The door was opened by a butler, not much older than he. “Mr. Jonathan Bridges to see Miss Mirabelle.”

  She had just reached the top stair landing and turned. Her face brightened, which relieved much of his tension. For a moment his breath hitched. She was the most beautiful woman, especially when she smiled.

  “Mr. Bridges, please come in.” She nodded toward the butler. “Herbert, could you please ask Mrs. Johns to prepare tea and a plate of biscuits and cakes.”

  The man gave a quick nod and left his post by the door.

  Bridges mounted the stairs. This wasn’t a social call, but a bit of tea did sound refreshing.

  She waited until he reached the landing and then turned toward the room where the documents had been placed. “I’ve accomplished much already today,” she said as she entered the room.

  He paused just inside and noted various stacks throughout the room. “Do you think you will complete the task in time?” He removed his gloves and placed them with his hat on a table just inside the door. “Or, is this project interrupting your leisurely walks?”

  She whipped around and stared at him. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “I saw you strolling with Mr. Thorn. Did you forget the urgency of the situation?”

  Miss Mirabelle anchored her hands on her hips. “I will have you know that I walked with Mr. Thorn only to get him out of the house.”

  Bridges hitched an eyebrow. “Is he courting you?” It was none of his concern but the fact that that gentleman might hold an interest to Miss Mirabelle burned a hole in his stomach. Thorn was not right for her.

  “Of course not,” she defended before her shoulders relaxed. “At least, I don’t believe so.”

  Bridges nearly snorted. If the gentleman was intent on courting Miss Mirabelle, he certainly wasn’t going about it well. Most ladies knew when a man was interested in anything beyond a waltz. Especially if that gentleman was David Thorn. “I would suggest you not encourage him.”

  Her spine stiffened again. “Who are you to determine who I should and should not encourage?”

  It was a very good question but he couldn’t very well say he didn’t like the idea of another gentleman having her attention. “Acker would not like it.”

  Miss Mirabelle rolled her eyes. “My brother-in-law does not dictate my life, nor does anyone else.”

  He took a step forward. “Perhaps they should.”

  “That is none of your concern.”

  In that she was correct, but he could not help himself. Everything about Miss Mirabelle concerned and intrigued him. “It is when I am on a deadline and you promised to have the paperwork complete.”

  “It will be done in time,” she bit out.

  A footman entered a moment later and paused in the center of the room, looking about. There was no sitting area and he was probably at a loss at what to do with the tray. Miss Mirabelle gathered up three stacks of documents from the desk area and placed them on the floor. “Please put the tray here.”

  He nodded and did as she bid, quitting the room after he completed his task.

  Though she poured cups for each of them, her back remained rigid and her mouth tight and grim.

  It was not well done of him. It was not his place to determine who she could and could not court. “I apologize.”

  She glanced up at him through thick auburn eyelashes.

  “It is just that Mr. Thorn has a certain reputation and I would hate to see you hurt.”

  The lines of her mouth relaxed but she did not smile as she handed him a cup of tea.

  “I overreacted when I saw you with him.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  The hint of a smile appeared and Jonathan began to relax.

  “Still, his reputation could be harmful to you.” He had to make her understand without angering her.

  Miss Mirabelle settled into the seat behind her desk and sipped from her cup. “I am well aware of Mr. Thorn’s character. I was a servant in his parent’s household before my sister married Acker.”

  Jonathan pulled a chair to the opposite side of the makeshift desk and sat. The gentleman knew her better than he feared.

  “I was helping his mother redecorate when I had to leave their employ. She has asked that I return to finish the projects.”

  The more she spoke the worse it became. Redecorating meant hours spent in one location. A location where Thorn visited frequently.

  “Will you be doing so?”

  “Yes, but not until I’ve completed my work for you.”

