will accept a dinner invitation from a perfect stranger.”
Good God. With that sort of attitude … “You’re an American,” Tristan pointed out. “A cultured, educated American. She’ll put aside strict propriety out of sheer curiosity. Trust me.”
Gregory—predictably—shook his head and reached for the ledger. “I have to go over the inventory.”
“I’ll do it,” he countered, gaining his feet and heading for the door with the ledger in hand. He stopped, turned back, and tossed the pen to Gregory, adding, “Go buy yourself a good suit, then find a pretty skirt and smile at her. It will do wonders for your disposition.”
“So says the voice of experience?” Gregory called after him.
“The voice of considerable experience,” he corrected with a laugh as he headed out the door. He left it open behind him, figuring that if Gregory had to leave his desk to close it, he might actually take the advice and keep right on going. The man really was far too dedicated to his work; he made him feel guilty for enjoying life.
And enjoying life was the point of having spent a fortune to acquire a warehouse full of imported goods. Well, more accurately, enjoying Simone’s delight and gratitude when he showed it to her. As for when he’d actually manage to get her there …
He let himself into the warehouse and paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim light of the interior. Since Simone hadn’t agreed to meet him in the garden that night, he probably had at least another full day to wait, to prepare. Which was a good thing, he allowed, gazing over the crates and bundles; careful staging was so very important in any seduction. Almost as important as the sense of anticipation that drove the parties to it.
Tonight he’d see to setting a worthy stage so that he was free tomorrow to focus all of his efforts on making Simone breathless and bothered enough to willingly frolic with him on it. Chuckling and shaking his head, he wandered off into the maze of wooden boxes, trying to remember the last time he’d been so delighted by the mere prospect of an affair.
Chapter 6
Simone let Jasper choose his own pace and smiled in appreciation as he proudly cantered down the Ladies’ Mile. As always, heads turned as they passed the carriages. And as always, Simone pretended that she didn’t notice the way the women scowled, how they quickly turned to their companions to comment on her passing. Or, as she suspected, to express their outrage at her daring to make an appearance in the park reserved for the public display of the socially anointed, circumspect female.
Yeah, well, Simone silently countered, whether the prissy misses and stuffy matrons liked it or not, whether they approved or not, she was anointed, too. By royal decree and sanctioned by the College of Heraldry even. Not a single one of them could say that. No, they’d either been born on the right side of the right sheets by sheer dumb luck or managed to marry into the peerage by hook or by crook. And still, despite their rather shallow claim to importance, they practiced disdain as a high art.
Unless they need money, she amended as one of the women waved to her. Simone nodded in polite acknowledgment while silently scrambling to recall the woman’s name. No, it wasn’t Lady Dammit. Lady … Lady … Danlea! Three daughters, a son, and a dead husband who had gambled the family into poverty long before finally being considerate enough to take a bullet in the heart at a faro table.
Lady Danlea waved again, adding a bright smile this time. Simone worked up a smile of her own in return and silently sighed as the deportment lessons trudged dutifully through her brain. Strictly speaking, since Lady Danlea was the wife of a baron, dead though he was, she shouldn’t have initiated contact with the daughter of a duke. Waving and then calling her over was a clear and presumptive breach of the rules that were designed to keep everyone firmly in their social
Good God. With that sort of attitude … “You’re an American,” Tristan pointed out. “A cultured, educated American. She’ll put aside strict propriety out of sheer curiosity. Trust me.”
Gregory—predictably—shook his head and reached for the ledger. “I have to go over the inventory.”
“I’ll do it,” he countered, gaining his feet and heading for the door with the ledger in hand. He stopped, turned back, and tossed the pen to Gregory, adding, “Go buy yourself a good suit, then find a pretty skirt and smile at her. It will do wonders for your disposition.”
“So says the voice of experience?” Gregory called after him.
“The voice of considerable experience,” he corrected with a laugh as he headed out the door. He left it open behind him, figuring that if Gregory had to leave his desk to close it, he might actually take the advice and keep right on going. The man really was far too dedicated to his work; he made him feel guilty for enjoying life.
And enjoying life was the point of having spent a fortune to acquire a warehouse full of imported goods. Well, more accurately, enjoying Simone’s delight and gratitude when he showed it to her. As for when he’d actually manage to get her there …
He let himself into the warehouse and paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim light of the interior. Since Simone hadn’t agreed to meet him in the garden that night, he probably had at least another full day to wait, to prepare. Which was a good thing, he allowed, gazing over the crates and bundles; careful staging was so very important in any seduction. Almost as important as the sense of anticipation that drove the parties to it.
Tonight he’d see to setting a worthy stage so that he was free tomorrow to focus all of his efforts on making Simone breathless and bothered enough to willingly frolic with him on it. Chuckling and shaking his head, he wandered off into the maze of wooden boxes, trying to remember the last time he’d been so delighted by the mere prospect of an affair.
Chapter 6
Simone let Jasper choose his own pace and smiled in appreciation as he proudly cantered down the Ladies’ Mile. As always, heads turned as they passed the carriages. And as always, Simone pretended that she didn’t notice the way the women scowled, how they quickly turned to their companions to comment on her passing. Or, as she suspected, to express their outrage at her daring to make an appearance in the park reserved for the public display of the socially anointed, circumspect female.
Yeah, well, Simone silently countered, whether the prissy misses and stuffy matrons liked it or not, whether they approved or not, she was anointed, too. By royal decree and sanctioned by the College of Heraldry even. Not a single one of them could say that. No, they’d either been born on the right side of the right sheets by sheer dumb luck or managed to marry into the peerage by hook or by crook. And still, despite their rather shallow claim to importance, they practiced disdain as a high art.
Unless they need money, she amended as one of the women waved to her. Simone nodded in polite acknowledgment while silently scrambling to recall the woman’s name. No, it wasn’t Lady Dammit. Lady … Lady … Danlea! Three daughters, a son, and a dead husband who had gambled the family into poverty long before finally being considerate enough to take a bullet in the heart at a faro table.
Lady Danlea waved again, adding a bright smile this time. Simone worked up a smile of her own in return and silently sighed as the deportment lessons trudged dutifully through her brain. Strictly speaking, since Lady Danlea was the wife of a baron, dead though he was, she shouldn’t have initiated contact with the daughter of a duke. Waving and then calling her over was a clear and presumptive breach of the rules that were designed to keep everyone firmly in their social
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