A Passion for Pleasure(12)

“Winter,” she said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“My surname is Winter.” Her jaw tensed. “I am Mrs. Clara Winter.”

A stone sank in Sebastian’s stomach. “Ah. I apologize. I wasn’t aware.”

“I am a widow, Mr. Hall. My husband passed away over a year ago.” Just as it had the other day when he asked about her father, a shutter closed over her features, rebuffing further query. She reached behind her to unfasten the ties of her apron. “Now how may I assist you?”

Sebastian knew well enough not to press her. Not now, at least.

“Have you word on your uncle’s return?” he asked.

“I expect him back tomorrow.”

If Sebastian had thought the lights of the Hanover Square building were responsible for the strange color of her eyes, he’d been mistaken. Sunlight exposed the truth of all appearances, and even now, Clara Winter’s eyes gleamed with violet and blue flecks.

Then those unusual eyes flickered to look at his mouth…and lingered. Her intent perusal affected him with a tangible power, warming his skin like the caress of fingertips and making him want to feel that rich gaze sliding across the rest of his body.

She lifted her eyes back to his. Faint color crested on her cheekbones, as if she’d done something she shouldn’t do. As if she’d thought something she shouldn’t think.

Sebastian hoped she had. Certainly his goal would prove easier to attain if Mrs. Clara Winter were intrigued by him from the outset. Not to mention that he rather enjoyed her disconcerted reaction, the touch of heat in her eyes and the blush surging across her pale skin.

Yet he also needed to ensure Clara was at ease in his presence. To deflect her embarrassment, he swept a hand behind him to encompass the house.

“In your uncle’s absence, perhaps you would be good enough to provide me with a tour?” he asked.

“Yes, of course.” She placed her apron on a table and slipped past him to the corridor.

Sebastian followed. Cold air swirled in from the foyer. Before him, Clara stopped at the sight of an older woman removing her cloak. She turned to look at Clara. As their gazes met, a tension brittle as spun sugar threaded the air.

“Mrs. Fox, please do inform me should you step out,” Clara said.

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Winter.” The other woman’s tone was the dry, brownish yellow color of a dead leaf. She tossed a newspaper onto the front desk. “I went to fetch a paper since it appears Tom forgot to this morning.”

She swept to the desk, adjusting her skirts as she settled behind it like a queen taking to her throne. She lifted a ledger from a stack with long, gloved hands and proceeded to open the thick tome and peruse the pages.

Sebastian saw irritation lace across Clara’s straight shoulders. He stared at the nape of her neck, the slender white column softened by wisps of hair, cupped by the collar of her gown. Her supple muscles tightened as she strode forward into the space between her and Mrs. Fox.

“This is Mr. Sebastian Hall.” Clara spoke with precise formality. “I shall be providing him with a tour of the museum. If you would please inform Mrs. Marshall, we’ll take tea after the tour is concluded.”

Mrs. Fox gave a short nod. “Of course.” She ran her finger over a column in the ledger. “You’ve not recorded the admission.”

“Mr. Hall is here as my guest.”

“Nonetheless.” Mrs. Fox gave Sebastian a look sharp enough to slice through leather. “The admission fee, sir, is one shilling.”

“I’ve no coin at present, but my footman—”

“You needn’t pay, Mr. Hall,” Clara hastened to assure him. “Please, do come into the drawing room. We’ll begin there.”

“Mrs. Winter, I must protest your decision to allow a visitor to enter without paying the admission fee,” Mrs. Fox said.

“And I, Mrs. Fox, must protest your concern.” Clara opened the door and bade Sebastian precede her. “In my uncle’s absence, my decisions are not to be countermanded and my guests are certainly not to be insulted. Please inform Mrs. Marshall about the tea tray.”

Sebastian ducked past the older woman’s aura of disapproval and into the safety of the drawing room. Clara half-closed the door behind her.

“I apologize,” she said. “Mrs. Fox possesses an unfortunate tendency to believe she knows best. Her departed husband used to be Uncle Granville’s assistant.”