He smiled, a banked irony glinting in his beautiful eyes. Lifting her arm, he watched her steadily as he placed a soft kiss on the vulnerable skin just above her glove. Her chest rose on a swift inhale of a startled breath. And then the heat swept in like an invading army making a mockery of all her good intentions
No sane person fell in love in the span of a single day. But she could feel herself taking a headlong plunge into some foreign emotion more heartfelt than a girlhood crush, leaving her vulnerable in a way she’d never been.
He released her with the same languid speed. He smiled but it wasn’t a smile that reassured a woman intent on retaining her virginity until she was securely wed.
“Shall we find Lord and Lady Windmere?” He proffered his arm, his expression cryptic, his manners exquisite.
As Elizabeth took his arm, she had the distinct feeling she’d just relinquished more of herself to him than just her hand.
Chapter Seven
Elizabeth had very little experience with men, and none at all with a man like Lord Creswell. There was nothing tentative about him, not the vaguest sense of uncertainty in his words or actions. And who would have thought a man could be competent in everything? At least it appeared that way to her.
Last week, the viscount had taken her to the theatre where he’d shown a more than passing knowledge of Italian. He’d danced with her at three balls, and as she’d come to expect, few men could match his skill on the dance floor.
Yesterday, and as promised, he taught her to play croquet. His manner of teaching had reduced her will to resist him to ashes, his chest pressing lightly on her back, his hands enclosed over hers as he guided her swing of the mallet. His body was long and muscled. And hard everywhere.
Had Missy, Charlotte and Catherine not been in attendance, she was certain he would have kissed her. And she no doubt would have kissed him right back. It was a very fortunate thing they’d been chaperoned.
Today, they were taking afternoon tea in the parlor at Laurel House, something they’d never done before. But the viscount had been busy most of the day, and had only an hour to visit with her since he would be busy again that evening. He would miss escorting her to Lady Summerville’s supper party.
Lord Creswell helped himself to flaky French pastries from the serving tray.
“You seem very fond of Miss Foxworth. I believe you’ve danced with her at every ball we’ve attended.” After the words were out of her mouth, Elizabeth furiously wished she could snatch them back and rephrase them so she didn’t sound like a shrewish, jealous witch.
The viscount watched her, his expression inscrutable as he proceeded to consume the cherry tart.
To fill the lengthening silence, Elizabeth hastily took a gulp of her tea, nearly burning her tongue in the process. She returned the teacup to the saucer with clatter of porcelain against porcelain.
“I am very fond of Miss Foxworth,” he agreed. “And I am fond of Lady Gertrude and Miss Roswell, both whom I also partner to dance when they are in attendance.”
“I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Miss Smith, I’m sure you’ve been beautiful all your life. However, most women are not graced with your extraordinary looks and therefore, are often ignored. I am fortunate to be in a position to aid where I can and more often than not, when I dance with my friends, other men will follow. Every woman should enjoy a full dance card at a ball, wouldn’t you agree?”
Elizabeth nodded mutely for no words could adequately express what she was feeling at that precise moment.
For the past several weeks, she had been teetering on the precipice of love, but what she’d just heard from the viscount succeeded in nudging her over.
~*~*~
Derek had paid quite a hefty sum for the information he now had in his possession: dates, names, places. He could put a halt to this thing with Miss Smith today if he so desired. The marriage she’d schemed to get would never come to pass. That very fact should have pleased him.
To his shame, it did not.
And he blamed her for that. If she hadn’t tried to tread in very same shoes that her sister had worn six years ago, she may have been the one he could see spending the rest of his days with. The woman he could see bearing his children. The woman he could have loved. But she would never be any of those things for she was who she was.
One would think her misdeeds would stop him from wanting her. Again, to his shame, it did not. And that angered him more than her deceit—this hold she had on him. Well today he was determined to break that hold once and for all.
Like the prior day, Miss Smith had invited Charlotte Rutherford and one of her ardent suitors, Baron Lawrence Stanfield, to accompany them on their daily outing. Today they were visiting the British Museum. The four stood just inside the entrance of the building.
“Where shall we go first?” Miss Smith spoke to no one in particular as she surveyed the museum, her eyes round with wonder.
“Why don’t we start with the King’s Library?” Miss Rutherford suggested when it became apparent neither he nor Lord Stanfield would offer up any themselves.
Miss Smith looked at him and then at the baron. “If my lords are in agreement?”
Derek jerked his head in a nod. But after the museum, they had a house to see with neither Miss Rutherford nor Stanfield in tow. But that was something Miss Elizabeth Smith didn’t know. At least not yet.
Just as they began their walk toward the first wing of the building, Cartwright—he recognized his friend’s voice instantly—called out from behind.
Miss Rutherford froze, inhaled a sharp breath as color leeched from her face. She collected herself a heartbeat later, her shoulders pushed slightly back, her chin raised the barest fraction of an inch.
His friend wasted no time in making his way to them. They exchanged silent nods upon his approach. To the women he offered a deep bow with the overly polite greeting of, “Miss Smith, Miss Rutherford.” The nod he directed at Stanfield was cold, a tenuous hold on civility.
“Miss Rutherford, Lady Windmere has received word that Lady Armstrong is about to deliver. We will be leaving for Devon within the hour. ”
Miss Rutherford eyes rounded in a mixture of concern and excitement. “So soon? Oh, but yes of course.”
“I will escort you home.”
At this, Miss Rutherford sent the baron a concerned look, who appeared impervious to the exchange and the resulting effect. As if Cartwright didn’t pose a threat to Miss Rutherford’s affection. The notion was laughable.
“Lord Stanfield?” Miss Rutherford prompted.
“Oh, yes. Cartwright, I will escort Miss Rutherford home.”
“My carriage is close by and I’m on my way there,” Cartwright replied tersely.
“I will instruct my driver to take you home, Stanfield,” Derek offered. The man certainly wasn’t going to remain with them, not with Miss Rutherford rushing off to be there at the birth of Armstrong’s first child. Stanfield could do nothing else but accept his offer unless he wished to hire a hackney home as they had all come together in Derek’s carriage.
Stanfield gave a grudging nod and ten minutes later, the trio had departed.
Now blessedly alone with Miss Smith, Derek directed his full attention at her, his elbow crooked. She peered up at him, her eyes uncertain perhaps a little afraid. He suppressed a smile and asked graciously, “Shall we?”
“Di-did you have anything to do with that?” she asked after a pause, her hand resting lightly on his forearm. Elizabeth was quite sure he had. It simply couldn’t be a coincidence.
His frame shook with laughter, drawing her gaze up to his.
“Even I could not foresee the precise timing of Lady Armstrong’s child readying itself to enter the world. Really, Miss Smith, you think too much of my abilities. Am I now a mystic? A sightseer?”