David Lord of Honor (The Lonely Lords) by Grace Burrowes Page A

assemblies.
    “I nearly am, the point being that superficial social interaction isn’t that demanding when one has been trained to manage it. The gathering does take on a different air when couples are disappearing up the steps from time to time and grinning fellows are coming down.”
    “Noticed that, did you?” And she’d tried not to be obvious about her noticing too, while David had tried not to obviously watch her.
    Perhaps he’d have two drinks. He took a place beside her, got his cravat off without swearing audibly, and began to wrench at a boot.
    “You are disrobing.”
    “Partially,” David said through gritted teeth. “You are welcome to do likewise.”
    “Would you like some help with that boot?” she asked, pushing to her feet.
    He stuck his boot out, the same as he would have were she his valet or his… wife, while wondering whose boots she’d tugged off in the past.
    “Do not,” she warned, “think of putting your foot on my person, sir. Or any other part of you on any other part of me.”
    “Duly warned.” Did her defenses never waver? He rather hoped, for her sake, they did not.
    Letty stepped over his shin and presented him with the fetching prospect of her derriere at eye level. With a strong tug, she had his boot off, dropped his foot, and stepped back to allow him to raise the other leg.
    When the second boot was off, she held up both. “Where do you want these?”
    “Outside the door. The bootboy will see to them while we have our nightcap.”
    A knock on the door heralded the arrival of their drinks, and David took the boots from her, putting them in the corridor before he took the tray proffered by the waiting footman.
    “Your chocolate, madam.” He bowed before Letty where she’d once again ensconced herself on the couch, then grabbed a pillow, slapped it down on the hearth, and lowered himself onto it.
    Lest some part of him be tempted to touch some part of her.
    He took a sip. “Chocolate is a good idea, but it needs something.” He went to the sideboard, where he searched out a brown bottle with a label in Italian, and sloshed a goodly portion from the bottle into his hot chocolate.
    “Try mine,” he suggested. “If you like it, we’ll doctor yours as well.”
    She reached for the bottle and sniffed. “Nuts?”
    “Hazelnut liqueur. I came across it in Italy.” He held out his drink, and she brought it to her lips. Perhaps she thought he’d surrender it into her keeping, but instead—because he was a tired fool suffering an inconvenient attack of adolescence—kept his hand wrapped around the glass, so she had to wrap her fingers over his.
    He was offering spirits to a lady in a bordello after midnight, and feeling both naughty and hopeful about the prospects.
    Pathetic—or, perhaps, sweet. David held up the bottle. “Shall you?”
    “A bit. I’m not used to spirits.”
    She attended rural assemblies, wasn’t used to spirits, and kissed with all the wonderment and innocence of a new bride. David poured a sparing amount into her drink, though it was tempting to get her tipsy and himself drunk.
    “So you’re just going to sit there,” David asked from his perch on the hearth, “all dressed?”
    “Why would I remove clothing in your presence?” Letty replied, taking another sip of her drink.
    She was baiting him—he was almost sure of it. “Because it’s more comfortable and leaves less to do when one eventually succumbs to the arms of Morpheus? You are staying here tonight, I hope?”
    “I could.” Euridyce had taken lodgings in the underworld with more enthusiasm.
    “Until the weather improves, I wish you would. The only people abroad at this hour of the night when it’s this cold are up to no good. And we’ve an appointment with Madame Baptiste in the morning anyway. Would you like more hot chocolate?”
    “I taste spices in this too—nutmeg, maybe, or cinnamon. I’m probably going to fall asleep halfway through if I have another. The longer I