Seven Minutes in Heaven(48)
Ward watched her leave the room, an unwilling grin on his face.
Ladies—that is to say, true ladies, with birth and titles and the rest of it—were tiresome; all the humor and life was bred out of them by the time they reached the age of twenty. Eugenia, on the other hand, was funny and wry, indisputably brave and intelligent—and wickedly sensual as well.
He prowled behind her, riveted from head to toe.
If she granted him only seven minutes, he wanted every one of them. If he could lure her to his bedchamber, seven minutes would turn into seven days.
Just as Eugenia was about to leave the front door of the inn, he caught her waist and spun her to face him.
She let out a sound between a squeak and a gasp, tipped back her head and gazed at him from under those lovely, curling lashes of hers. “Mr. Reeve,” she said. “Was there something I could help you with?”
“Yes,” he said tightly, pulling her against him.
Her eyes closed as their bodies came together, fitting like two spoons.
“Give me seven minutes,” he breathed. Her mouth opened, her tongue met his, and lust shot up his spine. She tasted like fresh apples and spice and Eugenia.
“Seven minutes,” he repeated hoarsely, when he could speak again. “Please.”
Her wide, gleaming smile made his pulse race even faster. “Seven minutes? I deserve more than that, Ward.” She leaned forward and put a finger on his lips, stopping his offer to turn seven into seventy. “No.”
Denial was as heady as a kiss. His blood was pounding a litany that went something like, Mine, mine, mine.
She turned her head with a flip that made her hair glow in the waning daylight like strands of fire, and walked outside with a swing in her hips that was enough to bring a man to his knees.
Chapter Eighteen
The private drive leading to Fawkes House was almost a mile long, and if Ward’s sumptuous traveling coach hadn’t already convinced Eugenia, his estate would have: he was as rich as Croesus.
As rich as she, quite possibly.
It was an interesting thought. She was used to suitors who had an eye to her fortune. But, of course, Ward was no suitor; he was a client.
Client or no, as they entered the marbled entry hall, she half expected Ward to sweep her off her feet and carry her straight upstairs.
But Ruby and Clothilde were just behind them; the second carriage had caught up and followed them closely the last few miles. So decorum was maintained.
Ward introduced his butler, Gumwater, a man with extraordinary eyebrows that jerked up and down like furry caterpillars. He immediately sent a footman to escort Clothilde to Eugenia’s bedchamber, with her trunk to follow.
“I would like to introduce you to the children,” Ward said to Eugenia. “Shall we accompany Ruby to the nursery?”
The nursery was a large, pleasant chamber with tall windows. It had rained sometime earlier; the ivy that framed the windows held glistening drops caught in the warm glow of lamps set round the room.
Eugenia’s attention went directly to the little girl across the room. She wore a dingy-looking black veil and stood on an overturned chamber pot, one arm flung out in fine declamatory style. Her audience was a cross-legged boy, his back to them.
As they entered, Lizzie stopped in mid-sentence, and Otis twisted around to look before politely standing.
“Down from the chamber pot, Lizzie,” Ward said. “I hope to God it was empty when you converted it to a stage?”
“Of course it was!” she said, hopping down.
“I’d like to introduce both of you to Mrs. Snowe,” Ward said. “She has kindly agreed to stay for a few days until we can arrange for a new governess.”
Eugenia smiled at them. “How nice to meet you. Miss Darcy. Lord Darcy.”
Otis jerked a bow and mumbled something. Lizzie didn’t curtsy, but proclaimed from behind her veil that she was positively enchanted. Clearly, there was a great deal to be done before the children could be introduced to society.
“This is Ruby, who will be your nursery maid until a governess joins us,” Ward added.
Ruby crossed the room, smiling with the brisk kindness that made her such an excellent housemaid for Snowe’s. “Do you ever remove that veil, Miss Lizzie?”
“Not often,” Lizzie said.
“As long as you wash your face and behind your ears, I suppose it’ll be all right,” Ruby said. “But if you don’t mind, I would like to give it a good wash tonight after you’re in bed.”
Lizzie didn’t seem to mind.
“And you, Lord Darcy, what have you got there?” Ruby asked.
“My rat, Jarvis,” Otis reported, sitting back down on the floor. At this, Eugenia fell back a step, instinctively grabbing Ward’s arm.