Chapter 5
Chapter Five
There was an unexpected lightness in Kenneth’s steps as he jogged up the steps to the Fokette townhouse, satchel at his side—and when he realized that, he was surprised.
Oh, he recognized the signs; the excitement to see a woman, the urge to smile ridiculously…it wasn’t the first time he’d found himself truly enjoying time spent with a woman.
But it was the first time he’d felt this way without having had bedded her first.
There was something special about Miss Barbara Fokette, and he wasn’t certain— nay, that wasn’t true.
He knew she was brilliant and funny and could match his passion.
He knew she was special and interesting and made him want to bring her joy.
Not just pleasure, but he wanted to bring her that too.
She was a remarkable young lady, and he found himself thinking about her at least once a minute during his waking hours.
Most inconveniently.
Part of him, the part of him which had spent a decade in service to His Majesty, was bemused at his enthusiasm. The rest of him—and that included his cock, which kept inviting itself into the conversation unexpectedly—was merely amused.
And he couldn’t seem to stay away.
That kiss last night had been…
He stopped with one hand raised to knock on the door and instead reached for his hat, pulling it off and running his hand through his hair. Smoothing it down. Readying himself to impress. Fook.
That kiss…
There were a few things Kenneth knew he was good at. He was a passable shot, tolerably good at infiltration, and fooking brilliant when it came to charming a mark. Over the years that had included seducing more than one woman for King and country. It was what he did.
But not once had he ever, ever experienced a kiss like he’d shared with Barbara last night.
Not once.
Even now, he was appalled by how close he’d come to losing control. How close he’d come to scooping her breasts out from that modest gown she’d worn and tasting them. How close he’d come to pressing her up against one of those display cases and touching her until she screamed in pleasure.
Just the memory of her lips, just the thought of how her warm cunny would have felt…had him hard again.
He hadn’t sat through Pembrooke’s lecture—he couldn’t trust himself. He’d gone back to his flat and had a drink. Then he’d had two more, to keep the first one company. And the entire time, he’d berated himself.
Not for losing control, but for keeping it.
If he’d fooked Barbara last night—or at the very least, brought her to pleasure—he could have fulfilled the terms of the wager. Truly made it impossible for Sinter to ignore. Brought down a ruckus upon her.
Not that he needed to be declared London’s best rake or beat Remington Ives.
But seducing her would have meant Standish’s distraction would be complete, and the Home Office could investigate him without concern.
And any time he thought about that, he got angry at himself, and wasn’t sure why.
Nay, that wasn’t true.
He knew why.
Now he knew Miss Barbara Fokette, he didn’t want to ruin her. He very much wanted to hear her laugh, attend her historical lectures, bring her to pleasure, see the wonder and light in her expression, taste her skin and sink into her joy…but he didn’t want to ruin her.
So why was he standing here on her front step like a lovesick suitor?
Perhaps because ye are?
He scoffed at the ridiculous thought. A lovesick suitor? Preposterous.
It wasn’t until he heard the door creak open at his back that Kenneth realized he’d been pacing back and forth on the small step. He whirled about to see a sliver of an older woman’s round face.
“Are you a salesman?” she asked through the crack in the door.
Momentarily flustered, Kenneth shook his head. “What? Nay.”
“Are you from the taxman? Or the church?”
He pressed his satchel against his side and tried a charming smile. “Neither of those, my good lady.”
“Ahhh.” She nodded knowingly as she opened the door a bit wider, revealing a rounded body to match her rounded face, and an old-fashioned mop cap. “A lovesick suitor then, is it?”
His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to deny it, but no sound emerged.
She nodded knowingly, then stuck up a finger at him.
“I should warn you. The older one, Maggie, she’s already married, so you missed your chance with her.
And the younger one is too immature for you.
” She glared protectively. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re interested in a sixteen-year-old gel, sir, that’s disgusting. ”
Feeling completely off-balance, Kenneth shook his head again in a bit of a daze. “I...uh…” Gathering himself, he straightened and nodded respectfully. “I’m here to call on Miss Barbara Fokette. Last time I was here, Baron Fokette let me in. And you are his…sister?”
The servant—because of course she wasn’t the baron’s sister, but Kenneth wouldn’t be in the running for London’s Best Rake if he didn’t know how to charm older women—suddenly beamed and threw the door open wide.
