. “Yes. I do believe I am.”
?
The wonderful thing about one’s lover working in one’s house, Anne discovered, was that the opportunities were limitless. Letty arrived early most mornings and spent most of her days on the second floor with a congregation of her work crew and a smattering of footmen who seemed happy to shuck off their livery and powdered wigs to haul furniture around, instead of standing at the doors. Her work lasted well into the evenings, with Anne insisting on the carriage to be called to bring her back to Holborn if the hour grew too late.
For all that Letty was busy double-checking deliveries and arranging schedules and pitching in with plastering the walls, there was plenty of time for secret kisses and private rendezvous. The presence of the estate’s duchess typically cleared any room Anne entered, and when it didn’t, it was easy to have a maid bring Lettyto her sitting room or her parlor. Soon, Anne had more memories than she could count of being pressed up against a bookshelf in the library, and bent over her desk panting Letty’s name while she slipped a hand up her skirts, and of straddling Letty’s lap while being pleasured in the morning room.
She flushed as she remembered how censorious she had been of Hawthorne and Sir Phineas doing the exact same thing in the dining room, when she was so easily persuaded by Letty’s clever fingers and talented mouth to be loved wherever she could find the space or time.
Anne curled up against Letty, seeking her warmth beneath the covers after having pulled her away for an afternoon meeting that had ended in the guest bedchamber. She drew one leg over Letty’s hip and pillowed her head on her shoulder. There was nothing quite so comforting as a warm woman on a cold day.
She still couldn’t convince Letty to stay the night with her at Hawthorne House, but sometimes she thought these afternoon pleasures were just as nice.
Anne sighed.
Letty kissed her forehead. “What is on your mind?”
“Lovemaking has been the most marvelous way to use up all this excess energy I have these days,” she said. “It feels like every moment that I am not with you, I am so angry. I am growing tired of it.”
With Letty, there was always a sense of peace. Anne craved that comfort, that steady security. Whether they were talking or working together or in bed, Letty had proved over and over that she was reliable.
Letty twirled a lock of Anne’s hair around her finger. “Are you still angry about Hawthorne?” she asked.
“Yes,” Anne admitted. It was no secret, after all. “He can be so provoking. He knows how best to rile me.”
It was one thing to see Hawthorne from across a crowded ballroom, and another to know he was somewhere in her own house. Dining with him every night was rustling up bittersweet memories of the way things had once been.
“He told me when he wanted to move in that he was extending an olive branch. I flung it in his face.” Anne hesitated. “I wonder if perhaps it’s time that I should extend it back to him.”
