said, riding at his master’s side, the baskets containing their belongings bouncing against his horse’s rump.
Startled, Kit turned in his saddle to stare at his man. Bertie couldn’t have discovered his involvement in Lady Montmercy’s plot, not when Kit had taken such care to keep all covert. For all that was good about him Bertie had a tendency to talk. “Who?” he demanded.
Bertie’s smile was dazzling. Although short as men went he owned a face so handsome half of London’s wives were panting after him. The other half were also panting, or so Bertie claimed, their gasps elicited by the memory of his prowess between their thighs.
“Why, whoever it is that has you so heated,” his man replied, his bright blue eyes gleaming from beneath the tumble of dark hair upon his brow. “Have a care, Master Kit. If she catches one look of your face she’ll know every detail of your plan for her.”
Kit frowned. “What plan?”
“What, indeed,” Bertie scoffed. “Yesterday, you nigh on drove me mad picking over your clothing to find just the right attire. Now this morn, you’re sniffing up this train of ours like a leashed dog smelling a bitch in heat. You’re after a woman, of that there’s no doubt.”
“I vow, Bertie. I’ll have to dismiss you one of these days. You’re hopelessly impertinent.”
So empty a threat drew only a rude sound from Kit’s man. A lifetime’s worth of familiarity gave Bertie the confidence to speak so to his employer; the Babthorpes had been Graceton men almost as long as the old keep tower had existed. “If I’m impertinent, then you’re too eager and wholly inexperienced in this sort of hunting,” Bertie retorted.
That piqued Kit’s masculine pride not a little. “Hardly so,” he snapped at Bertie for thinking him an inept lover. “If I’m not as promiscuous as you I’ve seduced a woman or two before this day.”
“Nay,” Bertie laughed, “you only think you’ve seduced them. In truth they’ve had you. It’s just the way you are, Master Kit, too blind to know they’re setting their traps for you until you’ve been snared. Do you remember Mistress Bridget, the cobbler’s wife?”
Kit drew a swift, sharp breath. Remember her?! Breasts round and ripe as melons, hair the color of gold, lips as rich as Madeira. Even as a memory, Bridget could wake his body.
“How could I forget?” he asked, then banished Bridget’s image from his mind. She wasn’t the one upon whom he needed to focus. The lovely image of Mistress Blanchemain again formed before his inner eyes. Lust was a fine thing to feel this day.
Kit shot Bertie a chiding look. “By the by, if this is your example of a woman having me, then you’re proved wrong before you start. I saw Bridget before she even knew I existed. She was walking through the market at Saint Paul’s. It took me days to discover where she lived.”
A sly grin twisted Bertie’s finely made lips. “You’d have saved yourself all that time and effort if you’d returned to Saint Paul’s the next day at that same hour. She was there, waiting for you.”
Kit’s chin jerked up as he turned in the saddle to stare at his manservant. “How do you know that?” he demanded.
“You jest!” Bertie cried. “A woman like that doesn’t go unnoticed by any man. I went back the next day, hoping she’d be there, and there she was. Sweet Jesus knows I tried, but she was very definite. ‘Twas you and no other she wished to attract.”
“She told you that?” Kit gaped at him.
His servant shrugged. “Not as such, but there’re some things that need no words. Suffice it to say she was already at the hunt and you were her prey.”
The look Bertie bent on his master was that of the hoary, aged tutor upon his foundling student. “Now, if you wish to be the hunter, do as the shoemaker’s wife did. Appear to be disinterested, but make your presence known and felt. Oh, and I warn you, if your quarry glimpses even a flicker of
Startled, Kit turned in his saddle to stare at his man. Bertie couldn’t have discovered his involvement in Lady Montmercy’s plot, not when Kit had taken such care to keep all covert. For all that was good about him Bertie had a tendency to talk. “Who?” he demanded.
Bertie’s smile was dazzling. Although short as men went he owned a face so handsome half of London’s wives were panting after him. The other half were also panting, or so Bertie claimed, their gasps elicited by the memory of his prowess between their thighs.
“Why, whoever it is that has you so heated,” his man replied, his bright blue eyes gleaming from beneath the tumble of dark hair upon his brow. “Have a care, Master Kit. If she catches one look of your face she’ll know every detail of your plan for her.”
Kit frowned. “What plan?”
“What, indeed,” Bertie scoffed. “Yesterday, you nigh on drove me mad picking over your clothing to find just the right attire. Now this morn, you’re sniffing up this train of ours like a leashed dog smelling a bitch in heat. You’re after a woman, of that there’s no doubt.”
“I vow, Bertie. I’ll have to dismiss you one of these days. You’re hopelessly impertinent.”
So empty a threat drew only a rude sound from Kit’s man. A lifetime’s worth of familiarity gave Bertie the confidence to speak so to his employer; the Babthorpes had been Graceton men almost as long as the old keep tower had existed. “If I’m impertinent, then you’re too eager and wholly inexperienced in this sort of hunting,” Bertie retorted.
That piqued Kit’s masculine pride not a little. “Hardly so,” he snapped at Bertie for thinking him an inept lover. “If I’m not as promiscuous as you I’ve seduced a woman or two before this day.”
“Nay,” Bertie laughed, “you only think you’ve seduced them. In truth they’ve had you. It’s just the way you are, Master Kit, too blind to know they’re setting their traps for you until you’ve been snared. Do you remember Mistress Bridget, the cobbler’s wife?”
Kit drew a swift, sharp breath. Remember her?! Breasts round and ripe as melons, hair the color of gold, lips as rich as Madeira. Even as a memory, Bridget could wake his body.
“How could I forget?” he asked, then banished Bridget’s image from his mind. She wasn’t the one upon whom he needed to focus. The lovely image of Mistress Blanchemain again formed before his inner eyes. Lust was a fine thing to feel this day.
Kit shot Bertie a chiding look. “By the by, if this is your example of a woman having me, then you’re proved wrong before you start. I saw Bridget before she even knew I existed. She was walking through the market at Saint Paul’s. It took me days to discover where she lived.”
A sly grin twisted Bertie’s finely made lips. “You’d have saved yourself all that time and effort if you’d returned to Saint Paul’s the next day at that same hour. She was there, waiting for you.”
Kit’s chin jerked up as he turned in the saddle to stare at his manservant. “How do you know that?” he demanded.
“You jest!” Bertie cried. “A woman like that doesn’t go unnoticed by any man. I went back the next day, hoping she’d be there, and there she was. Sweet Jesus knows I tried, but she was very definite. ‘Twas you and no other she wished to attract.”
“She told you that?” Kit gaped at him.
His servant shrugged. “Not as such, but there’re some things that need no words. Suffice it to say she was already at the hunt and you were her prey.”
The look Bertie bent on his master was that of the hoary, aged tutor upon his foundling student. “Now, if you wish to be the hunter, do as the shoemaker’s wife did. Appear to be disinterested, but make your presence known and felt. Oh, and I warn you, if your quarry glimpses even a flicker of
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