“His sister? Bless me, sir, no—but if you’re here for our Barbie, then come on in! She’s having tea in the drawing room.”
With a charismatic grin, he swept his hat from his head and made an elaborate bow which had her giggling before he handed it over. “Not her library, then?”
“Oh, you do know my Barbie? I helped raise all the gels, you know,” the woman—housekeeper?
Nurse?—tittered. “I’ve been waiting for a gentleman to come along who could recognize her as the treasure she is.
This way, sir, the drawing room is here.
” She burst through the door with a grand gesture.
“Barbie! A handsome gentleman is here to see you!”
Kenneth stepped into the room behind her in time to see Barbara look up, startled, from where she’d been listening to her younger sister read aloud from—was that Erasmus Darwin?
Barbara’s expression lit with a smile as though she were genuinely delighted to see him, and Kenneth’s heart began to beat double time. He slipped around the servant and as Barbara put her teacup down and made to stand, he held out his hand.
“Nay, dinnae get up, lass. I’ll join ye, if ye dinnae mind?”
“That would be wonderful.” Barbara shifted her attention to the older woman. “Missus Whinge, would you mind asking Cook to send up more cakes?”
“Cook? Ask?” the housekeeper sniffed. “You mean me, Barbie?”
As he settled beside her on the chaise, Barbara’s smile froze. “Yes, Missus Whinge. I was trying to pretend the household had a full contingent of servants, rather than allowing our guest to believe our parents make us change our own sheets and dress our own hair.”
From her seat across the tea service, young Annabelle sniffed into her book. “I burned myself twice yesterday trying to perfect ringlets, and you know I need dexterity for propagation. We would have more money for servants if you and Papa weren’t so focused on antiquities.”
Barbara’s smile had turned distinctly icy. “We would have more money for servants if Papa had not built you and Mother that fancy greenhouse out back, and filled it with all those exotic plants—or if Albert did not have that stuffed bear.”
“Plenty of children have toys made from—”
“It is an actual bear, Bella. From the Americas. Stuffed and mounted and more terrifying than any child needs in his nursery.”
Her younger sister stuck out her tongue.
By this time the servant had bustled off, and Barbara seemed to deflate with a sigh as she turned to Kenneth. “Annabelle and I complain, but we really are quite content. I hope you will not think less of us for having to do our own chores.”
Unable to help himself, he reached for her hand, his grin never wavering. “Nay—on the contrary, I think ye even more magnificent.”
A blush began to climb her throat and he found himself unable to look away, remembering how that skin had tasted last night. Like honey and heat and—
From across the way, Annabelle loudly cleared her throat as she lifted the book in front of her face. “If you are going to woo each other, do so more quietly, please. I am young and impressionable.”
“I am not going to woo him,” her sister snapped. “I do not even know how to woo!”
“Do ye want wooing pointers?” Kenneth asked hopefully.
“I have never wooed in my life.” Barbara pulled her hand from his and reached for an empty teacup. “I would not know where to begin being wooed.”
“You could try slamming the door. Or telling him he looks horrible in that color,” Annabelle offered from behind her book. “Or chewing with your mouth open. That would be wooed.”
Kenneth, who had glanced down at his very fashionable burgundy waistcoat, began to chuckle in understanding.
Barbara, on the other hand, sighed mightily. “Wooed, Annie, not rude.”
“Or you could call your younger sister a name she detests and has asked you to never call her again. That is very wooed.”
“Rude!” Barbara corrected.
Annabelle lowered the book just long enough to nod solemnly. “Yes, that too.”
Kenneth was outright chuckling now, as Barbara scoffed and poured him tea. “One sugar, please.”
When she handed him the cup, he made certain their fingers not only brushed, but lingered. He smiled in genuine pleasure. “I suppose it’s just as well yer sister is chaperoning, eh? She willnae allow me to be rude.”
“Or wooed.” Was that a wink? “If I am overcome with the urge to woo you.”
“I do not need to hear about your urges!”
Barbara grinned at her sister’s outburst and cleared her throat very deliberately.
When her sister sighed and dropped her book, she said, “If you will move over there”—she pointed to a chair under the window on the other side of the room—”for the next thirty minutes, I will teach you how to curl ringlets without burning your fingers. ”
Annabelle narrowed bright blue eyes. “You were going to do that anyhow.”
“Yes, but I will do it this afternoon.”