“You are very handsy, Mr. Everley. Not at all dignified for a lord, now is it?” she purred without turning back. I could feel her glaring at me though, and what was most certainly a smirk on those smart, sassy lips of hers. She was having just as much fun as I was with all the teasing and bantering back and forth, laced with plenty of innuendo.

“I’m the complete opposite of a dignified lord, Miss Hargreave, I assure you.”

“Indeed, Mr. Everley, I can believe that.” She continued walking ahead of me, never turning around. Since I couldn’t see her face, it was fun imagining what her expression might be right at this moment.

“Miss Hargreave, if I might suggest the word depraved to be a lot more fitting. Quite honestly, for myself, I find being a depraved lord vastly more appealing than being a dignified lord. Dignified is just so dreadfully boring, and it’s really overused, in my opinion. And don’t forget that dignified lords are ten a penny in Britain. Depraved lords not so much.”

“Hmm… figures.” She sniffed, nodding her head as she walked. “Sooo, just to be clear, am I to understand that I’ll have to do this important job here at Donadea with a handsy and depraved lord for my boss?”

She finally stopped walking and turned, showing me exactly what the expression on her face looked like. Sinful and stunning. Eyes flashing green fire at me and lips far too cheeky for their own good. Most definitely in need of some perfectly applied discipline—while naked.

Fuuuuuuuck.

“Unapologetically handsy and equally depraved, I’m afraid, Miss Hargreave. You will be a very busy lady… I foresee.” I quirked a brow at her.

She sighed dramatically and crossed her arms over her breasts—a gasping tragedy to be sure—but also an extremely lovely pose on her if I was being truthful. “I’d like to know where you’re luring me to now, and for what purpose, Mr. Everley.”

This was going to be fun.

“We’re coming to it just now.” I stepped ahead of her and opened the door to my study, ushering her inside with an arm. “After you, of course, Miss Hargreave.”

She stepped inside my study and then proceeded to walk the perimeter, studying the walls and pictures hanging all around her. “Ahh, another room in your house crammed with paintings for me to evaluate. Oh, and it has a door that locks! What an extraordinary coincidence you’ve brought me to the same sort of place as before, Mr. Everley. I have a question for you. Are there any rooms in your house that do not look like this? The kitchen maybe? Or possibly the garden sheds? I didn’t see any art hanging on the walls in your garage when you parked your Rover that night in the rain, but then again, I was distracted by being wet and muddy and from arguing with you.”

Absolute, fucking, perfection was Gabrielle Hargreave when delivering some well-placed sarcasm. But what if it wasn’t sarcasm? Maybe she was having second thoughts because it felt like too much for her to manage. I decided to ask her because I was no longer sure, and I really needed to know. “Are you really complaining about the abundance of art to organize? I can modify your contract—”