tea with added vigor. “Strong ones that can run all night.”
Lord Gardiner blotted at the tea on his fawn inexpressibles. “I’m certain we can find just what you’re looking for.”
Lady Moira was statuesque, Junoesque, Reubenesque—one escargot away from plump. She was also one escapade away from being cut from polite society and even closer to drowning in River Tick. She couldn’t afford a coach and four. She couldn’t afford a bag of oats. And she definitely couldn’t afford to let Ross Montclaire, Lord Gardiner, slip through her fleshy fingers. The earl was said to be on the lookout for a bride. With his reputation, no milk-and-water miss would suit him, not like a mature woman who could match his passion, yet still bear him sons. Stranger things had happened than a well-breeched young nobleman falling for a well-formed young widow’s lush charms. He might just succumb. If not, he was known to be generous to his ladyloves. She might stave off her creditors a bit longer; she might even put off forever her acceptance of that rich old satyr with damp lips and clammy hands. She much preferred a lusty young centaur with deep pockets. Oh, yes, Moira Campbell was eager to please his lordship.
*
“Good evening, my lord, my lady.” The earl’s message to the house had stated very clearly that he was bringing a lady; Annalise was not impressed that he was associating with a higher class of doxie, although she did wonder if his choice reflected their last conversation.
The housekeeper curtsied deferentially as she took the woman’s wrap. This blowzy female may be a lady, but she was certainly no better than she ought to be, with her black crepe gown cut down to there. The widow’s vibrant coloring looked spectacular in black, Annalise thought sourly, looking at her own hanging black bombazine with disgust. She might look like the hag she meant to imitate, but at least she was decently covered. “You must be chilled, my lady, it’s such a damp, cold night. There’s a nice fire in the small parlor. And, my lord, I think I made a good find in some excellent Burgundy. I’ll need your opinion, of course, before purchasing the case. If you’ll come this way?”
The parlor was snug; the Burgundy was superb. The earl had two glasses finished and half Lady Campbell’s buttons undone when he heard a scratching at the door.
“Yes? What is it, Mrs. Lee?”
“I’m sorry, Lord Gardiner,” she said from the doorway, her eyes carefully averted, “but Robbie thinks there might be a swelling in one of the horses’ forelegs.”
“Blast!” But he went to check his precious cattle.
“Would you care to wait upstairs, my lady? Perhaps you’d enjoy a relaxing bath while his lordship is busy with the horses? These things can take awhile, as I am sure you know. I can have hot water upstairs before you can say Jack Rabbit.” When Gard came back, complaining that he found no swelling and no stableman, either, Annalise was quick to tell him that Rob must have gone to the livery stable to fetch ingredients for a poultice. “You know he would not take a chance with the horses. Oh, and Lady Campbell is having a bath.”
She only raised her pointed chin a little, as if to say this was part of her tidy housekeeping. He nodded curtly and went to stand by the fire, cold again. He welcomed the glass of wine Annie put in his hand.
Annalise ran upstairs to help Lady Campbell with her bath, downstairs to tell the earl just a few minutes more and pour him another glass of Burgundy. Upstairs, downstairs. “Will that be all, my lord?”
“Yes, thank God. Ah, thank you, Annie. I’ll see to the lady now.”
Annalise’s lip curled. He’d see her, all right. The trull was lazing in the tub surrounded by bubbles, waiting for Lord Gardiner to watch her leave the water, like Venus rising from the sea. Or a fat pink sow shaking off a puddle. Annalise went back to her own rooms. Gard flew up the stairs.
Now, there was a sight that
Lord Gardiner blotted at the tea on his fawn inexpressibles. “I’m certain we can find just what you’re looking for.”
Lady Moira was statuesque, Junoesque, Reubenesque—one escargot away from plump. She was also one escapade away from being cut from polite society and even closer to drowning in River Tick. She couldn’t afford a coach and four. She couldn’t afford a bag of oats. And she definitely couldn’t afford to let Ross Montclaire, Lord Gardiner, slip through her fleshy fingers. The earl was said to be on the lookout for a bride. With his reputation, no milk-and-water miss would suit him, not like a mature woman who could match his passion, yet still bear him sons. Stranger things had happened than a well-breeched young nobleman falling for a well-formed young widow’s lush charms. He might just succumb. If not, he was known to be generous to his ladyloves. She might stave off her creditors a bit longer; she might even put off forever her acceptance of that rich old satyr with damp lips and clammy hands. She much preferred a lusty young centaur with deep pockets. Oh, yes, Moira Campbell was eager to please his lordship.
*
“Good evening, my lord, my lady.” The earl’s message to the house had stated very clearly that he was bringing a lady; Annalise was not impressed that he was associating with a higher class of doxie, although she did wonder if his choice reflected their last conversation.
The housekeeper curtsied deferentially as she took the woman’s wrap. This blowzy female may be a lady, but she was certainly no better than she ought to be, with her black crepe gown cut down to there. The widow’s vibrant coloring looked spectacular in black, Annalise thought sourly, looking at her own hanging black bombazine with disgust. She might look like the hag she meant to imitate, but at least she was decently covered. “You must be chilled, my lady, it’s such a damp, cold night. There’s a nice fire in the small parlor. And, my lord, I think I made a good find in some excellent Burgundy. I’ll need your opinion, of course, before purchasing the case. If you’ll come this way?”
The parlor was snug; the Burgundy was superb. The earl had two glasses finished and half Lady Campbell’s buttons undone when he heard a scratching at the door.
“Yes? What is it, Mrs. Lee?”
“I’m sorry, Lord Gardiner,” she said from the doorway, her eyes carefully averted, “but Robbie thinks there might be a swelling in one of the horses’ forelegs.”
“Blast!” But he went to check his precious cattle.
“Would you care to wait upstairs, my lady? Perhaps you’d enjoy a relaxing bath while his lordship is busy with the horses? These things can take awhile, as I am sure you know. I can have hot water upstairs before you can say Jack Rabbit.” When Gard came back, complaining that he found no swelling and no stableman, either, Annalise was quick to tell him that Rob must have gone to the livery stable to fetch ingredients for a poultice. “You know he would not take a chance with the horses. Oh, and Lady Campbell is having a bath.”
She only raised her pointed chin a little, as if to say this was part of her tidy housekeeping. He nodded curtly and went to stand by the fire, cold again. He welcomed the glass of wine Annie put in his hand.
Annalise ran upstairs to help Lady Campbell with her bath, downstairs to tell the earl just a few minutes more and pour him another glass of Burgundy. Upstairs, downstairs. “Will that be all, my lord?”
“Yes, thank God. Ah, thank you, Annie. I’ll see to the lady now.”
Annalise’s lip curled. He’d see her, all right. The trull was lazing in the tub surrounded by bubbles, waiting for Lord Gardiner to watch her leave the water, like Venus rising from the sea. Or a fat pink sow shaking off a puddle. Annalise went back to her own rooms. Gard flew up the stairs.
Now, there was a sight that
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