THE COUNTRY BUTLER
As she stepped inside and past him, she thought she smelled liquor.
“Did you enjoy yourself tonight, my sweet lady fair?”
“I beg your pardon, Easton?” Isabella could barely credit her ears. What had he called her?
“Did an appropriate number of young gentlemen fawn over your ample charms, my lady? Did they all vie for the chance to dance with you and flatter you shamelessly? Did any manage to maneuver you behind a potted fern and steal a kiss, or more?”
Isabella could only stare at him. Goodness, he was looking at her arrogantly, one black brow arched. She suddenly noticed that he wore no coat or cravat, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone. Never had respectable Bent been seen in such a state. Of course, it only made Easton appear more handsome and perhaps a bit like a rake.
“I do believe you are foxed, Easton.”
“Nonsense. Butlers don’t get foxed.” He frowned. “I shall, of course, have to ask Tilbot to be sure. But I feel quite confident that while butlers may occasionally become tipsy, they never get foxed.” He shook his head emphatically.
“I think it best you find your bed now, Easton.” Isabella began edging toward the stairs. Given the predatory gleam in his eyes, escaping her attractive butler seemed a very sensible thing to do right now. And heaven only knew, if she was anything, she was a sensible person.
“No, my bed is too bloody small.”
Easton, now grinning wickedly, was advancing on her. Oh, dear. She would swoon, surely, if he touched her. She’d never swooned before in her life, of course, but she had a feeling that this was truly a swoon-worthy situation if there ever was one.
© 2015-2016 All rights reserved