Wicked Intentions 1 by Elizabeth Hoyt Page B

feel the slow heating of her cheeks. “Really?”
    “Indeed.” He nodded solemnly, but there was a twinklein his green eyes. “I’m afraid I was quite unable to withstand your temptation.”
    “Oh, William.” She couldn’t keep a silly grin from spreading over her face. They may’ve been married for two years now, but over half that time her husband had been at sea. Each time he returned, it was like a honeymoon anew. Would that ever change? She certainly hoped not.
    William squeezed her hand. “The quicker I’m done with my duties, the quicker I can escort you to a park or a fair or even perhaps to a pleasure garden.”
    “Truly?”
    “Yes, indeed. I quite look forward to spending a day with my lovely wife.”
    She smiled into his eyes, feeling her heart flutter with happiness. “Then you’d better eat your breakfast, hadn’t you?”
    He laughed and set to the bun and tea. Too soon he rose and finished dressing, donning a white wig in the process that gave him an air of stern authority. William kissed Silence on the cheek and then he was gone.
    She sighed and looked about the room. There were dishes to wash and other chores to be done if she were to dally with her husband for a day. She set to work with determination.
    Two hours later, Silence was darning a hole in one of William’s white stockings and wondering if yellow yarn had been really the right color to use even if she had run out of white, when she heard running footsteps in the hall outside. She glanced up, frowning.
    She’d already risen by the time the pounding came at their doors. Silence hurried over and unlatched the door, pulling it open. William stood in the doorway, butshe’d never seen her husband in such a state. He was pale beneath his sunburn, his eyes stark.
    “What?” she cried, her heart in her throat. “What has happened?”
    “The Finch …” He staggered into the room, but then stood, his hands by his sides, staring wildly as if he knew not what to do. “I’m ruined.”
    “V ERY GOOD , M ARY Whitsun,” Temperance said as she watched the girl place a careful stitch in her embroidery. They sat together in a corner of the kitchen while some of the other children made dinner. Mary’s needlework was exquisite, and Temperance loved to help her with it when she had time. Unfortunately, there was rarely time. “Perhaps we can place you with a mantua maker. Would you like that?”
    Mary bent her head lower over her work—the decoration on the edge of an apron. “I’d rather stay here with you, ma’am.”
    Temperance felt a familiar pang at the girl’s whispered words. Her hand rose to stroke Mary’s hair, but she caught herself in time and folded her fingers into a ball before withdrawing her hand. It was wrong to give false hope to the girl.
    “You know that’s not possible,” she said briskly. “If we kept every child at the home, we’d soon overflow.”
    Mary nodded, her face hidden by her down-bent head, but her shoulders trembled.
    Temperance watched helplessly. She’d always felt closer to Mary Whitsun than the other girls, though she knew she should not. Temperance had come to help work at the home after the death of Benjamin, her husband.She’d saved Mary Whitsun not long after. The little girl had climbed into her lap that day, sitting there, warm and soft and comforting. At the time Temperance had needed someone to hold. Ever since then, she’d known Mary Whitsun was special, no matter how Temperance tried to fight the feeling.
    “Oh, ma’am, you’ll never guess,” Nell cried, panting as she entered the kitchen.
    Temperance looked up and arched an eyebrow at the maidservant. “No, I probably won’t, so you had better tell me.”
    Nell held out a folded square of paper that she’d obviously already read. “Lord Caire is escorting you to a musicale this evening!”
    “What?” Temperance took the paper, opening it blindly. She hadn’t heard from Lord Caire since the night of his injury, and while