An Affair So Right (Rebel Hearts #4)(55)

“There were no bequests left to any in my father’s will.” Quinn sighed. “Damn him for making me decide about them.”

She suspected Quinn would most likely pledge them some financial support or offer other help. She hoped his tender heart would not be too generous, though. “What did you do about Adele Blakely?”

“Nothing.” He turned back to the brandy and poured another glass for himself.

“She is currently living in your property, rent-free, and unencumbered by contract to you,” Theodora said quietly as she followed him. “If she takes up with another man, will you allow her to remain on your property?”

“No.” He raised his eyes skyward. “Why are you, of all people, forcing me to talk about her?”

Because she couldn’t stop herself. She did not like the idea of that woman living in Quinn’s home after what she’d done to him. “Isn’t it my job, as your secretary, to remind you of such matters and carry out your instructions? Even the unpleasant ones?”

Quinn lowered his face, searching hers. “You would have no trouble in speaking with her on my behalf, would you?”

Frankly, Theodora was dying to catch another glimpse of that fool again. She’d love nothing more than to give the actress a piece of her mind for her behavior. “None at all.”

“There’s nothing for you to worry about. Now I know Adele never cared about me, I find I am unable to summon the energy to see her again. She’s been replaced.”

Theodora leaned back, offended by Quinn’s description of the current situation. “I did not replace her. I’m not your mistress.”

He cupped her cheek, skimming his fingers into her hair to angle her face up toward his. He leaned closer, biting his lower lip as desire filled his eyes. “Aren’t you?”

“Never a mistress.” Theodora caught his wrist when his eyes widened, and she pulled his hand away from her face before he went too far. Anyone could burst in and see them together. Lady Templeton, for example, rarely knocked on doors before she opened them. No one would believe his caress innocent, which it certainly wasn’t. “I do not ask for jewels or gifts, I do not expect to be seen on your arm or to be entertained by you. I remain your secretary and temporary lover. Nothing more lasting than that exists between us.”

He stepped back, eyes narrowing, jaw clenching. For a horrifying second, Theodora saw that her words had hurt his feelings, but he quickly masked it, adopting an aristocratic hauteur so utterly wrong for him.

But the pleasure they’d shared in each other’s arms required no tawdry label. She hoped he understood the limits she placed upon their relationship were for the best possible reason. If he paid her for sex, the entire act of intimacy became a business transaction between them. A matter of commerce, rather than the pleasure it had always been. “My lord?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw before he spoke again. “As you wish.”

“I think it is best to keep our relationship on a professional footing as much as possible. Now, about the mistresses.” Theodora wouldn’t be giving a scheming tart two shillings more than necessary to make her go away. “They need to be dealt with soon.”

“Very well.” He smiled suddenly and Theodora grew warm all over. He went to his desk and wrote a few lines on a piece of parchment before handing it to her. “But first I have another matter that requires your expertise, my dear. I want you to find out if my family had any dealings with a man by the name of Roman Gently. This is an address in London where he might have lived for a while and his occupation too if that helps.”

She’d never heard or read the name before. “Who is he?”

“I’ve not the faintest idea.” He gestured to the room. “See if you can find him among all this, and question my father’s secretaries, too.”

“Of course.”

He bent to press a lingering kiss to her cheek and whispered, “Mother expects me in the drawing room now, but I’ll return as soon as I can or we can talk tonight in bed.”

Theodora watched him stride away, and then reluctantly returned to her work.





Chapter 22





Quinn accepted Rodmell’s help to don a black waistcoat. He was beginning to loathe mourning attire already, as well as the hushed atmosphere that had taken over Newberry House since his father’s death. Usually, there was chatter to be heard in the halls as servants went about their tasks. Lately, he’d heard very little banter. “Is all well this morning?”

“More or less, my lord.” Rodmell fetched his pocket watch and held it out. “The housekeeper is in a mood, though.”

“What about?”

“It’s Miss Dalton, I am afraid.”

“What has the woman done to upset the applecart?”

“She seems to be dismissing the maids before they can do their work, my lord.”

He sighed. “I never thought a day would come when a maid would complain about having no work to do, but here we are.”

“Neither would I,” Rodmell agreed. “They only want to make the bed, but Miss Dalton has already done the work by the time they arrive, more often than not. There’s a rumor going around that she doesn’t sleep.”

Quinn colored a little. Theodora had slept alone last night—and would for some time to come, he’d decided yesterday after their illuminating little talk.