Glancing along the hall, he listened. Amelia, his mother, and his sisters. Fiona, too. He strained his ears but heard no one else. Not an at-home, then, but an informal morning visit by a friend of the family.
The documents on his desk called to him. Some orders he needed to deal with by that evening; others were urgent bills he could at last pay. Responsibility urged him to the study; a deeper, more primitive instinct pointed in a different direction.
Last night she'd gone along with his edict, acquiesced readily and let him steer their path — up until that kiss. Their supposedly simple first kiss. Then she'd overset his plans. It hadn't been he who'd turned the exchange into a flagrantly sensual prelude — and if it hadn't been he, it had to have been she.
That fact disturbed him not a little. If she could challenge his rule in that sphere, what else might she attempt?
Which led to the exceedingly pertinent question of what she was doing in his drawing room that morning.
Amelia glanced up as the drawing room door opened. She smiled delightedly, made no attempt to hide her approbation as Luc entered, saw them, then shut the door and strolled up the long room to where they sat before the windows.
Her companions looked and smiled, too, his mother on the chaise beside her, Emily, Anne, and Fiona on two chairs and an ottoman ranged before them. Her intended presented the sort of picture any lady would smile at. His blue coat of Bath superfine fitted him superbly, displaying his shoulders to advantage, drawing attention to his narrow hips. His long, muscled thighs were encased in buckskin breeches which disappeared into Hessians shined to a mirror gloss. The contrast between his pale skin and the absolute blackness of his hair and brows was dramatic even in daylight.
He nodded to the three girls; skirting them, reaching her side, he inclined his head to his mother as he held out one long-fingered hand.
Her heart thumped as she laid her fingers across his, felt his close strongly. He bowed. "Amelia."
Within their homes, they could use their given names; while his tone would not have alerted the others, not even his mother, she caught the warning note — saw it echoed in his eyes as he straightened and released her.
She let her smile brighten. "Good morning. Have you been riding?"
He hesitated, then nodded, stepping back to lean against the nearby mantelpiece. "Would you like some tea?" his mother asked. Luc glanced at the tray on the table. "No, thank you — nothing."
Minerva gracefully relaxed against the chaise. "We've just been discussing the latest invitations. Despite the Season winding down, there seem quite a few interesting events planned for the last weeks." Luc raised a disinterested brow. "Indeed?" Amelia looked up at him. "Even though there are only three or so weeks to go, I doubt we'll be short of diversions." He looked down at her, into unbelievably innocent blue eyes.
"It's all so exciting!" Fiona, bright as a button, bobbed in her chair, distracting him. Her brown curls were caught up in the same style Anne favored — she looked more than just familiar… then he realized she'd borrowed one of Anne's spencers.
"At least the balls aren't quite so crowded anymore," Anne put in.
Fiona swung to face her. "Not as crowded?"
"Definitely not," Emily confirmed. "They were much worse — truly crushes in every sense — at the height of the Season."
"So was your come-out a crush?" Fiona asked.
Minerva smiled. "Indeed — it was a very well attended affair."
She glanced up at him; Luc met her gaze and shared her proud smile. He still inwardly shuddered at the disruption and effort his sisters' come-out had entailed, but at least he could now pay for it.
"It was such a pity you missed it." Anne caught Fiona's hand. "So odious of your aunt to insist you go to visit your cousins instead."
"Now, now, girls," Minerva intervened. "Fiona is staying with her aunt, and Mrs. Worley has been very kind in sparing her to us so often?
Anne and Fiona accepted the rebuke, meekly, but it was clear their poor opinion of Fiona's aunt choosing to take her to visit relatives in Somerset during the critical week had not altered.
"I heard there's to be a balloon ascension in the park the day after tomorrow."
Emily's information distracted the girls; Minerva sat back, watching with fond affection as they discussed the event.
Luc paid their ramblings little heed; his gaze on Amelia's golden head, he wondered… she was watching the younger girls, smiling at their excitement. "Would you like to view the spectacle?"
She looked up, met his eyes — read them, and colored delicately. She glanced at the girls. "Perhaps we could make a party?"
Luc inwardly grimaced, but gracefully nodded when his sisters looked eagerly his way. "Why not?" It would serve as a reasonable first outing to which he could publicly squire Amelia.
Fiona whooped; Anne smiled. Emily laughed. They fell to discussing the details.
Under cover of their excited chatter, Amelia glanced up and met his gaze, a certain consciousness in her eyes…
"Actually, we've just been discussing…" His mother captured his attention before he could fathom the reason behind that particular look. Minerva smiled and held his gaze. "As Amanda has gone north and won't return this Season, and as I've got to escort these giddy girls about, then it makes eminent sense for Amelia to join us, especially when Louise has clashing engagements."
He managed to keep his expression impassive, then he looked again at Amelia. She met his gaze over the rim of her cup, then lowered it and smiled brightly. "It seemed the most obvious idea."
"Indeed. So Amelia will be joining us here tonight, then we'll all go on to Lady Carstairs's rout." His mother raised a brow at him. "You hadn't forgotten, had you?"
He straightened, "No."
"I'll order the carriage for eight, then — we should all be able to fit."
Amelia set down her cup and spoke to Minerva. "Thank you. I'll be here before eight." She smiled, then extended the gesture to the girls. "But now I really must go."
Luc waited, suppressing his impatience while she farewelled his mother and sisters. When she turned to him, he waved to the door. "I'll see you out."
With brief nods to his mother and the girls, he stalked after her to the door, reached around her and opened it, then followed her into the hall. A quick glance showed no footmen about; shutting the door, he caught her gaze. "You agreed to follow my lead."
She opened her eyes wide. "Weren't you intending for me to join your mother and sisters at some point?" Turning toward the front door, she started pulling on her gloves. "It seemed an opportunity waiting to be grasped."
"Quite." He prowled by her side as she headed for the door. "But at some point."
She halted, looked at him. "Which point?"
He frowned. "Possibly after the balloon ascension."
She raised her brows, then shrugged. "Tonight was sooner. Anyway" — glancing down, she struggled with one of the tiny buttons closing her gloves—"it's done now."
Impossible to argue that. Luc told himself it didn't really matter. They reached the front door; he opened it. She was still struggling with her glove.
"Here — let me." He grasped her wrist, sensed more than heard the quick intake of her breath. Felt the frisson that sheered through her as his sliding fingertips found the gap in the cuff of her recalcitrant glove, found her bare skin.
He met her gaze, then, gripping, slowly raised her hand and looked at the difficult button.