A Gentleman Never Tells(89)

Gabrielle looked down at her paint-stained apron and the simple blue day dress she wore. There was no time to change into a finer dress. She laid the book on the settee and quickly untied her apron and took it off. Looking around for a place to hide it, she stuffed it in a tall urn that stood by the fireplace. She yanked the white scarf off her head and sent it the way of the apron.

Remembering she had read that gentlemen loved long, flowing locks, she tumbled the pins out of her hair and shook it, letting the tangled curls fall around her shoulders. She bit her lips and pinched her cheeks to make them rosy, while she looked around the office to see if there was anything to perfume her skin; but of course there was nothing in the book room.

Her fingers trembled as she picked up the book again and thumbed through it. Of all she had read, what could she do to make Brent think she was too knowledgeable in the ways of a mistress to be his sheltered, timid, and delicate wife?

She remembered reading something about gently fondling a gentleman’s golden orbs with her hands. Fondling? Orbs?

She quickly turned the pages, looking for the correct one, so she could read it again and get it right. There was something about how to hold them in the palm of your hand while your fingers lightly squeezed.

Gabrielle shook her head and mumbled to herself. She couldn’t find it. She had always thought of eyes as being orbs, but she couldn’t imagine how anyone would fondle eyes. Which left only ears. Odd? But what did she know about the ways of a mistress?

The sound of footfalls in the corridor made her heart leap into her throat, and she closed the book with a nervous snap. Her quarry was on his way.

With no time to make it across the room to the shelf, she shoved the book behind an embroidered pillow just as Brent walked into the room.

She swallowed hard, curtseyed, and said, “My lord.”

“Lady Gabrielle.” He smiled and bowed.

“This is a surprise.”

He looked at her with a curious sparkle in his eyes. “Yes, I can see I should have sent a note around. I must have caught you at a bad time. You look flustered.”

“Me? No.”

“Your cheeks are flushed and your lips pink and your hair is, well, perhaps I will just stop at that.”

She brushed a strand of hair away from her face and said, “Yes, perhaps that is best… Please sit down.”

He motioned for her to sit first, and she did, making sure she put her back against the pillow that covered the book.

He took the opposite end of the settee and said, “I had news I wanted to share with you, and I didn’t stop to think it might not be convenient to drop by.”

“No, really, this is a fine time. I was painting.” She pointed to the easel by the window.

He looked at the canvas that was half-painted dark blue and hid a smile behind clearing his throat. “Yes, that’s very nice. Shows talent.”

She started to explain it was a midnight sky but stopped herself. She had more important matters to deal with. If she was ever going to play the part of a mistress, she had to do it now, before she lost her nerve.

“What did you want to tell me?” she squeaked, then cleared her throat. “My lord,” she added, hoping she sounded sufficiently sultry.

Brent looked at her oddly. “Are you sure you are all right?”

“I’m fine,” she tried to coo. “Better than fine. How are you?”

He gave her a questioning look and said, “I heard that Lord Waldo’s dog was returned to him today.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful news!” she blurted, every ounce of sultry evaporating into the room. “When? How?”

“Lord Waldo said a young man showed up at his door with the dog,” Brent said. “I talked at length with him about who found Tulip, and then I went to see Lord Snellingly. After talking with both of them, I’m fairly certain it must have been the same lad who found both dogs and, of course, both men had paid the young man handsomely.”

“That’s amazing the lad found both dogs,” she said.

“Quite, and I think it’s very curious, too.”

“Do you?” she said without really thinking about what she was saying. She was concentrating too hard on the shape of his ears and wondering how she was going to touch them.

“Yes, and I think I know who he is.”

Her gaze swept from Brent’s ears to his eyes. “You do? Who?”

“A young man named Godfrey,” he said. “He and his sisters travel Hyde Park each morning to deliver milk into Mayfair. I’m going to the park tomorrow morning and following him home.”