But, she reasoned, she was one of the many Smiths in a city teeming with Smiths, Smyths and Smythes. With her widowed sister living in Dorchester and her parents in Wilton overseeing the renovations of their new residence, what reason would the viscount have to connect her with them?
None.
So what possible harm could come from a chance encounter at a party hosted by the estimable Lord and Lady Windmere?
No harm a’tall.
A rash of gooseflesh appeared when the cool night air struck the skin of her upper arms. Elizabeth gave an involuntary shiver as she took in the long stretch of the terrace, which sat as desolate and silent as the Yorkshire moors. She had expected to see Lord Creswell there in a wide-legged stance, a cheroot in his mouth and a trail of gray smoke rising up to mingle with the equally gray London air that settled above the city like a dark shroud.
Behind a six-tiered stone fountain where water trickled from the mouth of a playful dolphin, the garden landscaped into a maze of lofty hedgerows, shrubs of honeysuckle, and neat rows of yellow daisies and red roses. Toward the back of the property, three large elms offered shade to a white gazebo.
The scent of honeysuckle competed with the dank air and tonight was winning handily. Elizabeth inhaled the sweet fragrance deeply into her lungs as she ventured to the edge of the garden.
Slowly, she looked around and rolled up onto her toes in hopes of spying the viscount’s dark head above the first hedgerow. But for the buzz and chirps of nocturnal insects and the leaves rustling in the breeze, Elizabeth concluded she was quite alone.
“Where did he go?” she muttered to herself. Disappointed, she came down hard on the heels of her satin evening shoes.
“Were you looking for someone in particular?” drawled a deep masculine voice from behind her.
Chapter Two
Elizabeth spun around so quickly she lost her footing and stumbled headlong—well actually breast-first if she was striving for accuracy—into the hard wall of a male chest. Large hands shot out to steady her, his hold firm yet gentle on her arms. Elizabeth snatched her hands away from his chest and took a hasty step back.
Surely, fate would not be so cruel…? She peered up and encountered the arresting blue-green eyes of Lord Creswell.
Fate had a most unfortunate sense of humor.
“My lord, you frightened me.” Surprise may have caused her to stumble but it was the man who left her breathless.
And it wasn’t just his masculine beauty; she’d like to think she wasn’t that shallow. No, it was more than that. He had an aura of confidence about him—some might say arrogance—that drew women with the same pull the sun exerted on the Earth.
“I’m sorry. Please accept my apologies,” he said, all politesse and unimpeachable decorum. But his hooded gaze and the way his mouth twitched at the corners told her he wasn’t the slightest bit sorry a’tall.
Elizabeth had no doubt the viscount knew it was he she’d been searching for. He’d heard her. Heat flooded her face. She could only imagine what he thought of her.
Her mother had also warned that her impetuous nature would one day land her in a heap of trouble. Trouble of this sort must follow the viscount about like a starving mongrel in search of table scraps.
Truly, if she had a mite bit of sense where he was concerned, she would return inside now that her curiosity had been quenched. She’d seen him, spoken to him, touched him even; that should be enough. And if she were lucky, he’d never discover she was a member of the same Smith family his father had paid one thousand pounds to quiet her parents’ cries for his brother to redress her sister's honor.
“I-I didn’t expect to find anyone out here.” Elizabeth nearly groaned in dismay at such an obvious lie. At affairs such as this, gardens weren’t merely a floral feast for the eyes but also provided a haven for lovers seeking privacy from the crush, and tall and dense foliage proved the perfect shield to share a kiss and other such intimacies.
Lord Creswell continued to study her with slumberous eyes. Silence dragged along at a tortuous pace and with every second that ticked by, Elizabeth’s discomfort climbed. She wished he would say something.
Finally, he smiled a slow devilish grin, his gaze drifting from her face to her neckline before dipping lower. He paused there, lingering long enough to offend—if a woman would be offended by the lustful stare of a handsome man. Slowly, he lifted his regard back to hers. “And I hoped you were looking for me.”
A wave of arousal, the likes of which Elizabeth had never known, washed over her. She went from warm to burning hot in the span of seconds.
“I came out for some air.” Her voice was breathy and uneven.
Liar. The silent rejoinder was brutally swift and damning.
The word remained unspoken but was there in his too knowing eyes and the soft laugh that rumbled from his throat.
“How utterly remarkable as I too came out for…air. I think it would be prudent if we took air together. Would that please you, Miss Smith?” He advanced a step. He now stood close enough for her to make out dark stubble beginning to shadow his jaw. His shoulders blocked the gaslight illuminating the terrace.
Did he truly believe she would take air with a man she’d only just met?
But of course he did, and she could hardly blame him given her actions. There were names for women like that.
Elizabeth Ann Smith?
No, despite what he thought or how it might appear, she was not that type of woman even if the temptation to throw off the rigid strictures of society acted upon her like a virulent disease.
Elizabeth affected an airy sophisticated laugh, attempting to hide what she prayed wasn't too obvious; that she was unaccustomed to the kind of flirtatious banter he no doubt excelled at. “My lord, we are taking air together.”
“No, not yet but I’m sure we will soon.” This time his tone did not tease. His expression sobered as he eyed her mouth with more than avid interest.
Elizabeth felt as if a fire had been ignited inside her. However, the other part of her, the daughter of Richard Smith with his rigid moral code and God-fearing ways felt compelled to say something. Indeed, something that would convey a bit of umbrage at his cheek. A young lady in her position would not be aroused by such provocation. In fact, she would be quite outraged. They were strangers after all.
“My lord,” she began, “I really must take—”
“Derek. Lord Derek Creswell. But then I’m certain you know precisely who I am. And I would like to know you, Miss Elizabeth Smith.” The velvet smoothness of his voice strummed her senses like the premier virtuoso of seduction.
Elizabeth’s mouth snapped closed.
He knew her name. More importantly, he had inquired about her.
Swallowing was made all the more difficult with the complete obstruction of her throat. Her heart began to beat double time.
He watched her as if he liked nothing better than to have his wicked way with her. Her nipples peaked and the place between her thighs grew moist in her own wicked response. But no matter how tempting the offer in his eyes, she could not encourage him. A union between them was impossible.
A small step backward began her retreat as her mind strived for clarity, focus and sound reason. She could not permit this.
“You came here looking for me.”
His statement stopped her in her tracks and her mouth opened to launch a reflexive denial. A blatant lie.
He countered by taking several steps forward, forcing her behind the towering hedgerow lest he run her over with his powerful body. He stood inches from her. Her eyes were level with the top silver button of his waistcoat. They were now out of sight should any of the guests venture onto the terrace. Elizabeth tipped her head back to look into his face.