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“And I care about what your staff thinks because I do not wish to be thought of as a trollop.”
“A trollop,” he repeated flatly. “You know… many men have mistresses. It’s not such a terrible thing to be. It’s even considered respectable in certain circles—”
Her eyes flashed with a fire that surprised him. “You may tell yourself whatever makes you feel better about your abuse of power. That doesn’t make it any better for me or how others might see me. It’s perfectly respectable and even expected for men to indulge in their hedonistic natures, but not women.” She softened her voice a little. “Please treat me with a modicum of respect? At least in this one matter?”
He patted the spot on the bed next to him. “Come here.”
She sat, hesitantly, and he cupped her chin, not from any need to force her to look at him, but because he enjoyed touching her. She leaned into him, and encouraged by her response, he stroked her cheek with his thumb.
“You are right. I am a hedonist and enjoy it thoroughly. But you are also right that I should respect you. You are no trollop. You are a lady, however poor in means, but a lady nonetheless, and I shall endeavor to treat you as such when not in bed.”
Her brows knitted in puzzlement. “And in bed?”
“Liking pleasure does not make you a trollop. In bed, you and I do what we like, act as we like, enjoy one another without shame. What do you think of that?” It was oddly one of the more honest conversations he’d had with a woman, and it felt rather freeing to discuss the matter so forthrightly.
“I… I think that would work.”
“Good. Now return to your room and take a hot bath. Soak as long as you like, then join me for breakfast.”
“I really should check on my aunt.”
“Oh, yes, of course. Do as you will.” He shooed her away and it was only when he sat alone in his bed, still aroused, that he smiled ruefully and shook his head. He’d had every intention of making love to her again when he’d urged her to sit on his bed, but then he’d found he’d focused on their conversation more and lost track of his own plans to seduce her. Then he’d worried about her concerns. How odd…
He rose from his bed, stretched, and retrieved another robe from his armoire before he rang for his valet, Jordan Lee, to help him dress. Lee had come with him from London. Proper help was worth its weight in gold, and he was damned if he’d stay in a place like this without a proper valet. Besides, he and Lee were of a similar age and similar nature, which made for a good match in master and servant. An older valet might have tried to act as Arthur’s conscience, and he had no desire to be lectured to every morning.
The valet greeted him with a smile as he entered. “Good morning, my lord.” Draped over his arm lay a clean white shirt, newly repaired with a bit of needle and thread. Lee could sew better than half the tailors in London.
“Morning, Lee.” He allowed his valet to dress him. As the man was finishing, Arthur cleared his throat. “I need your help with something of an intimate and delicate nature.”
“I will help in whatever way I can, my lord.”
“Good. I have taken Miss Matthews as my mistress for the next few weeks. She’s a sweet girl, and I do not wish ill things to be said of her once the staff learns about our arrangement. As I understand, the staff like her and I do not wish for that to change just because I’m a heartless rake.”
“The staff do adore her,” Lee said honestly. “They talked at dinner last evening about how they wished your great-uncle had been able to take better care of the cottage so that she and her aunt wouldn’t suffer.” Lee looked away as if realizing he’d said too much.
“Did they say why he didn’t?” Arthur asked, his tone quiet. It had been plaguing him, this worry about his great-uncle’s carelessness with the estate.
“Er… as I understand it, the late earl was beginning to… er… lose his sense of self at times. He was growing forgetful. Miss Matthew’s father had always handled so much of the estate’s affairs. When he passed away, your great-uncle was at loss, and as he aged it grew worse. I don’t think he was quite aware of how dire the situation at Meadow Cross had become, and the ladies themselves were too embarrassed to ask for help.”
“Ahh…” Arthur felt a strange twinge of guilt in his chest, thinking of old Bernard puttering around the house, lost and forgetful. No wonder he’d clung to Matilda and Florence for company.
“Are you… upset… my lord? The staff were only… talking. They are fiercely loyal to this house and protective of Miss Matthews and Miss Wells.”
“I’m not angry, Lee. Be honest with me. Now, will you champion the girl if anyone speaks ill of her?”
His valet nodded.
“Good. And you may tell the staff during the next meal that you heard directly from me that I will be working on repairs the cottage. It is why Miss Matthews and her aunt will be our guests for the holidays.”
“I will, my lord,” Lee assured him as he finished with Arthur’s sleeve. “Is it true that the women are still to be… evicted?”
“Tell them no for now. I haven’t decided yet what I wish to do.” Arthur didn’t want his staff poisoning his food for being a heartless bastard.
“I will spread word to the staff.”
“Good.” Arthur retrieved his favorite pocket watch from a box, checked the time, and wound it before he slipped it into his waistcoat. Then he proceeded to the dining area downstairs, where he found breakfast waiting for him. He ate alone, reading a copy of theMorning Postand was finishing when Matilda appeared in another old green gown that looked thin enough to blow apart in a stiff breeze.
“Ahh, there you are. Was your bath nice?” he asked.