  Jonathan took a drink of his tea, nearly scalding his tongue. Did Thorn live with his parents or have bachelor apartments? What was to keep the man from attempting to seduce Miss Mirabelle once she was again in his parents’ home? What could he do to stop her from walking into danger? It wasn’t his place, but he certainly couldn’t allow her to be in such close proximity to Thorn more than necessary, if ever. He would need to think about this. If necessary, he would go to Acker. Someone had to save Miss Mirabelle from herself and Thorn.

  Geneviève studied Bridges over the rim of her cup. Why was he so put out that she had been walking with Thorn? She had given her word that she would complete his work on time. She glanced around at the stacks. “I may finish earlier than anticipated.”

  He straightened. “Please take your time. I don’t wish for a mistake to be made.”

  She would have thought he would be encouraged to have the matter set to rest in a timely manner.

  “It is just that there are many documents and I don’t wish you to tire yourself.”

  This was so unlike the earlier urgency. What had changed?

  “I am certain that if you need longer, Valentine will understand.”

  “I promised Thorn that I would meet with his mother in a week.”

  Bridge’s jaw tightened and his nostrils flared but he said nothing. Instead, he reached forward and lifted a biscuit from the plate. “I am sure his mother can wait a bit longer, if necessary. How long has the redecorating been on hold?”

  “Since last June?”

  His deep brown eyes widened in surprise. “She has done nothing in your absence?”

  “Though very sweet, Mrs. Thorn wouldn’t be able to decide on what to wear at breakfast if her maid didn’t choose her clothing for her.”

  He simply nodded.

  Geneviève set her cup aside. “Why are you here, Mr. Bridges? You left only hours ago.”

  “I thought to assist you.”

  Had she not told him earlier that his assistance was not required? “What of the warehouse?”

  “Everything is in hand.” He placed his cup and saucer on the desk. “Other than a stack of crates we are not sure what to do with.” He gestured to the papers. “And those documents.”

  With any luck, her mother’s belongings were in those crates at the warehouse. Geneviève could only pray it was so. She also hoped that once she had completed her organization, Bridges will learn that nothing had been taken and that his secretary was simply lazy and incompetent.

  While Bridges was a distraction, the quicker they were through the documents the quicker he could report to the Thames River Police. Or, perhaps it would give them time to address the thefts before he needed to meet with Valentine. She stood. “Shall we get started?”

  He cleared his throat and came to his feet. “Where do you wish me to begin?”

  Geneviève picked a stack of documents up from the desk and handed them to Bridges. “These are the documents for shipments received in Liverpool. They need to be put in date order.”

  He took them and sat once again.

  “I am working on your London warehouse.” Her stack was twice as tall as his and there wasn’t enough room on the desk to sort them properly. She lifted the documents and moved around the desk, settling in the middle of the floor. Yes, this was much better.

  “What are you doing?” Bridges asked, somewhat aghast. Except he wasn’t looking at her face, but her foot and ankle were no longer hidden by her skirt because of her positioning on the floor.

  “It is easier to spread out the documents. I thought to organize by months and then dates.”

  His eyebrows drew together. “You should not be on the floor,” he insisted.

  Geneviève shook her head and sighed. “There is not enough room on the desk.”

  He glanced at his one stack of documents and the remaining clear surface. Before she could object, he gathered his own documents and placed them on the floor. “You will work at the desk. I insist.” He held his hand out to help her to her feet.

  She was just as comfortable on the floor as she would be at the desk, but if Bridges wished to be chivalrous, who was she to deny him? Geneviève placed her hand in his and tried to ignore the tingle of his touch. As she moved her skirts out of the way and came to her feet, he tugged, pulling her up and against him. The contact knocked the breath out of her in a rush. Not that she had landed against him with any force, it was simply the contact of his person. She couldn’t move. Didn’t want to move as heat rushed through her body.

  She glanced up. He was still holding her hand and his other caressed her cheek. Goodness, she should step back, but his lips were descending toward hers.

