Page 71 of Cocky August Rake

She knew better than to enjoy it too much.

And yet, each time she warned herself against growing comfortable, the words rang a little more hollow. Because beneath all her sensible cautions was a truth she scarcely dared acknowledge.

She was getting a taste of something dangerously close to freedom.

For a little while, her body was her own. So were her thoughts, her time, even her feelings.

Not wholly. Not permanently, of course. Reginald still held the fate of The Domus in the palm of his hand, and she would be a fool to forget it.

And yet, she was also beginning to see another side of the man who’d inherited her home. A more relaxed, unburdened confidence that seemed to appear only when she drew him away from The Domus.

Which had proved almost suspiciously easy.

She had not needed to persuade him at all. Indeed, judging by the mysterious disappearance of their coach when she’d completed her errand to the dressmaker, Reginald had been even more intent on prolonging their outing than she was.

They had spent nearly an hour in the confectioner’s shop, and afterward, with the coach still nowhere in sight, the two of them had walked along the edge of Hyde Park.

It had been pleasant.

Dangerously so.

As though there were nothing between them but the desire to enjoy each other’s company. It was almost innocent, even, like she really was one of those Mayfair ladies on a simple outing.

Except when he offered her his arm. Or took her hand.

Then she felt it again. That heated current beneath her skin, sharpened now by everything they were pretending not to remember.

No, it had not disappeared.

Later that evening, after she’d given the girls at The Domus an overview of how the day had gone, Nell determined the plan was working.

And when she’d suggested that Rose come up with other ideas to get him away, Rose hadn’t argued at all. In fact, she’d already decided on her next ruse.

She wished to visit the bookseller’s shop a few streets away, and of course, she was perfectly capable of going alone.

Still, it seemed only considerate to ask whether Reginald required anything.

Or… whether he might wish to accompany her.

With all that in mind, she climbed the stairs to his office the next morning, ignoring the little flutters dancing in her chest.

Mr. Huxley sat behind the smaller desk, nearly buried beneath ledgers and correspondence. He looked over his spectacles as she entered, his expression turning wary.

“Miss Darling.”

“Mr. Huxley,” she said with a sugar-sweet smile. “I wished to speak with Lord Reginald.”

“His lordship is occupied.”

“But he is in?”

“He is, but…” Mr. Huxley trailed off when the office door opened behind him.

Reginald stepped out, and Rose nearly forgot her own name.

She ought to have been growing accustomed to the sight of him by now. As usual, he was dressed more like a ship’s captain than a lord. Dark trousers tucked into worn boots, a plain waistcoat open over a white linen shirt, the sleeves rolled to his forearms. His coat hung over one shoulder.

The lack of formality ought to have made him less imposing.