She nodded. “How do I prove it? It is merely my word against his. The servants will not speak out against him. He is a barrister and has far too much influence and power. But even if they did side with me, I haven’t the necessary requirements to seek a divorce because, as I mentioned, he’s not been unfaithful.”
Perhaps not bodily but to his vows to love, honor, and cherish. With a sigh, Bishop leaned back. “But you think he will seek a divorce when he discovers your infidelity?”
“I’m rather certain his pride will insist.” Angling her head slightly and lowering her saucer to her lap, she studied him as though he were a new breed of puppy. “Why do you do this? Help women out of unpleasant circumstances? He is bound to sue you for damages for having criminal conversation with what he considers his. Other husbands have. What do you gain?”
Without answering, he tossed back what remained of his scotch and shoved himself to his feet. “Give it grave consideration, Mrs. Mallard. If you are still of a mind to carry through with this plan, find an excuse to leave your residence without your husband and return here at nine in the evening Tuesday next, at which time our affair shall commence.”
The cup did give a slight rattle against the saucer then. “Mrs. Winters assured me—”
“Nothing shall actually occur between us, but we will give all appearances that it has. Once your husband begins to suspect, he will no doubt hire a detective to solicit proof. You are free to tell the truth and deny that we are involved. But you will not be believed. My reputation will ensure it.”
As instructed earlier by the butler, Daisy sat in a brocade armchair at the end of the hallway waiting for the man everyone, including staff, referred to as Bishop to finish with the woman behind the closed door so she could retrieve the tea service and tidy up. No doubt pillows or cushions from one of the sofas tossed onto the floor. Perhaps even broken china or porcelain figurines. Although their encounter was certainly quieter than she’d expected.
Serving as an inquiry agent, a private investigator, she knew all about David Blackwood, was here because of his reputation. Her most recent client, Martin Parker, was relatively certain his wife was engaged in an adulterous liaison with the man. Therefore, Daisy had hired on as a maid to catch the vixen in the act. Wednesday a woman had arrived a little after nine in the evening. Daisy had managed to catch a glimpse of the lady before Bishop had escorted her up the stairs to his bedchamber, and she wasn’t the wife for whom Daisy was searching. But that didn’t mean Mrs. Parker wasn’t one of his paramours. Last year he’d been the adulterous party named in two divorce proceedings. Now, having seen him with a second woman in this residence, she had to wonder how many he needed to slake his lust.
So here she was, hoping her client was correct and her time wasn’t being wasted. Also hoping she could resist the allure of Bishop. The man was far too handsome, with features that appeared to have been chiseled from stone. Although a bit rough around the edges, they formed a fetching landscape, like that of a majestic mountain with interesting crags and hollows that begged to be explored. Dark hair and dark eyes, eyes that saw too much. Tall with remarkably broad shoulders that could no doubt carry any burden, he wore his clothes well. Obviously, he had a fine tailor and was very particular about his attire. When she’d fetched his glass, she’d noticed the unique buttons on his waistcoat. Black onyx inlaid with a golden B.
Most employers paid scant attention to their servants. When he’d asked her name, her heart had sped up, and she’d feared her ruse had been discovered. But apparently, he’d been only curious. Yet tiny tremors had continued to undulate through her as she had prepared tea for his guest. She’d been grateful the china hadn’t rattled. The concentration with which he’d watched her certainly hadn’t helped matters. No other gentleman had ever studied her so thoroughly. She’d felt as though she’d been naked. Not that he had leered, but the intensity of his gaze had made her feel as if he could see her clearly, could uncover all her secrets.
The library door finally opened, and the woman stepped out followed by Bishop, who immediately swiveled his head Daisy’s way, as though he’d been struck by her presence as forcefully as she had by his when he’d appeared before her. Why the devil was she so aware of him?
“Daisy, what are you doing there?” His deep, rich, and melodic voice made her wonder if its hypnotic power was partially responsible for his ability to lure women into his bed so easily.
Quickly she came to her feet. “Mr. Perkins bade me to wait until you’d completed your . . . business so I could collect the tea service straightaway.”
“Mmm, I see. Well, I’m going to escort Mrs. Mallard home before carrying on to a meeting. Hopefully Perkins remembered to have the carriage waiting for me.”
“I’m rather certain he did, sir. He’s quite efficient.”
“Yes, he is.” He studied her for a full minute while Mrs. Mallard looked on, more in curiosity than jealousy. She supposed, based on his reputation, women knew they’d be sharing him and there was no point in being bothered by it. “Right, then, see to your duties.”
Without even touching his guest, he escorted her toward the large foyer that fed into stairs and hallways. If Daisy was involved with a man, she’d want him unable to keep his hands from her person. But then she’d also expect loyalty.
She wandered into the library, struck immediately by his bergamot and orange fragrance and beneath, the softer rose scent of his visitor. She hadn’t expected everything to smell so crisp and fresh, assumed the activity surrounding a sexual encounter would taint the air somehow. Not that she’d ever experienced the process in order to know precisely, but she did understand the mechanics of it. A dear friend had explained things shortly after she married, and the way of it—the pain, discomfort, and embarrassment—had made Daisy decide it was something to be avoided if at all possible.
Although perhaps her friend’s experience was unique. Since Daisy had made her living for the past two years in part by discovering if women were indeed having affairs, she was flummoxed as to the reason they would seek out an encounter with another man if it was truly a test of endurance rather than a gift of pleasure. Perhaps if it was the right man, with the right woman? But how was one to know when any sexual congress before marriage was to be avoided?
She’d shared a few kisses in her lifetime. The first when she was twelve and a stable boy had talked her into a bit of wickedness. She’d even let him undo one of the buttons on the bodice of her frock. She might have agreed to more if, in his haste, his clumsy fingers hadn’t caused that one to go flying into the hay he’d spread out in the stall. It had taken them a good ten minutes to find it, so she could sew it back into place—using the lad’s small sewing kit—before returning to her uncle’s manor. The entire time she’d been terrified that her misbehavior was going to be found out, and she’d be forced to wed the lad.
Were these women who had illicit affairs terrified? Was the terror of being caught part of the appeal? Or was it love that drove them to another’s bed?
Glancing around, she could find no evidence of anything that needed to be straightened. Even the cup and saucer had been returned to their proper place. With a sigh, she lifted the tray.