Page 47 of A Much Maligned Miss

“It was the under-gardener, actually,” she corrected him gravely.

Gervaise’s gaze sharpened. “And what was he like?”

“He was brawny with very tanned forearms,” she answered at once. “When he rolled up his shirtsleeves it gave us all quite a thrill.”

Gervaise contemplated her narrowly. “I see. He looked rather like your new friend Reg in fact.”

Caroline was startled. “Reg? Not at all! Hollings was a small, neat man with curly sideburns and a cheery sort of air. He would whistle a distinctive tune, so you always knew when he was hard at work in the shrubbery. Diana dared me to ask him what it was one time.”

“And what was it?”

“‘I’ve Been Roaming,’” she replied promptly.

“It didn’t occur to you to decline her dare?” he enquired in a silky voice.

Caroline blinked. Surely, that was not disapproval on his face? At this point Remus sprang up on the bed beside him, interrupting them.

“Hello, Remus,” he said, lifting his arm after a small pause. “Is that really where you mean to make yourself comfortable?” Remus rubbed his face against Gervaise’s side. “Apparently so,” he added wryly as the cat settled himself against him, loudly purring.

Gervaise sat up. “Well, I think that might be enough girlish confidences for one night,” he said dismissively. “It’s been a long day and I’m sure you are tired.” He stubbed out his cigarette on a saucer and shrugged out of his green silk robe before extinguishing the light.

Oh. “What about you?” Caroline asked into the darkness.

“I too would doubtless benefit from an uninterrupted night’s sleep,” he replied after a pause.

It had to be the nightgown. It just had to be.

19

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Gervaise did not sleep well. He woke early feeling tired and irritable. He had no idea why he was tormenting himself like this. No protest would have burst from Caroline’s lips if he had rolled on top of her last night. Far from it!

Caroline Halperston clearly had no qualms about the impending loss of her virtue, so God alone knew why he was fretting over it. His only comfort during a trying night had been the presence of cats in his bed. He absently tickled Romulus under his chin and the little cat rolled onto his back in a display of bliss. Beside him, Remus took a luxuriant stretch. Thankfully no one need ever know that he, Gervaise Langdon, was turning into an old maid of the cat-loving variety.

He shook his head in some disbelief, before shooting an accusing look at the sleeping beauty lying mere inches away. Caroline’s face was serene in sleep, her recumbent body relaxed. She slept as peacefully as one without a care in the world, when in point of fact, she lay practically in his clutches.

Not actually in his clutches, for the cats had insinuated their bodies between them at some point last night and Gervaise had been most scrupulous in keeping himself aloof, however hard the temptation to do otherwise rode him.

Still, at one point her foot had brushed his ankle, and an arm had flailed out and touched his hair. He had been acutely aware on both occasions. His pulse had picked up, and his libidinous body had seemed to crane toward her with a will of its own.

She had sighed and muttered something under her breath. Gervaise’s ears had pricked up and he had held his breath to listen for more. He wanted to know what she was dreaming about, even if it was whistling under-gardeners. If he asked her this morning, would she tell him? He had a lurking suspicion she would, for Caroline had not the smallest inclination toward self-preservation.

He thought fleetingly of that cheery adonis from her schooldays and cursed him softly as he rolled out of bed and wrapped himself in his green silk robe. He had no idea why the thought of her admiring brawny types annoyed him so much. Why should he care in which direction her inclinations ran?

Clearly Miss Halperston’s tastes were ill informed. She had little judgment and no discernment whatsoever. That was partly his fault, he acknowledged as he made his way down the servant’s stairs. She had now slept twice in the same bed as him without suffering even the slightest besmirchment.

Her reputation was ruined just the same, it was true. But still, he had allowed her to carry on her merry way believing herself quite impervious to the wicked world and its repercussions. It was unfathomable. She had agreed to his proposition; a severance sum had been settled upon and still, still, instead of pouncing, Gervaise found himself hesitating. Why?

He paused at the scullery door, remembering his sudden anger on hearing Jeb’s dismissal of Caroline’s character the day before. That had been strange too, now he came to think about it. He was not usually so chivalrous. Then he recalled introducing her to his uncle. My wife’s name is Caroline… We were married by Canon Petrie of St. Catherine’s church and have been man and wife these past four days.

The words gave him a decided thrill even now. Why was that?

At the time he had wondered if he had not overdone the details but now, finally, his confusion cleared. This was why he had lain there last night still as a stock. He wanted Caroline to be his wedded wife, not his mistress.

Well. Fuck.

He opened the door feeling somewhat dazed. Reg, who was standing over by the table swigging tea from a tin mug, straightened up self-consciously. “Milord,” he muttered, dragging his sleeve across his mouth and setting down his mug.

“Good morning,” Gervaise greeted him, pulling himself together.