Chapter 15 #2
“Oh,” said Mina. “Oh, of course not.” She really had no idea where Lord Kinsale’s private rooms were, but she couldn’t deny she was wildly curious to at least take a look at the marquess’s sitting room.
While she didn’t trust Smedley, as far as she knew—or what she’d heard from the marquess’s valet, Mr. Frobisher, who’d shown the tailor and his assistant to Christopher’s room when they’d first arrived—Lord Kinsale was still out on his morning ride. The coast would be clear.
The Marquess of Kinsale’s suite, as Mina expected, was spacious and beautifully appointed. The sitting room contained elegantly carved oak furniture, and the curtains, plush rugs, and upholstery were all in complementary shades of rich green and blue and gold.
As soon as Mina, Mr. Travers, and his assistant stepped into the room, Frobisher came rushing out of an adjoining chamber.
Before the double doors closed behind him, Mina caught a glimpse of Lord Kinsale’s bedroom with its enormous four-poster bed festooned with dark green velvet drapes edged in gold, and a thick Turkish rug in matching jewel tones of peacock blue, turquoise, and rich amber.
“Miss Davenport,” said the dapper, dark-haired valet who couldn’t have been more than thirty. He appeared quite harried as his concerned gaze darted between Mina and the tailor. “I-I was expecting Mr. Travers and his assistant to return, but not you.”
The tailor sniffed. “The governess needs to choose fabrics for the boys’ clothes and all the samples are here,” he explained with a wave of his hand.
Indeed, Mina could see an enormous bundle of swatches and various bolts of fine fabric piled up on an oak table, a pair of dark brown leather wing chairs, and a sofa upholstered in teal brocade.
“I-I won’t take long,” said Mina, hurrying over to the fireside, where a fire leapt in the hearth. Even though last night’s rain had cleared, a definite autumnal chill was in the air. “I’ll be gone before Lord Kinsale comes ba—”
At that moment, the door to the marquess’s bedchamber opened wide and Lord Kinsale appeared on the threshold wearing nothing but a loosely cinched silk banyan and a look that hovered somewhere between surprise and horror.
His dark hair was wet and curling about his ears, and a white towel was draped around his neck.
Gah! Not again! Mina’s face felt like it had caught on fire as she stared back in open-mouthed dismay at her near-naked employer …
and maybe just a little bit of awe because my goodness, was the marquess’s physique not godlike?
She already knew his broad chest and taut abdomen were all sleek, hard muscle, but today she’d also learned that his powerful thighs were dusted with the same dark hair that was scattered over his corded forearms and bare lower legs.
Good Lord, even his bare feet were attractive.
How could this have happened—that in the space of two days, she’d seen Lord Kinsale in such a scandalous state of undress? Had Smedley somehow engineered this to humiliate her and Lord Kinsale a second time?
She really should have insisted that Mr. Travers bring his fabric swatches to the schoolroom, then this entirely awkward encounter would not be happening.
Because how on earth was she to ever look Lord Kinsale in the eye again, now that she knew what he looked like just after he’d emerged from his bath?
Because clearly he’d been bathing before—
Brutus appeared beside the marquess and gave a yip. What the hell are ye gawkin’ at, Miss Davenport? Ye look like ye’re about to drop into a dead faint. It’s just the master in his bathrobe, not a feckin’ ghost.
Enough, Brutus, returned Mina hotly. She was not in the mood to be taken to task by the obstreperous pug.
Dipping into a curtsy, she dropped her gaze to the floor, away from the marquess’s face.
“My lord, I’m so, so sorry to intrude upon your privates.
I mean private”—Oh sweet Lord, don’t even look anywhere near that private part of his anatomy, Hermina Davenport—“your private rooms. I honestly didn’t mean to—”
Mr. Travers cut her off with another expansive wave of his hand.
“Yes, I’m sorry, my lord. But your new governess insisted that she had to accompany me to your chambers to select fabric for your wards’ new clothes.
Of course, I suggested that she wait until I’d finished seeing you, but she would not take no—”
“Well, I never,” gasped Mina. But then she snapped her mouth shut.
It would do her no good to argue like a fishwife in front of Lord Kinsale.
As per Chapter 2 of the Parasol Academy Handbook, which spelled out nanny and governess etiquette, discretion was always the better part of valor when it came to dealing with one’s employer.
Better to apologize for any breach of protocol and retreat gracefully rather than stay and fight a losing battle.
When all was said and done, she was to blame for this particular blunder.
She’d let her curiosity get the better of her.
If she were truly honest with herself, a tiny part of her had hoped she might bump into the marquess in his suite.
But not like this. She should never have gone along with the turncoat tailor, Mr. Travers.
She should never have trusted Smedley’s word.
Oh, dear God, what if Lord Kinsale decided to dismiss her for “conduct unbecoming”? What if she were sacked from her post before she’d even begun?
Crushing down a sudden rush of hot tears along with a surge of panic, Mina sank into another curtsy. “Forgive me, my lord,” she murmured in a voice that was none too steady. And then she picked up her skirts and all but fled from the marquess’s sitting room without a backward glance.
When she was calmer, when she’d successfully “Cucumberfied” herself, she would seek out the marquess and apologize again. Profusely.
And hopefully Lord Kinsale would forgive her. If not, she’d be in the pickliest pickle that had ever been pickled.