Page 8 of Submitting to the Widow
She placed her hands on her hips, hidden danger sparking from her eyes. “Surely you didn’t think a few moments of hurried love play would satisfy the requirements of our agreement?”
Stephen sucked in a sharp breath. “And just what are the terms of this…this agreement?”
“You never asked.”
* * *
Jane watchedBarrister Forsythe’s green gaze turn from the light shade of the tender first leaves of her climbing pea pods to the intense green of the tree frogs from her childhood in India, and finally, the deep green of the ocean under the midday sun.
Had she pushed him too far? Did she care?
“About this agreement…” He folded his arms tight against his chest and stared down at her, his intent unreadable. “Have you any idea who I am, or what I do for a living?”
She held up one hand and began to tick off items on her fingers. “You’re a very popular cricket player, you’re a man who apparently earned pin money while at Cambridge by seducing older women, and I’ve been led to believe you’re now a distinguished barrister in London.”
“Stop right there.” The tone of his voice probably terrified courtroom denizens, but she refused to be cowed. “I’ve never been paid by any woman for my, um, services.” After the look of righteous indignation left his face, it was replaced by a confused look. “Wait, what makes you think I’m a popular cricket player?”
“I’ve seen you play,” she said simply. “And I’ve seen the adulation from the ladies in the crowd, not to mention the sporting gentlemen.”
“I don’t believe you. When? When did you see me play?”
“At Lord’s last August.”
Barrister Forsythe cocked his head to the side and stared at her as if she’d grown an extra appendage. “Why would you travel all the way to St. John’s Wood, almost to London, just to see a cricket match?”
“We were visiting friends who lived nearby and thought we’d enjoy taking in a game.”
“Your husband was a cricket enthusiast?”
“Yes, and my father as well. They played on teams in Rajasthan before they both retired and brought me here.”
Still apparently unconvinced, he pressed her for more. “All right. What position did I play?”
She gave him an impudent, indulgent grin. “You’re an all-rounder. You play whatever position is needed.”
“And of twenty-two players on the field, you remembered me alone? Madame, your tale beggars belief.”
“Well, there was that one time you made a line drive when you were batsman…”
“And you remember that particular instance because?”
“Because you have the most magnificent backside I’ve ever seen on a man.”
* * *
Stephen’s cockhad heard enough. The miserable wretch was on high alert and ready to sign anything the sensuous Lady Trevellyn required. He had to remind himself, firmly, what was at stake and apply the brakes to his baser side.
“Never mind your salacious references to my, um, backside, Lady Trevellyn, we have a contract to negotiate.”
“Yes,” she agreed quickly. Too quickly.
She pulled a crisp sheet of vellum from a drawer in a carved teak desk tucked into a dark, plant-filled corner of her jungle-like bower. When she walked back to the edge of the long pool and waterfall where he waited, she’d donned a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles. He pulled a similar pair from a jacket pocket. They stared uneasily at each other’s bespectacled faces for a few minutes longer than politeness required.
He waited for her to sit on the cushion-strewn chaise longue with her long legs tucked beneath her. When he joined her, sitting gingerly at the end, he tried not to recall the events of earlier in the day when day when they’d sat there together and had explored each other with abandon.
He took the sheet she handed him and proceeded to read each item with intent.
After a long interval of silence, he exploded with anger. “You have a specific act you expect me to perform in exchange for each consecutive batch of pages? Where did you get such a perverse idea?”