“Your Grace?”
Shocked at his lapse in decorum, Jasper sat. She was here on behalf of a church, not seeking a lover at a pleasure club.
“Ladies,” he said, his tone more forbidding than he intended, so he tempered it with a brief smile. “Do take a seat. How may I assist?”
One of the older women beamed as she settled on the overstuffed chaise. “I am Miss Ruth Lacey. This is Miss Martha Kinloch, and our dear friend Miss Ada Blair.”
Oh. The luscious beauty was Ada Blair, the vicar’s daughter.
He’d just fantasized about fucking a vicar’s daughter senseless.
Inwardly wincing, Jasper inclined his head. “Enchanted. Do you seek funds for charity? Building improvements, perhaps? If so, I should be happy to contribute.”
An odd, tense silence met his words. His guests exchanged meaningful glances, and the Misses Lacey and Kinloch stood.
“We’ll let Ada explain,” said Miss Lacey. “May we peruse your library shelves?”
“I love books,” said Miss Kinloch with a sweet smile.
Puzzled yet intrigued by their behavior, he nodded permission, and the two older women hurried to the far end of the room.
Jasper leaned back in his chair and tapped his chin. “I now find myself exceedingly curious to know your request, Miss Blair.”
She took an audible breath. “We don’t seek funds, Your Grace. I am here to discuss a delicate matter.”
“Indeed? Go on.”
Miss Blair’s cheeks darkened to rose. “It is…most delicate.”
Why was she so hesitant? He understood the natural reticence of a country miss toward a high-ranking stranger, but he wasn’t an ogre. Perhaps this angel sensed all the wicked things he wanted to do to her, aged guests, servants, and library location be damned.
“Nothing is too delicate for my ears. Is it a complaint, perchance? One of my staff or tenants behaving badly?”
“No, not at all,” she replied, taking another deep breath. “Actually, I wondered…that is, if you agree…Your Grace, I should like to hire you as my first lover.”
Jasper froze, temporarily robbed of speech. He must be hallucinating. Surely the daughter of a village vicar hadn’t just enquired about hiring him for bedsport.
Yet Miss Blair sat here, her cheeks now scarlet, waiting for a response.
Bloody hell.
The Duke of Gilroy was the most handsome man she’d ever seen in her life. Even the hushed magnificence of the library, with its floor to ceiling shelves of leather-bound books, priceless artworks, and thick Aubusson rugs, had faded into insignificance when he’d stood to welcome them. Gracious, that face. Piercing blue eyes, square jaw, and glossy dark brown hair attractively streaked with silver. Better still, the duke must be at least several inches taller than she; with massive shoulders encased in a perfectly tailored black jacket, a simple rather than fussy cravat, and thankfully, no lace at his wrists. Probably her upbringing, but she’d never liked garish patterns or excessive trim.
Alas though, the bold request had broken him.
Ada bit her lip in dismay as Gilroy stared at her with wide eyes and slightly parted lips. Should she speak? Snap her fingers?
At last he blinked. “Er—”
“I apologize,” she mumbled as she stood, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her. The Grand Cock Plan was indeed the worst in history; she’d been a complete twit to think even for a moment that the duke might agree to bed her. “I’ve never asked that of anyone, naturally you wouldn’t want to. I’m hardly your usual preference, am I? Oh dear—”
“Sit down, Miss Blair,” he said sternly.
Ada sat. If this were a Mrs. Radcliffe novel, no doubt she, Ruth, and Martha would shortly be locked in a dank cellar by a loyal footman, or blindfolded and tossed into a rickety carriage for an endless journey around a haunted moor. Heroines were often punished for being foolish, but if she could plead her case…
“Do forgive my impertinence, Your Grace. Is there any chance we could pretend this never happened? I won’t darken your doorstep ever again.”
“Impossible,” Gilroy replied, tilting his head and fixing that startling blue gaze upon her. “It is etched in my memory now.”
Ada hesitated. He didn’t sound cross. Nor were his cheeks flooding with color the way her father’s did when he was about to unleash his volcanic temper. In fact, the duke looked almost amused. “You aren’t…offended?”
“Surprised would be the word, Miss Blair. ’Tis not every day that a gently bred virgin enquires if she might hire me as her first lover. Is there a particular reason I am your choice?”
“Forgive me if I am misinformed, Your Grace,” she began slowly, grasping for words that wouldn’t make her sound like a Bedlamite, “but it is my understanding you enjoy short affairs with strict yet naughty contracts. And, you do not gossip about your former lovers. That is what I’m looking for. A man who is experienced, discreet, and mature, so the bedding is pleasant, and I can learn many things without fear of scandal or banishment.”
Rather than shock or dismay at her announcement, Gilroy merely nodded. “You are not misinformed. But I wonder why you seek a brief affair rather than, say, marriage? It is an unusual path for a vicar’s daughter.”
After twenty-nine years in the Blair household, the duke’s questions were so calm and reasonable, so lacking in judgement or censure, it was almost confusing. But he seemed to value honesty. In for a penny, in for a pound.
Ada clasped her hands. “My father does not wish me to wed. He prefers I live with him and act as his housekeeper, so he has frightened away every suitor I’ve ever had. No man in Charlton Kings or even Cheltenham will come near me now. But I really would like to know how it feels to sing like a nightingale in bed,” she finished wistfully.
Muffled giggles sounded from the far end of the room; Ruth and Martha were indeed listening intently. Yet Gilroy didn’t laugh.
“I see. And how much are you willing to pay for such a service? Lovers who make you, er, sing like a nightingale in bed don’t come cheap, you know.”
She almost gasped at the twinkle in his eye. Had negotiations commenced? Could the duke actually be considering her request?
“I…ah…I’m not sure,” she replied unsteadily, rummaging through her reticule with clumsy fingers to retrieve the small leather coin purse that her godmothers had generously added several shillings to. “I’m sure everything costs more in London, including hired lovers, but we are in Cheltenham. Perhaps…a shilling per bedding?”
Gilroy grinned. Not a small smile like before, but an actual grin that revealed a flash of white teeth and turned handsome into devastating. “I’m relieved you think me worth a shilling. Would have been a terrible blow if you’d offered a farthing, even in Cheltenham money.”
Good heavens. The duke was teasing her. Men never did so. They either assumed a vicar’s daughter lacked humor or feared her father’s wrath too much to share jests, let alone any bawdy talk. Fortunately, Ruth and Martha shared everything.
“I must warn you, Your Grace,” she said, smiling in return, “I hold high expectations of my employees. Should you choose to accept my offer, you will certainly earn that shilling.”