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‘Milud, may I ask you to bide a few moments, whilst I announce you?’
‘Not in my own house Beddowes.’
‘But your Grace—’
‘Huh, so who’s up there Beddowes? Where’s your mistress? Out of my way man.’
‘Yes of course your Grace.’ The man raised his voice, and coughed heartily,
Max frowned, no doubt he was warning the little minx. It was uncannily like a re-run of his conversation at the club. Well, there was only one entrance; whoever was with her would have to face him.
He didn’t bother going to the receiving room, but took the stairs two at a time to her boudoir. Flinging open the door, he found her lounging on the Chippendale recliner, a handkerchief to her forehead. As usual, she created a beautiful picture, with rich golden ringlets falling around her shoulders, porcelain skin, and deceptively innocent violet eyes.
‘Ah Maxie, thank goodness you're here, I am all aswoon; I fear I have a megrim coming on.’Max glowered, his eyes roving over her curvaceous body, barely covered with a transparent gauze negligee; her slipperless feet curled up. He went to the bedroom, taking the room in one sweep, his eyes moving to the gold bamboo chair, and a pair of man’s chino breeches, dangling over the arm. Walking to the window, he pulled back a brocade curtain, looking at the drop. The fellow might have climbed down the drain pipe, but it was too flimsy to hold a man’s weight. Turning back to the room, his eyes now roved the floor, where – where? He grinned nastily, of course. Stealthily, he crept towards the large four-poster bed; going down on his knees he moved aside the overhanging eiderdown.