Twenty Four

"Call me Sebastien. „Mr. Deville‟ is quite formal for a man who has had his hand up your skirt, don‟t you agree?"

She was speechless for a second. And thankful that her day maid from the village had left earlier. She shuddered to think what the villagers would have said to that juicy piece of news. "No. And the formality is precisely why I plan to continue its use. I hardly know you, Mr. Deville, despite where you might have placed your digits. And what I do know of you hardly entices me to use your given name."

"You wound me, Caroline. A near-mortal thrashing."

"Well, then you should make haste to bandage it up, Mr. Deville. The midwife will be happy to see you."

"Perhaps later." His lazy gaze took her in, an entire cataloging of her body that left her out of sorts and irritated. "Just back from your tasks? Dealing with the commoners?"

"I am a commoner, in case you fail to notice."