Gareth could have told her more—how the owner’s son, a well-regarded brewer whose livelihood had been all but decimated by his father’s gambling, had wept openly at learning they would keep both he and his employees on—but he was finding the subject of the brewery slippery and elusive, like a piece of silk that kept sliding from his hands. He usually had the ability to concentrate with a fixity that made him deaf and blind to anything else. But right now he noticed her nightgown. It was buttoned up to her neck and was a gauzy white fabric that looked soft, fine, and was probably almost translucent. The dressing gown over it, which buttoned only slightly less high, was a practical garment of some fabric that looked rough enough to chafe if worn against skin. Gareth had a weak spot when it came to fine, luxurious materials; he was far more interested in the composition of his clothing than the cut. The fabric of her robe offended his sensibilities. It looked neither comfortable nor sumptuous. His hand, which lay on his thigh, twitched and he was contemplating leaning forward to test the texture with his thumb and forefinger when her voice brought him back to the present.

“Mr. Lockheart? Do you feel well?” She leaned closer, bringing both her person and the unpleasant robe nearer. He caught a whiff of her: a clean soap smell with only a hint of the fresh grass smell he had noticed before. She must have bathed but not washed her hair. The faint salty tang of female sweat sent a jolt up his spine and an undeniable message to his brain: he wanted her.

It was time for him to leave.

Gareth cleared his throat and looked away from her distracting person. “Did you have enough to eat and drink?”

She sat back a little at his cool tone but gave him a smile he was beginning to crave. “More than enough, thank you.” She stood and made as if to clear their dishes.

“It is late, Mrs. Lombard, the servants can see to this in the morning.”

She nodded. “You are correct, of course. No doubt they would prefer a mess to me mucking about with their system.” She preceded him from the room and he carried the candle he’d brought with him. She had come without one as there were so many in the halls.

He kept a little behind her and could see the shape of her body beneath the ugly robe, which was more form fitting than either her habit or her morning dress. She had full, generous hips and it was easy to imagine them under his hands, his fingers gripping her soft flesh, holding her steady while he penetrated her and rode her to their mutual pleasure.