A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)

“Truly, sir? You mean for me to eat it?” A dirt-smeared hand closed around the dish.

“Yes, cert—” Before Toby could even make his assurances, the boy had devoured half the dish’s contents. Wielding the spoon like a garden trowel, he ate greedily, as if the treat might disappear on its own, if he didn’t work fast. The boy’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Bel could not suppress a small laugh.

She suddenly realized Toby was watching her closely.

“Now you’re smiling. Thank God. I was becoming a bit desperate there.”

“I’m so sorry. I know you meant to be kind, but truly—I could not have enjoyed the ice.”

“Yet you can enjoy the boy’s enjoyment of it.”

“Yes,” she said slowly, though she didn’t know how to explain. Growing up as she had, she’d been acutely aware that every pleasure or convenience she enjoyed—a clean shift, a warm bath, a cool drink—came at the expense of another person’s dignity. But viewing someone else’s pleasure felt different. Safer. Last night, she’d liked watching the dancers far more than she’d liked dancing. Today, she could not enjoy eating the ice, but she could enjoy the boy’s expression of innocent delight.

Bel tried to make sense of it, but the logic knotted in her mind. Biting her lip, she asked, “Does that make me a terrible hypocrite?”

“Not at all.” Gently, he unfolded her fingers from the seat iron. She hadn’t even realized she was still clutching the metal rail. His eyes warmed as he kissed her gloved fingers. “It makes you a selfless, generous angel. And it makes me wonder how I will ever deserve you.”

Oh, and now a sweet, viscous emotion puddled in her belly. So rich, so indulgent, it made her feel a bit ill.

“You’ve given me an idea,” he said.

“I have?”

“Yes. An inspiration, more like.” He released her hand, then summoned the teashop waiter with a subtle nod. Bel watched as the two men conferred quietly. Then Toby returned to his side of the phaeton and vaulted into the seat. “I have in mind an amusement, which I am positive will bring you great enjoyment. But it requires us to drive fast. Can you bear it?”

Oh dear. Anticipation gleamed bright in his eyes, and Bel could not bring herself to dim it. She gave a brave nod and once again latched her fingers over the seat iron.

“No, no,” he said, glancing at her two-fisted grip as he gathered the reins. “You’ll only feel more jounced about that way. Best to hold onto my arm.”

He offered his elbow, and Bel stared at it. “If you insist…”

“I do.”

She threaded one arm through his, linking her hands around his upper arm. The waiter emerged from the teashop bearing a large hamper, which Toby directed him to secure behind the phaeton seat. Then, with a clipped word from their master, the horses jolted into motion. Bel clutched at Toby’s arm as they turned out into the street. His muscles flexed under her fingers, and a thrill shot through her.

“Are you well?” he shouted, urging the horses faster.

“Yes,” she managed in a weak voice. When collision with an approaching barouche seemed imminent, Bel suppressed a cry of alarm and clamped her eyes shut.

Oh, this was much better in the dark.

He was right. The jolts of the carriage felt less pronounced now that she gripped his arm rather than the metal frame. Leaning into him, she endeavored to make her body pliant, weightless. Soon she learned how a small flex of his arm or shift of his weight preceded any alteration in course. The easy command he displayed soothed her concern, as did the familiar, sophisticated scent of his cologne. Yet they also stirred her, in some deep, undeniably feminine way. The more she became aware of his strength, the more her own body softened in response. She coasted along with the rocking motions of the carriage, the fear in her belly replaced by a new sensation … a dark, sweet hunger that built and built.

“We’re here,” he announced, drawing the team to a halt.

Surely we’re not, thought Bel, feeling a profound sense of interruption. Wherever this wave of sensation was carrying her, she couldn’t possibly be more than halfway along. She opened her eyes. A forbidding brick-and-stone façade rose up before them. “What is this place?”

“It’s Dr. David’s dispensary for children.” He tossed the reins to a groom and slid down from the seat. “Quickly now,” he said, hurrying around to help her down. Puzzled, she watched him beckon a manservant from the dispensary’s entrance. Together, the men worked to unstrap the hamper from the back of the carriage.

Toby grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her toward the entrance. “Hurry along. We don’t want it to melt.”