Page 93 of Almost A Scoundrel

“I will hold you to these words.” Down to the very last letter.

She smiled, her gaze flicking to the crack in the drapes before widening. “It’s daylight! Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”

He shrugged. “You needed rest. And aren’t you good at sneaking in and out of your home?”

She glared at him. “In the darkness, yes.” She covered herself with a sheet and darted from the bed. Her gaze tracked the floor. “Where is my chemise?”

“You slipped away during the morning once before if you recall.”

She shot him a narrow look. “Do you expect me to climb through one of the windows? What if I’m caught? Besides, ifyourecall, Mary was there that morning to keep watch.”

“We’ll be careful.”

“Oh no, you’re not setting foot on our property until proper calling hours.”

Deerhurst frowned. “Why not?”

“Do you even need to ask me that? While our courtship has turned real, I’d rather not have the end of my father’s pistol rush us toward a wedding or, worse, lose you in a duel with my father.”

“I’m an excellent shot.”

“So am I.”

Got it.

Let Huntly win.

Deerhurst suddenly smirked. Life with Phaedra Sharp would never be boring. He quite looked forward to their future. He trusted that she meant what she said—his past was in his past. And the list... well, after they wed, any wagers concerning her would be null and void, and he’d cross that bridge when they got there. In the meantime, he would seduce her over to his side.

“Where did you put my chemise?”

Deerhurst rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t put it anywhere.”

Her eyes widened. “Does this mean...”

He stilled.

The study.

There was a knock on the door.

Deerhurst almost laughed as Phaedra launched for the bed and dove beneath the blanket that still covered him.

“Sir?”

“What is it?” Deerhurst called, though he already had a hunch.

“Sorry to disturb your rest, my lord. I have some items that you might require,” a clear of the throat, “later.”

Of course.

He rose from the bed and strode naked to the door, opening the door just an inch. The footman handed him the discarded clothes before scurrying off with an expressionless face.

When the door shut, Phaedra ripped the covers off her head. “I am ruined!”

“Yes,” he grinned, then outright laughed. “Yes, you are.”

So am I.