“Your cat must truly be something for you to follow him about in the middle of the night. An Angora, you said. You’ll have to forgive me, but I haven’t heard of that breed.”
She gave him a skeptical once over. “Puck is a very ancient breed of Turkish cats.”
“I see.”
“And they are very sensitive to their environment.”
“Naturally.”
“They also have a very curated diet and can’t be fed just anything.”
He caught her glance at the bushes in his garden. “What exactly do you think he’ll find to eat on my property?”
She lifted her chin. “How should I know what skeletons you have buried here?”
He arched a brow.
“Puck has a sensitive belly,” she said.
Deerhurst studied the woman before him, growing intrigued with each passing second. “Very precious indeed.”
“He is also very feral if provoked.” Her gaze met his straight on. “Just like his mistress.”
Deerhurst wanted to laugh, instead, he held up his hands. He paused, shelving the urge to tease her further. “Noted. Well, scoundrel that I am, I shall admit to enjoying tonight.”
She snorted. “Well, it’s over. Let’s not tempt fate anymore.”
Deerhurst inclined his head, amused. “Agreed.”
He shook his head as Lady Phaedra fled to the sanctuary of her home. There had always been something about her—repressed until tonight—that seemed to call to him in the most unnerving way. Perhaps because he had witnessed so many of her spunky moments through their drawing room window. How else to explain the madness that had prompted him to act on his desire tonight? He supposed he had been lucky. The kiss had been innocent enough.
Well, maybe notthatinnocent.
In any event, the woman seemed determined to sweep their momentary lapse in judgment under the rug. So did he.
Deerhurst had only one goal—to keep the secret of Abigail at all costs. His life had no place for a woman. Especially a woman that woulddelve. And Lady Phaedra was precisely such a woman. So he called upon years of discipline to stow the lingering intrigue she presented.
No attachments.
No entanglements.
All he had to do was keep his distance. That shouldn’t be hard at all.
From a patch of nearby shrubberies, a snowy cat emerged, padding leisurely over to Deerhurst. The feline rubbed against his black boots, purring.
He chuckled. “Naughty Puck. You got your mistress all riled up. As did I.”
After one more look in the direction Phaedra had disappeared, Deerhurst strode back to the lonely confines of his home, Puck trailing after him. He hadn’t been entirely honest. The cat had been visiting him every night for the past year, not happy until Deerhurst allowed him to curl up on his lap. Sometimes, he even came to visit during the day.
He had grown quite fond of the feline.
So long as his affection didn’t spill over to the delectable owner, all would be fine. No woman deserved to settle beneath the dark cloud of his past.
Chapter Two
Breakfast at theSharp household was generally a peaceful affair. The Earl of Huntly, Phaedra’s father, always read the daily paper while the women poured over the latest gossip columns. Not to gossip, mind you. Sharp women did not gossip. But they did keep up with the latest accounts of fashion and topics of interest such as foolish lords who gambled away their fortunes. This morning, however, Phaedra’s mind dwelled on the matter of a certain Sharp woman who might have gambled her reputation away.
No one saw.
