Her Secret Fantasy by Gaelen Foley Page B

He did not know. Nor could he explain why he cared or why the thought of her afforded cool relief like a soothing poultice for his wounded mind.
    I’m going to find you, whoever you are,
he thought, maybe too impatient to wait for her to come to him. He didn’t even know her name, yet somehow he felt closer to that elusive nymph than he did to the woman in his bed.
    When he caught a sudden whiff of Purnima’s cooking, his stomach rumbled on cue for breakfast. Derek cast the sheet aside, taking care not to disturb his bedmate.
    He rose and stepped into a pair of loose white drawers. As he tied the drawstring at his waist, he paused, startled by the lightly bruised teeth-marks that Lady Amherst had left on his stomach—a distinct love bite right by his navel. Egads, he had forgotten about that.
    With a cynical twist of a smile, he shrugged on a loose banyan robe of dark-toned silk, then left his chamber silently, closing the door behind him.
    He had things to do and, in truth, no real desire to be here when his latest conquest awoke, if he could avoid it. Not that he was trying to escape a conversation, but as a general rule, experience had taught him that the more discreetly he could take leave of his lovers, the smoother such partings went. He liked to keep things simple, make a clean break. He intended to get his day under way and pay a call on Lord Sinclair, the chairman of the committee.
    He hoped that today the pompous earl would be able to tell him how soon the navy transports would set sail for India with the army’s gold.
    “Good day, sahib!”
    Derek hushed Aadi with haste, glancing over his shoulder at the closed chamber door as his servant came hurrying toward him. No need to wake the tigress. “Morning, Aadi,” he answered in a low tone. “Breakfast ready yet?”
    “Yes, Major. Your bath, too. We, ah, presumed you would be going out this morning.”
    “Quite,” Derek said ruefully, grateful that his loyal staff knew the routine. “You, er, will look after the lady for me when she wakes? See that she has all she needs after I’ve gone?”
    “Oh, yes, sahib. As always.”
    Derek raised an eyebrow at his servant’s cheeky bow, but he stepped past the Indian, following his nose toward the kitchen.
    “Major, what shall I tell the lady if she asks us where you’ve gone?” Aadi asked after him in Bengali, nodding toward his closed chamber door.
    “Oh, I don’t know, tell her I’ve gone off on army business,” he answered in his servant’s native tongue and shrugged. “Tell her whatever you like, just make sure she’s gone by the time I get back. Don’t get too close, mind you,” he warned with a sly glance over his shoulder as he walked off down the hall, his loose robe flowing out behind him. “She bites.”
    Before long, he was dressed and fed and striding down Piccadilly, headed for Lord Sinclair’s elegant Town mansion. He went on foot because it wasn’t far and, admittedly, he was keen to kill some extra time while his servants worked on sending Lady Amherst on her way.
    Pausing on the street corner, he ignored a newsboy selling papers and paced as he waited for a crowded stagecoach to rumble by. It was then that he noticed a florist’s shop behind him. Derek suddenly paused, turned, and walked in.
    He ordered flowers for the Brookses to express his thanks for the invitation to the masked ball, but in truth, his gentlemanly courtesy served a double purpose. While the florist created the bouquet, Derek leaned on the shop’s counter, writing out a little note to be included with his offering.
    After expressing his gratitude and complimenting his hosts on their lavish event, a roguish smile played about his lips as he wondered how to broach the subject of the earring. Then he dipped the quill in the ink pot and wrote:

    I believe one of your lady guests may have lost an earring in the garden, for I found such a bauble last night while admiring your grounds, but foolishly forgot to entrust