Seductive Silence (Mistress in the Making Book 1) Page 13
Fourth attempt (currently being batted about by Cyclops, along with the other three):
Thea,
I count the hours until next we meet—
“Ballocks!” He wasn’t ready to pen poetical-sounding odes to her either.
“Woof!” Cyclops agreed as yet another piece of crumpled paper was relegated to the empty grate.
Seventh (and final) attempt:
Thea,
Thank you for an enjoyable evening. I recalled someone mentioning you have a particular fondness for Byron. In all honesty, I cannot tolerate poetry (his or any others’) so please accept this volume with my sincere wish that it brings you pleasure.
Until tonight.
Tremayne
Thea lifted her gaze from the missive to the servant who’d delivered it. Along with the note and a book of poems, he’d also handed her a bow-adorned box.
The spry young man had introduced himself as, “Buttons, miss, since I was caught eatin’ one, with loads of others found missing. My papa told me once that our ma despaired but I don’t remember, on account of being jus’ months old at the time.”
“What is etiquette in this regard?” she asked, smiling at the informative Buttons and gesturing toward the gifts and letter she now held. Thea hoped he knew—for she surely didn’t. “Is Lord Tremayne expecting a reply?”
Not quite twenty, the youth was broad as a barn and twice as sturdy. His blunt-featured face was turned charming by the decisive cowlick that flipped up a good portion of his sandy-brown hair on the left side of his forehead. He’d told her, when he swiped the offending cowlick for the third time, that he had a twin, one whose hair misbehaved on the opposite side. “Expectin’? A reply?” He pondered a moment. “That I cannot say certain-like, but I do be thinkin’ he might be hopin’ fer one.”
“Oh?”
“Aye.” The young man dressed in formal livery stepped forward from his perch on the small landing just outside her townhouse. He tilted his head toward her ear, as though about to impart a confidence he didn’t want her hovering new butler to overhear. “I was told to take my time in returnin’.”
Assuming the ornate desk in the sumptuous drawing room was as well supplied as the rest of the residence, Thea was confident her eager fingers would have no trouble locating paper and ink. “Would you mind waiting in the kitchen while I compose one?”
She’d met the married couple hired to serve as caretakers and knew Mrs. Samuels was downstairs baking this very moment.
With a glance at Mr. Samuels, who had summoned Thea to the door once informed Lord Tremayne had requested his servant place the missive directly into her keeping, the spiffy footman stepped back a pace and diffidently crossed his arms behind his back, giving her a casual shake of his head. “I’ll jus’ wait here, ma’am. Take what time you need.”
“Outside?” When intermittent rains thundered down for the second day in a row, making the uncovered porch damp and dreary? “Poppycock!”
A quick look at Mr. Samuels—and the nod he gave her—confirmed Thea’s intuition, and she tugged the visiting servant over the threshold by one sleeve and pointed. “The kitchen is tucked at the back of that hallway, down the single flight of stairs. Mind you ask Mrs. Samuels to let you sample her lemon tarts.”
When the young man smiled wider than the Thames, Thea suspected he had a fondness for baked goods. Either that or he’d caught sight of the painted nudes.
His next words illustrated how very wrong she was. “I’m right glad he found you, miss.”
He being Lord Tremayne?
Well, of course. Who else could the footman mean? But to be told so directly—that a servant was glad his master had “found” her?
It was…unexpected, unusual.
It was flattering to the point that flutters abounded in her belly as Thea situated herself at the angled writing desk. She used the familiar task of readying the quill as she contemplated just what to say.
How did one answer the first note from their new protector? (Dare she hope it was the first of several?)
More importantly, how did she respond to the man who’d spent his seed on her back in the most intimate of acts but who hadn’t spoken more than a paragraph to her all evening? And a paltry paragraph at that.
“Just reply to him as he addresses you,” the words were out before she’d thought them through, echoing a semblance of Sarah’s previous advice. “Same tone, same length.”
Aye, that should suffice.
Thirty minutes later, a significant portion of which she’d wasted staring at the blank sheet, Thea had finally managed to fill it in, not quite to capacity but close. She wafted the page through the air, encouraging the ink to dry.
