Joanna Maitland - Rake's Reward

‘A favour?’ Kit snarled. ‘A favour for whom? For you, ma’am? Believe me, I do not do favours for ladies. Not unless they have earned them.’ He glanced quickly over her thin person, his eyes narrowing.

Marina stood stock still. She could neither move nor speak. This could not be happening. Was he really saying that—?

‘I see that you take my meaning, ma’am. Good.’

He leant down towards her. The fresh, clean scent of his cologne assailed her. It seemed completely at variance with the black-hearted man who wore it. She forced herself to stand her ground.

‘If you wish to…discuss the matter of last evening’s events, ma’am, I will be pleased to give you a hearing. I shall be free at…eleven o’clock this morning. You may present your petition then. In private.’ He gave her an address in Chelsea. To Marina, a stranger in London, it meant nothing.

He sat back into his saddle and took up the slack in the reins. ‘I shall expect you at eleven. Do not be late.’

Kit looked up from his newspaper as the long-case clock in the hall began to strike the hour. He had done her the courtesy of being here, because she was a lady. But he had known she would not come.

He turned back to his newspaper. He would just finish the report he had been reading, and then he would leave for his club. No doubt the story of his winnings would have done the rounds by now. He was like to hear about nothing else for a se’enight.

He leaned back into his leather wing chair, relishing the peace of the cramped Chelsea sitting room.

Five minutes later, a quiet knock on the door was followed by the entrance of the tiny woman who looked after the house. ‘There is a…a person to see you, sir,’ she said, bobbing a polite curtsy. ‘She will not give a name. She—’

‘The lady is come by appointment, to discuss a matter of business,’ Kit said firmly, to quell the speculation in the housekeeper’s eye. He rose to his feet. ‘Show her in, Mrs Budge.’

The grey lady was liberally spattered with mud. Kit looked quickly towards the window. He had been so absorbed, he had not noticed the rain. Had she walked all the way? Had she no sense at all? She was already unattractive enough, even without the addition of brown mud to her grey appearance.

And still she thought to sway him?

He shook his head wonderingly. She seemed ill prepared for the mammoth task she had undertaken.

He raised his brows enquiringly. ‘Good morning, ma’am,’ he said politely. She had stiffened noticeably. Surely she did not feel insulted by his treatment of her? A woman—a lady—who had come to a private meeting in a gentleman’s house?

He waited for her to speak. He would not help her.

‘Good morning, sir,’ she said at last. The poke of her drab bonnet dipped a fraction.

Was that a token bow? It seemed he would receive nothing more. Kit returned it in kind, from his much greater height. She dropped her eyes. She was nervous, clearly. He waited once more.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.