Lusty Letters: A Fun and Steamy Historical Regency (Mistress in the Making Book 2), стр. 28
There. That should prove suitably penitent (for lying about having something else to do tonight) as he was, in essence, giving her free rein. Pray God, whatever she chose was not his undoing.
I hope you enjoy yourself this evening, that your commitment is a pleasant one.
Pertaining to the morrow, I thank you for the generous offer but I am quite content to entertain you here. Mrs. Samuels is a fabulous cook; would you care to join me for dinner? What time may I look for you?
When she’d no doubt want to “compose lines” together, whether he arrived before dinner or after. The woman already tied his brain in knots, no need to hand her his tongue on a platter.
Especially where there was nothing to distract them save each other. An outing would provide a buffer. When he brought her home and they were alone, that would be the time to rush his fences and rush her up to bed.
Pen in hand, doubts hovering, he wrote:
Nay. I insist. It’s beyond selfish of me to keep you stashed away.
Selfish, mayhap but smart.
Come now. Name your pleasure… A drive in Hyde Park? Perhaps a picnic?
Hell. With either, he’d be expected to chat. To converse. To reveal himself as a word-stumbling, bumbling idiot and that wouldn’t do. Not with her. Never with her.
Gripping the pen tighter, he attempted to recover.
A drive in Hyde Park? Perhaps a picnic? Strike that. I hear thunder rumbling near—
He didn’t.
so the ground will likely be too wet for an agreeable outing.
If it wasn’t, he’d spit from here to Sussex to ensure that it was.
Damn. Where could he take her? An outing where she’d have a chance to sparkle and shine and he could blend in and be unnoticeably mute? Where she could visit with someone other than his stammering self? Somewhere he could keep his bone box shut and just watch? Allow her presence to soothe his soul without vocalizing his inadequacies. Where he could simply sit and enjoy the enchanted bounty that was Thea?
Needing ideas better than his own, he rang for John and instructed him to bring up the latest round of invitations. Everyone knew the “reclusive and barbarian Lord Tremayne” wouldn’t attend, but his title ensured the blasted things kept pouring in.
When nothing remotely palatable presented itself—a ball was out of the question, even one where a man’s mistress might attend; he’d plant a facer on any bounder blighted enough to ask Thea to stand up with him—Daniel requested the morning papers he’d discarded earlier. There had to be something.
Ten minutes later, he’d settled on the theater.
A nice, relatively safe option. The performance would entertain so he didn’t have to. It’d be the carriage ride there and back and any intervals during. Did the theater even have rest intervals? He didn’t remember. Wasn’t sure he’d ever gone. But what did it matter?
Thea would love it and when they arrived back at her townhouse, he’d love her.
A bang-up solution all around. And if she started nattering about poetry in the carriage, he’d just kiss her quiet.
Daniel congratulated himself on his perfect plan.
He finished composing his missive and sent it off, feeling light in his chest. And heavy in his groin.
So it was with utter dismay that, shortly thereafter, he read her most unexpected response.
Nay. I do apologize for having to insist upon this, my lord, but I will not, I cannot attend the theater with you (no matter how much I might wish to).
Do you?
Do I what, my lord?
“Oh, for God’s sake.” This conducting a love affair through letters had blossomed from asinine into absurd.
L-l-l-love? Love affair?
Forget his tongue, his head tripped over the thought.
Choosing to shoo away the unpalatable concept by stuffing it deep, deep into a dark corner of his soul where time would surely snuff it out so it never warranted further contemplation, Daniel gripped the pen hard enough to strangle. He had to, in order to still the sudden trembling in his fingers.
Printed so heavily the nib poked through the page in two places, he wrote:
Do you wish to attend the theater with me tomorrow night?
If “Aye”, then why will you not agree? If “Nay”—
“If ‘Nay’, then I’ve half a mind to lock you into your b-bedchamber—and lock myself in there with you. Pun-punish us both.”
If “Nay”, then, for the love of God Almighty, woman, what would you like? What can I do for you?
And if, upon ordering John to deliver yet another missive, as daylight eased into dusk and limped straight into dark, Daniel salvaged his conscience by pressing an extra coin or two into his footman’s palm, well then, he could be forgiven.
John or Swift John? Hell, he’d seen them both so many times today, he was no longer certain who stayed at his residence and who resided at Thea’s.
“Owe you new shoes,” he muttered as the man grabbed the folded letter with a grin so wide, Daniel exerted real effort to avoid wiping it clear off his servant’s face—with his fist.
At least one of them was finding his new situation amusing.
Thea’s reply, when it came later that night, staggered him.
What can you do for me, you ask, astonishing me to the point my eyebrows ascend to my hairline?
Lest you forget, you spectacular man, you have already given me the world: A safe home, one that I’m not constantly defending against mice nor men. Plentiful food and wondrous hands to prepare it, so that my empty stomach no longer wakes me during the night.
You have given me so very much that I hesitate to trouble you for anything further.
Yet, you have requested