Page 18 of Merry Miss

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She hesitated but then nodded. “I’m sorry for—”

“No.” Jack’s voice came out gruffer than he intended. “The mistake was mine,” he grumbled, angry at himself. Jack rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around the room, unable to recall the last time he’d slept on a wooden floor.

“May I ask you something?” her voice interrupted his pitiful thoughts.

“If you must.”

“What was it about me that made you think I was…?”

The look in her chocolatey brown eyes was genuinely curious. If she saw what he did at that moment—waves of chestnut hair cascading over her creamy shoulders, voluptuous breasts nearly spilling over the bodice of her gown, her lips plump and slightly swollen from his earlier kisses…

If she could see herself looking as she did now, she’d never ask such a question.

Only.

Jack frowned. She had not been wearing that gown when he’d found her. She’d been buttoned up in her plain brown coat covered in mud and snow.

“Your hair.” His answer was the only thing he could think to give. But mostly it was because he…

Had wanted her. That he had so quickly jumped to that conclusion made him more than a little uneasy.

“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

She stared at him and then nodded. “I can’t see your face from here—not without my spectacles.” She wasn’t overset anymore—not outwardly, anyhow. “But thank you for—” She glanced around the room.

Her gratitude only summoned more guilt.

“I should have known.” He winced. “I’m sorry. I just thought...”

“Honestly, it’s the most incredible thing that’s ever happened to me.” She scowled thoughtfully, looking ridiculously lovely. Miss Somerset, Jack was coming to realize, possessed a distinctive charm. “I wouldn’t even begin to know what to do as far as all that’s concerned. Gentlemen I’ve met at balls don’t really notice me. So, you see, it’s rather a compliment to be… that you would want…” She faltered, blushing hotly.

Her words jolted him.

“I was willing to pay you.“ Jack had even considered a permanent arrangement if it suited both of them. Her response wasn’t at all what he would have expected. Any other woman would be scolding him, filled with righteous indignation.

As she should be.

When Jack had savedher from the side of the road, Delia had foolishly imagined herself in a fairy tale. Sitting in this room, however, she still had the feeling of having stepped into another dimension.

He had been willing to pay her?

She ought to be outraged. A proper lady would have been incensed at his kiss alone. A proper lady would have remained in her damp, soiled old gown the moment she’d taken one look at the maroon dress.

A proper lady would have died rather than risk losing her reputation.

However…

Delia frowned. A proper lady would never have been packed up and sent off alone on a mail coach.

Assuming her employers still wanted to hire her, as a companion, Delia was going to become even more invisible than she had been before.

“I’ve never worn red before,” she admitted. Unusual freedom swept through her while talking to him—a stranger.

But Jack was only a stranger in that he didn’t know her from London. He knew parts of her no one else had, or ever would again.

“It suits you.” He’d lowered himself into one of the chairs across the room, and Delia wished she could see him properly.

She had liked seeing him close up.


Tags: Annabelle Anders Historical