  Chapter 12

  Good God the woman was a distraction. He first noted her leg sticking out from beneath the skirts as she sat sideways upon the rug. Her nicely turned ankle was sheathed in a white silk stocking. At least it appeared to be silk. Worse, in her position on the floor, he had only needed to lean slightly and was graced with a most excellent view of her creamy breasts due to the gape in her bodice. His trousers tightened and Jonathan shifted. He mustn’t look at her breasts.

  Jonathan glanced back at the ankle. This would never do.

  He hadn’t meant to lift her with such force, but he had to get her off of the floor, in a chair, on the other side of the desk, where she was safe – from him. All thoughts of propriety fled when her full breasts collided with his chest. A gentleman could only take so much before he could no longer deny the desire that had been brewing.

  While he caressed her smooth cheek, Jonathan thought of nothing else but kissing her. Geneviève rose to her toes as if she wanted the kiss as badly as he and set to accommodate him. At first, he was gentle. Just a quick taste and they would get back to work but he should have known better. Nothing was simple when it came to Miss Geneviève Mirabelle.

  He pulled back. She sighed. It was his undoing. Dropping her hand, he wrapped his arm around her back, drawing her closer, and lowered his mouth again. This time he was not gentle but pressed forward with all the pent-up frustration he had been experiencing. He teased the seam of her lips. She opened and he dove in.

  Jonathan’s body heated, pulse pounded in his head, his body rigid with need. He had known desire and passion before. Or thought he had. Those feelings were nothing compared to what assaulted his senses the moment Miss Mirabelle was in his arms. He needed her closer. He wanted her body pressed to his without clothing to obstruct his hands or view.

  But he couldn’t. Not in this house and not when he knew so little about her. Yet, despite the arguments within that he should break the kiss and move away, his body did not listen.

  Miss Mirabelle tilted her head to allow him deeper access and mimicked his tongue with her own before she moaned. He was lost.

  He broke the kiss but instead of letting her go as a gentleman would, he trailed kisses along her jawline and to her neck. She let her head fall back, giving him access to that delicate skin where her shoulder met her neck. Jonathan bent further, trailing his tongue across her breasts, right above the lace of her bodice. What he wouldn’t do to be able to free those globes so that he could feast on one and then the other. He willed his hands to remain anchored at the small of her back, yet they slid up and his fingers toyed with the fastening at the back of her gown.

  Her mind whirled with delicious sensations brought on by the touch of Bridges’ lips. They burned a trail across her skin, heightening her senses beyond anything she had ever experienced. Geneviève found it difficult to breathe and her clothing had become too tight. She wished to shed it so her skin could cool and she could breathe again. Her breasts ached as if they swelled against the confines of her bodice and all she could do was grasp his shoulders to keep from falling. Her knees had lost all usefulness when his lips touched hers and if she didn’t hold on for dear life she would crumble to the ground.

  Heat pooled and an unfamiliar ache developed in her nether regions. Goodness, she wasn’t sure she would survive if he continued. Yet, she didn’t dare tell Bridges to stop. Her body was alive in ways it had never been before. Heat pumped through her veins. Her skin tingled at every touch and kiss. As he bent lower toward her breasts, she threaded her fingers through his silken hair. If only she could hold him here, but soon she wanted more.

  There had to be an end to the ache and the pressure that throbbed at her core. If he left her now, she would go mad as all these sensations flowed through her body without relief.

  Geneviève let her head fall back further and sighed with relief as her dress loosened. She took a deep shuddering breath and then he cupped her breast and the throbbing increased. His thumb caressed the tip of one breast, back and forth before he took the other in his mouth. Her knees gave way as she cried out in pleasure. With each tug and pull of his lips, the pulsating need in her womanhood only increased, as if an invisible string connected the two.

  She was barely aware of Bridges sweeping her up in his arms but she was grateful just the same. It was no longer possible to stand. He brought his lips back to hers and devoured her mouth. She met him with the same eagerness, not willing to let this encounter end just yet. He bent and lowered her to the settee before he came down on her. His body lay on hers as he plundered over and over. One hand continued to caress her breast as he pressed his ridged form against her womanhood.

