If it weren’t for Grandmama’s deteriorating mind she would have sacked him long ago. Fortunately for him, consistency in her daily life trumped a well-run household.
Ada watched Sweet pick through his breakfast. Manners aside, she had to agree with Grandmama. Hair and clothes slightly rumpled from a night’s sleep, he looked even more virile—more dangerously male—in the bright light of morning. Larger, by far, than anyone else in the room, he dominated it, if only by virtue of his size and his overwhelmingly male energy.
An energy she had no idea how to manage.
Ada pushed aside her plate. It was like dining with a tame tiger. One could never fully trust it wouldn’t snap, wouldn’t unleash a wild strength far beyond her own.
A strength she found oddly compelling.
Hence the periwinkle silk.
Much as she ignored fashion, even she couldn’t help noticing how that particular shade of blue complemented her complexion and enhanced the deep brown of her eyes.
Tiny pearl buttons marched from collar to waist, set off by a delicate lace edging of. The bodice hugged her torso, draping the curves enhanced by her corset in a way only silk could do.
It was her favorite gown. Nothing else in her scant wardrobe made her feel so delicate, or so feminine.
Not that Edison Sweet noticed.
Since joining them at the table, he’d shown her no more attention than he had the salt shaker. Why she found that particularly deflating, she preferred not to consider.
What she had given a great deal of consideration was his warning. He was right. She could barely defend herself, let alone Grandmama and a house full of servants. Until the device was safely delivered, she would need assistance.
To ignore that put them all in jeopardy.
Beecham glided into her line of sight, his disapproving gaze fastened on Sweet’s brimming plate. "I'll have cook send an extra plate of bacon. Will there be anything else?"
“No. Thank you.” How did he pack so much disdain into so few words?
Across from her, Sweet gave Grandmama the full benefit of his rakish smile. “Tell me about Bertram, Mrs. Fogel.”
Ada focussed on selecting a fresh piece of toast from the rack in front of her, but it was like playing naughts and crosses in a brewing storm, pretending to ignore the coming destruction.
But disaster was averted.
The fog had already enveloped the old dear in it’s familiar embrace. Grandmama blinked rapidly, her face slack, no animation, no comprehension visible. "Bertram?" Her frail voice quavered. “Silly name. Don’t know a Bertram. You must mean Bertie.” She swatted Edison on the arm. “He’s a scamp, that one. Always chasing the ladies. Doesn’t care a whit if they’re married or not.” Her faded blue eyes twinkled. “He chased me more than once, he did. Almost caught me out by the Grecian folly at Wendover’s estate, but I outfoxed him. Hid behind the pump house until I thought I’d freeze solid.”
Sweet’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “Bertie, the crown prince?”
“Of course the crown prince.” Grandmama’s eyes narrowed. She studied Sweet as if he were half a load shy, then turned her attention back to her toast and egg.
A gentle smile curving his lips, Sweet turned toward Ada. His gaze swept over her, lingering on the lace that edged the pulse beating at the side of her neck. His smile faded, and his eyes seemed to darken, glittering with a heat she might have called desire, if she didn’t know better.
As if she didn’t know he’d have no interest in a woman like her.
Still, her body responded as if he were touching her, as if she could actually feel the warmth from his hands as he caressed her waist, spreading his fingers over her ribcage, then moving them higher until…
Cheeks flaming, breath coming harder, faster, Ada sat up straighter, pulling herself out of the spell. Perhaps seeking to entice the tiger had been a poor idea.
Before the new feelings could overwhelm her, Ada stared down at the remains of her meal. "I've given your warning a great deal of thought."
The intensity faded from his look. He relaxed back into his seat, neither urging her on, nor interrupting.
She liked that, liked that he didn't try to run roughshod over her with his male logic.
Ada pressed a hand to her chest, but the small buttons pressed into her palm, reminding her of his gaze sweeping over her, stoking a sensual fire. She dropped her hand to her lap and cleared her throat. “You made some excellent points, but I must ask about your fees. I'm sure it's something I can accommodate but—"
“We don't charge for our services."
"No fees? How do you manage?” Ada tilted her head. “Are you saying you simply help people, for no compensation?”
“It's what I do."
Sweet set down his fork, and rested his forearms on the table, leaning close. "I've seen what ruthless men can destroy. My family and I have the skills and the inclination to oppose them."
“A knight in shining armor then?” Manners prevented her from shaking her head in disbelief. “I’ve yet to meet such a creature. Nothing comes without a price."
“I relish the chance to change your mind about that."
Ada shuddered. He was so confident, so sure of his own strength, so deliciously male. And apparently, civic-minded.
The man grew more dangerous by the instant.
Ada forked up a bite of dry ham. The morsel stuck in her throat. She really was tired. Tired of rattling about in Harrison's lavish home. Tired of seeing to servants who'd cared little for their jobs, and even less for her.
Only Miss Peabody served with distinction. Ada would be forever grateful for her steadfast devotion to her grandmother. Except for Grandmama and her aging companion, her household was more a collection of strangers than a family, each going about their own business, most of them skating on the edge of sullen disrespect.
A household a man like Sweet would never tolerate.
"I've heard tell the king’s taken another mistress. A Frenchie this time." Grandmama threw up her gnarled hands. “That man’ll bring us to war, mind my words."
Her tone rose, heavy with agitation. Miss Peabody fussed with the shawl over Grandmama's thin shoulders and murmured low, soothing words. She exchanged a look with Ada, and nudged Grandmama's chair back, urging her up. “We might have callers this afternoon. Let’s get you into that beautiful yellow gown.”
Grandmama's wrinkled face brightened. "Oh yes, let's do. Can’t be underdressed. Those awful Willburmarle sisters could call. Can’t be outdone. They’ll crow about it for weeks.”
"Exactly.” Peabody waited patiently for Grandmama to gain her feet, then followed closely as she shuffled her way toward the hall.
Ada raised her serviette to her lips to hide a smile. The Willburmarle sisters had passed into the great beyond two decades past.
At the doorway Grandmama stopped and turned back toward them. "You do resemble Bertram," she said to Sweet. "Handsome as the day was long. And what a stallion. That man—"