Tempting the Scoundrel by Sumner Tracy & Devon House

Author:Sumner, Tracy & Devon, House
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-09-23T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 5

Christian was late for the morning’s translation session.

Penny had overslept, which meant he’d overslept. There’d been no time for anything but a quick freshening up with tepid water from the washbasin and a guzzled cup of lukewarm tea. He was unshaven, cravat askew, waistcoat buttons, he noted as he looked down upon entering the duke’s study, misbuttoned. He’d decided to forego his coat and had his sleeves rolled to his elbows. He wasn’t going to play the part of the supposed aristocrat Raine had turned down—because his tailor was the best in London, and it showed in his attire—when the real Christian Bainbridge was an informal man.

He would be himself with his bluestocking and see how that went.

She was there, dependable to a fault, settled in the massive armchair that swallowed her petite frame, head bent, glorious hair stuffed in that horrid cap. After they crawled from bed the morning after their marriage, his second duty was going to be tossing those pathetic pieces of cotton and lace in the hearth. His first being making love to her until neither of them could see straight. He gave a mental sigh and made himself circle her to the desk. He had no reason to touch her even if his fingertips tingled with the temptation, his stomach twisting with the need. He’d dreamed about her most of the night, their kiss lingering on his lips like mist on the moors.

As he collapsed in the duke’s chair, his fingers stumbled over his waistcoat buttons, a quick repair when there was no way to hide the shape he was in.

Raine glanced up from her folio, took him in with one of those penetrating reviews that set his skin aflame, her lips lifting in a wry smile she didn’t try to conceal. With a slight shake of her head, she pushed a teacup across the desk, then returned to her work.

The tea was blessedly hot, strong, no milk, one sugar. Just as he liked it. This trivial thoughtfulness combined with the rosy tinge lighting her cheeks eased the spiral of tension in his belly. She wasn’t unaffected by him or his graceless proposal.

It was a start.

He popped his loupe in place, collected his tools, and dove into his work, content to be with her amidst a most companionable silence. The Duke of Devon had proven to be an excellent client over the years, his watches all coming from Christian’s shop. The one he worked on now was a particular favorite, a piece Christian had relinquished with what felt like despair, the substantial blunt in his pocket not enough to ease the pain of surrendering his design. Perhaps making him an artist if not an able businessman.

Christian smoothed his finger over the etchings on the sterling silver case, the whirring wheels, the coiled hairsprings. Clicking and spinning in a flawless tempo, with maintenance able to provide the most reliable part of the duke’s day for the rest of his life. His son’s life. Christian’s timepieces would live far beyond him, a notion which gratified whenever he imagined it.

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