  Geneviève blinked. That was not his form but a specific part of his anatomy. While she should push him away, and demand he remove himself from her person, she hadn’t the will to do so.

  “Geneviève, are you up here?”

  She stilled as Bridges drew back.

  “John!” she hissed in a whisper.

  Bridges jumped away from her, stood, and straightened his clothing before he pulled her from the settee, turning so that her back was to him, and fastened her gown before she could form a coherent thought.

  Her brother’s footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs. Bridges shoved a pin into her hair and studied her before giving a quick nod. “If you don’t mind, I think I should be seated behind the desk.”

  Geneviève nodded, trying to recover her scrambled thoughts, not sure why it was important that he be there instead of her. She shook out her gown and glanced into the mirror beside the door. Her hair wasn’t overly mussed though her lips were swollen and rosier than usual. Would John be able to tell she had just been thoroughly kissed?

  As he neared the door, Geneviève rushed across the room and settled into the chair previously vacated by Bridges and brought a teacup to her lips just as John and his wife entered the room.

  Chapter 13

  Bloody hell. Why had he allowed matters to progress so far? Miss Mirabelle was a respectable young woman and if visitors had not arrived, he would have probably had her dress shoved up to her waist by now with his hands caressing places he had no right to touch.

  Jonathan cleared his throat and lifted a stack of papers, straightening them. He was about as composed as he could be when Mr. John Trent and his wife walked through the door. Damn, a lady required he stand. He righted the documents, holding them so they stood on end and prayed they blocked the raging erection pressed against the placket of his trousers.

  Mr. Trent paused on the threshold with his wife, looking first at Miss Mirabelle and then Jonathan before he frowned.

  “John, Elizabeth, I was not expecting you.” Miss Mirabelle came to her feet, a strained smile on her lips. She looked put to rights but there was a definite swelling of her lips.

  “Geneviève. Bridges,” Trent said with curiosity before looking about the room. “What is going on here?”

  Miss Mirabelle gave Jonathan a quick glance before returning her focus to Trent. “I offered to assist Mr. Bridges with some…, er…, um, documents.”

  Trent’s brows drew together over his eyes.

  “Let me ring for tea.” She hurried across the room to the bell pull.

  What were Trent and his wife doing here anyway? It seemed that at every turn, at least where Miss Mirabelle was involved, there was a Trent underfoot. Jonathan knew that Acker, who was married to Miss Mirabelle’s older sister, was a close friend of Bentley, the oldest Trent brother, but that didn’t explain why the entire family was always about. It especially didn’t explain why John Trent and his wife were visiting Miss Mirabelle at this house. Of course, it could just be that Miss Mirabelle and Mrs. Trent were friends, but something was not adding up. Trent was familiar enough with Miss Mirabelle to call her by her given name.

  “What kind of documents?” Trent asked with suspicion.

  “Just sorting out some invoices,” Miss Mirabelle explained. “You know Bridges’ secretary left a mess. I simply offered to help organize the disarray that was left in his wake and since I’ve been forbidden from going the warehouse along the docks, I suggested here.”

  A footman appeared at the door a moment later. Miss Mirabelle requested a fresh pot of tea and asked that the furniture be moved so that they could all sit and visit.

  Jonathan resisted the urge to glance down and hoped signs of his desire were no longer in evidence. At least his trousers weren’t as tight.

  “Why not hire another secretary?” Trent asked.

  Jonathan blew out a breath. He did not what to have to explain the details of what led to the pass.

  “Probably because Geneviève insisted,” Mrs. Trent said brightly. “She has been badgering the poor gentleman about her mother’s belongings and I’ve no doubt that Mr. Bridges thought it best to hand it all over to Geneviève so that she’d just let him be.”