Lord Tremayne,
I delight in finding common ground, for despite public opinion to the contrary, I do not find much to appreciate in Byron. Based on the works I’ve read, he’s overly dramatic for my tastes. Robert Burns, now, I adore and admit to a frisson (a small one, I assure you) of dismay at learning you hold no particular fondness for poetry. None at all? Are you quite certain? (I must clarify, you see, as it is something I find nearly incomprehensible.)
As to the volume you sent, I will treasure it always (are not gifts meant to be treasured?) though I will admit I am already in possession of this particular volume—and through no purchase of my own. I come to think mayhap Hatchards put it on sale?
Please, I beseech you, read the next few lines with your mind unfettered by past opinions:
Wee, sleekit, cow’rin, tim’rous beastie,
O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi’ bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee,
Wi’ murd’ring pattle!
Do these lines not speak to you? Are you not curious to know more? To learn the fate of this dear, wee beastie?
What of the incomparable Mr. William Shakespeare? Do you find anything in his work recommends itself to you? Oh, dear. I believe this must be a magical quill I employ for it has quite run away with my tongue. Do forgive me. (But here, I must interject: this new home I find myself situated in feels magical indeed. It is lovely. More serene than anywhere I’ve lived before. I do thank you, most sincerely. And will endeavor to please you in exchange.)
I anticipate tonight with a smile.
Dor Thea
“Same tone, same length?” Bah. Brevity had never been one of her particular talents.
Frowning at herself, Thea folded the paper and sealed it with wax and the generic stamp she’d found in the desk. “You’d better hope that during the reading of it he doesn’t nod off.”
Daniel laughed and laughed again.
The demure little chit had taken him to task! That would teach him to deride all poetry in one unwarranted swoop.
And serene? She found that garish abode serene?
Another chuckle escaped.
He checked his pocket watch. It was scarce after 2:00 p.m. Hours yet until dark. Hours yet until he could feast his starved eyes on her again and see whether she was truly as lovely as he recalled.
“Rum fogged, I am,” he muttered, reaching for another sheet.
LUSTY LETTERS—Mistress in the Making, Book Two
Lusty Letters. For a man who hesitates over words isn’t about to stumble over sentences, not when he has seduction on his mind.
Hampered by a pesky, persistent stammer, Lord Tremayne takes to writing letters when he decides to woo his new mistress, little realizing how their fun, flirty exchanges will quickly become the light of his day. Or how wretched he’ll feel when the charming Thea suggests they banter in person, possibly pen poetry—together. Blazing ballocks! Is she insane?
Her fascinating new protector has secrets—several. And though Thea fears losing her common sense—but never her heart—to the powerfully built Marquis, she stifles her longing to know everything about him, hesitant to destroy her newfound circumstances should she press for
more. But then his naughty notes start to appear, full of humor and wit, and she realizes ’tis likely too late—for her heart may already be his…
Mistress in the Making Trilogy
Seductive Silence Copyright © 2020 by Larissa Lyons
Published by Literary Madness
ISBN 978-1-949426-10-6 (Paperback)
ISBN 978-1-949426-08-3 (E-book)
All rights reserved, including the right to decide how to market this book. By law, no part of this publication may be copied, uploaded or transferred to illegal recipients. Please respect the hard work of this author and only read authorized, purchased downloads. All characters are fictional creations; any resemblance to actual persons is unintentional and coincidental.
Proofread by Judy Zweifel at Judy’s Proofreading; Copy edits by ELF at elewkf1@yahoo.com; Edited by Elizabeth St. John; Cover by Victoria Cooper
At Literary Madness, we strive to create a book free of typos. If you notice anything amiss, we’re happy to fix it. litmadness@yahoo.com
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Humor. Heartfelt Emotion. & Hunks.
A lifelong Texan, Larissa writes sexy contemporaries, spicy regencies and upbeat-ending erotica, blending heartfelt emotion with doses of laugh-out-loud humor. Her heroes are strong men with a weakness for the right woman.
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A SWEETLY SPICY REGENCY
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