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Today she wore an unusual gown of green wool, and it fit her rather loosely, making him wonder if it had once belonged to her stepmother. It was cut rather low in front, with only a fichu of some gossamer fabric hiding the swells of her breasts.
God, what he would give to have the right to tug the fichu free so he could press kisses to every inch of that lovely flesh. But he couldn’t and mustn’t, and that truth drove him mad.
To keep his mind from wandering any further in that realm, he asked, “How is the work coming along?”
She jumped, then glared at him. “Good heavens, you frightened me! Don’t creep up on a lady like that, my lord.”
That was another thing that annoyed him. She called him “my lord” with every sentence, it seemed.
“Well? How is it progressing?” he asked, probably a bit too sharply.
She returned her gaze to her needlework. “Fine.”
“May I see?”
“Why, my lord?” she asked, still refusing to look at him. “Do you have suggestions?”
“Would you take them if I did?” he pressed her.
She set down her work with a look of sheer irritability. “Why are you here, Lord Cokesbury?”
He suppressed an oath. “I need to show you something.” He closed the door, then walked across the room. “Come here to the window.”
Gazing at him warily, she hesitated before rising and going to meet him. He pointed outside to the fellow now looking up at the town house. “Do you recognize that chap?”
She frowned. “Should I?”
“Not necessarily. But he’s been following my carriage whenever it picks up you and James and takes you back home. I was hoping you might know who he is.”
Examining the young man more closely, she shook her head. “I’ve never seen him before. Why do you think he’s following us?”
“The only reason I can come up with is he’s working for your uncle and trying to keep an eye on the three of you.”
She blanched. “To what purpose?”
“God only knows. But your uncle is the only person I could think of with a reason for watching you. Who else would it be?”
“That’s a good point. The fellow doesn’t look like any of Jim my’s band of miscreant friends. He’s too nicely dressed … and a bit too old. In fact, his clothing is what a servant might wear on his afternoon off, so that fits with the possibility that he’s working for Uncle Uriah. But why would Uncle Uriah be having someone follow us about?”
Noel shrugged. “No idea. I’ve written to your uncle urging him to come see what his negligence has wrought on his family, but it’s too early for an answer, I fear. Anyway, if he is the one behind this, I was hoping you’d have an opinion of what he’s up to.”
“I’m at a loss.” She cocked her head to look at him. “Perhaps you should speak to your servants. They might know. This fellow might have questioned them.”
“Good idea. But just to be sure you two are safe, I’m sending another footman with you in the carriage from now on.”
“If you wish.” As if that settled everything, she returned to her seat and went back to her needlework.
He told himself he should leave now. He’d done what he came for.
But he couldn’t bring himself to go. Instead, he strolled over to stand behind her so he could look over her shoulder at the dancing slippers. The needlework was every bit as good as his mother’s, which was the only standard he had to compare it to. Normally, he didn’t attend the queen’s competition. This would be a first for him, but he was determined to support her.
He narrowed his gaze on the slippers. “You changed the greenery part of the design.”
“I did. I still have holly on the gown, but your mother suggested I use mistletoe on the slippers. She thinks mistletoe is rather unique in embroidery and the unusual nature of it might help me win.”
“That would be a good reason to do it. I’ve never seen a piece that included mistletoe.” He examined her new design again. “And did you make the snow light blue instead of white so it will contrast better with the white mistletoe berries?”
“Exactly.” She shot him a veiled glance. “You certainly know your embroidery, sir.”
