beat of her heart drowned out all voices and words. Before her, impeccably dressed in fine grey wool, stood the mysterious tyrant who assisted her from the wheel ruts after she’d met with Lady Rigby on Oxford Street. His memory invaded her daydreams ever since, but her musings had been wrong, her assumptions incorrect. He was not devilishly handsome, his eyes not entrancing in the least. He was more. Much more. Her brain sputtered to produce some adjective that applied but all paled in consideration.
Good heavens, she would appear a bird-wit.
Wilhelmina extended her hand as he reached forward, only to drop the book she’d just claimed. With increasing mortification, she knelt to retrieve the volume and he did in kind. They bumped heads effectively on the way down to the carpet. His velvet murmur of amusement warmed her to the core, tracing over her skin and settling deep in her belly with a joyful fluttering.
“Now this is a surprise.”
There they crouched, two adults at knee level among the gowns and suits of a crowded drawing room affair. The filtered candlelight cast his chiseled features in shadow and all she could see clearly was the sharp angle of his nose, the dark slash of his brows. Wilhelmina’s heart stopped beating. She raised her eyes to his as someone adjusted their position above, allowing a fleeting sliver of light within their shadowed rendezvous. When his eyes met hers, midnight blue pierced her soul. Dragging a ragged breath, she failed to produce words, flippant, eloquent or otherwise.
“It would appear, my sweet, you have it in your mind to extinguish my existence; first by drowning in a mud puddle, and now by a rap to the head.”
If only something charming came to mind, but she felt a stuttering loss. Would her sharp tongue suddenly fail her when she needed it most? This disruptive grip of nervousness was
his
fault. He unsettled her to the core.
His lips, that delightful cleft in his strong chin, were but a whisper away, so close she could feel the heat of his exhale across her cheek, and his pervasive fragrance, a mixture of neroli and cloves, filled her nostrils and drenched her soul. What would it feel like to be kissed by such a dashing gentleman? She could only wonder, the intimacy unfamiliar, although that fluttering renewed in her belly…and other places too.
She swallowed hard as good sense forced a reply past her lips. “The fault is all mine.” With no wish to draw attention to their prone forms the words whispered from her lips as if an illicit proposition instead of an innocent plea for pardon. A sketch of a smile tilted his mouth and their gazes locked.
“Very well then, I claim no harm.” He clasped the book more firmly and placed a gloved hand below her elbow, bringing them once again to eye level. His arm brushed against hers as they re-entered the circle and his muscles, hard through the cloth of his waistcoat, caused her breath to catch and her brain to question the sudden and uncomfortable awareness of his body so near to hers.
Then he did the unspeakable, and reached forward to tap the front of her temple, his bare fingertip brushing through the wisps of her hair. “I presume the knock did not so much rattle your brain as your constitution. I assure you no one knows of the blunder beyond this congenial circle of friends.”
How dare he be charming and make mortifying matters worse? She’d never be able to converse, to engage Leonard and Fiona in flirtatious interplay, if he stood nearby watching,
breathing
. She cleared her throat and steadied her nerves.
Conversation had resumed when someone lifted the volume of poems from his grasp, and flipped it open to a random page. Wilhelmina gathered her wits and forced a smile. Best she ignore Lord No Name and carry on as if he didn’t exist.
But her vow proved impossible as he plucked the volume from Lord Rigby’s hand next and began reciting poetry in a delicious tenor that caused `flesh to prick her skin, no
Good heavens, she would appear a bird-wit.
Wilhelmina extended her hand as he reached forward, only to drop the book she’d just claimed. With increasing mortification, she knelt to retrieve the volume and he did in kind. They bumped heads effectively on the way down to the carpet. His velvet murmur of amusement warmed her to the core, tracing over her skin and settling deep in her belly with a joyful fluttering.
“Now this is a surprise.”
There they crouched, two adults at knee level among the gowns and suits of a crowded drawing room affair. The filtered candlelight cast his chiseled features in shadow and all she could see clearly was the sharp angle of his nose, the dark slash of his brows. Wilhelmina’s heart stopped beating. She raised her eyes to his as someone adjusted their position above, allowing a fleeting sliver of light within their shadowed rendezvous. When his eyes met hers, midnight blue pierced her soul. Dragging a ragged breath, she failed to produce words, flippant, eloquent or otherwise.
“It would appear, my sweet, you have it in your mind to extinguish my existence; first by drowning in a mud puddle, and now by a rap to the head.”
If only something charming came to mind, but she felt a stuttering loss. Would her sharp tongue suddenly fail her when she needed it most? This disruptive grip of nervousness was
his
fault. He unsettled her to the core.
His lips, that delightful cleft in his strong chin, were but a whisper away, so close she could feel the heat of his exhale across her cheek, and his pervasive fragrance, a mixture of neroli and cloves, filled her nostrils and drenched her soul. What would it feel like to be kissed by such a dashing gentleman? She could only wonder, the intimacy unfamiliar, although that fluttering renewed in her belly…and other places too.
She swallowed hard as good sense forced a reply past her lips. “The fault is all mine.” With no wish to draw attention to their prone forms the words whispered from her lips as if an illicit proposition instead of an innocent plea for pardon. A sketch of a smile tilted his mouth and their gazes locked.
“Very well then, I claim no harm.” He clasped the book more firmly and placed a gloved hand below her elbow, bringing them once again to eye level. His arm brushed against hers as they re-entered the circle and his muscles, hard through the cloth of his waistcoat, caused her breath to catch and her brain to question the sudden and uncomfortable awareness of his body so near to hers.
Then he did the unspeakable, and reached forward to tap the front of her temple, his bare fingertip brushing through the wisps of her hair. “I presume the knock did not so much rattle your brain as your constitution. I assure you no one knows of the blunder beyond this congenial circle of friends.”
How dare he be charming and make mortifying matters worse? She’d never be able to converse, to engage Leonard and Fiona in flirtatious interplay, if he stood nearby watching,
breathing
. She cleared her throat and steadied her nerves.
Conversation had resumed when someone lifted the volume of poems from his grasp, and flipped it open to a random page. Wilhelmina gathered her wits and forced a smile. Best she ignore Lord No Name and carry on as if he didn’t exist.
But her vow proved impossible as he plucked the volume from Lord Rigby’s hand next and began reciting poetry in a delicious tenor that caused `flesh to prick her skin, no
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