he crouched down and carefully removed the fishing hooks from her skirt. Good grief, Emily had forgotten all about them.
He cast a wintry glance at the empty doorway. “I hope you are not one of those weak-minded females who faint at the first glimpse of blood,” he said, probably regretting that he had let the pranksters off so easily.
“Why do you ask? Are you planning to shed any on my behalf?” Until she had arrived in London, there had never been any need for anyone to come to her defense, and this gentleman had done so twice.
Lord Chillingsworth shoved the shoes, hooks, and line under the nearest chair. He stood. “It’s tempting, but the prank was harmless. And at their age, my friends and I were—” He did not finish his confession, but instead he offered her a smile that was meant to charm her. “Never mind. I will not bore you with old tales. Why don’t I find you another glass of wine, eh?”
He seemed determined to remain at her side. “Why? You dumped the contents of your glass on Macestone and Wilderspin, not mine.”
“Macestone and Wilderspin were their names? Good to know.”
While she did not appreciate being the target of their prank, she wished them no ill will. Something inside her warned her that Lord Chillingsworth was not as generous. “You are not intending to do anything to those young gentlemen?”
“Me? Not at all. I am just taking an interest in the season’s latest litter of brash puppies. That footman with the tray of wine is wandering about upstairs. Shall we seek him out and find you a glass?”
“Hmm.” He was attempting to distract her. However, Emily doubted he would share his intentions about the young lords. “I told our hostess that I would follow her into the ballroom.”
“And yet, here you are with me,” Lord Chillingsworth said, steering her in the opposite direction. “A more exciting choice, do you not agree?”
Chapter Seven
Ignoring her fainthearted protests, Frost managed to get Emily up the staircase, relieve the footman of two more glasses of wine, and distract her with discourse about the Fiddicks, Katie, and the weather so casually that she seemed bemused to find herself seated next to him on the sofa.
The lady did not stand a chance.
Frost could almost pity her, but why bother when her proximity conjured other stimulating emotions.
“So Katie is happy with her new circumstances?” she asked for a second time.
“My dear Miss Cavell, I have no reason to lie to you,” he said smoothly. “However if you do not believe me—”
The lady wrinkled her nose as she took a sip of her sparkling wine. It was quite adorable. “Oh, I believe you. I must admit that I felt a tad guilty for leaving the girl in your care when I was the one who promised to help.”
“You did assist her,” Frost said bluntly. “You distracted her stepfather from selling her to a less compassionate soul until my arrival. It was enough.”
Miss Cavell laughed as she brought her gloved finger to her lips. She lightly stroked her lower lip. If she had been like the other women he usually spent his evenings with, he might have viewed the gesture as an invitation.
“Then Katie and I were most fortunate that you came along when you did,” she mused, her hazel eyes gleaming up at him.
“No, Miss Cavell, I am the fortunate one.”
She blushed, not misunderstanding his meaning. Alone in the informal parlor and devoid of distractions, Frost took a moment to study her. Emily Cavell was not a beauty in the classical sense. He had encountered and bedded ladies who were lovelier. Nevertheless, the lady was unique, and an educated eye would have described the combination of her features as striking. Her flawless ivory skin on closer inspection did not possess a single freckle. She looked him directly in the eyes, and the lack of coyness was both annoying and refreshing.
Had no one taught the chit how to flirt?
She was tall for a female, but he was taller than most
He cast a wintry glance at the empty doorway. “I hope you are not one of those weak-minded females who faint at the first glimpse of blood,” he said, probably regretting that he had let the pranksters off so easily.
“Why do you ask? Are you planning to shed any on my behalf?” Until she had arrived in London, there had never been any need for anyone to come to her defense, and this gentleman had done so twice.
Lord Chillingsworth shoved the shoes, hooks, and line under the nearest chair. He stood. “It’s tempting, but the prank was harmless. And at their age, my friends and I were—” He did not finish his confession, but instead he offered her a smile that was meant to charm her. “Never mind. I will not bore you with old tales. Why don’t I find you another glass of wine, eh?”
He seemed determined to remain at her side. “Why? You dumped the contents of your glass on Macestone and Wilderspin, not mine.”
“Macestone and Wilderspin were their names? Good to know.”
While she did not appreciate being the target of their prank, she wished them no ill will. Something inside her warned her that Lord Chillingsworth was not as generous. “You are not intending to do anything to those young gentlemen?”
“Me? Not at all. I am just taking an interest in the season’s latest litter of brash puppies. That footman with the tray of wine is wandering about upstairs. Shall we seek him out and find you a glass?”
“Hmm.” He was attempting to distract her. However, Emily doubted he would share his intentions about the young lords. “I told our hostess that I would follow her into the ballroom.”
“And yet, here you are with me,” Lord Chillingsworth said, steering her in the opposite direction. “A more exciting choice, do you not agree?”
Chapter Seven
Ignoring her fainthearted protests, Frost managed to get Emily up the staircase, relieve the footman of two more glasses of wine, and distract her with discourse about the Fiddicks, Katie, and the weather so casually that she seemed bemused to find herself seated next to him on the sofa.
The lady did not stand a chance.
Frost could almost pity her, but why bother when her proximity conjured other stimulating emotions.
“So Katie is happy with her new circumstances?” she asked for a second time.
“My dear Miss Cavell, I have no reason to lie to you,” he said smoothly. “However if you do not believe me—”
The lady wrinkled her nose as she took a sip of her sparkling wine. It was quite adorable. “Oh, I believe you. I must admit that I felt a tad guilty for leaving the girl in your care when I was the one who promised to help.”
“You did assist her,” Frost said bluntly. “You distracted her stepfather from selling her to a less compassionate soul until my arrival. It was enough.”
Miss Cavell laughed as she brought her gloved finger to her lips. She lightly stroked her lower lip. If she had been like the other women he usually spent his evenings with, he might have viewed the gesture as an invitation.
“Then Katie and I were most fortunate that you came along when you did,” she mused, her hazel eyes gleaming up at him.
“No, Miss Cavell, I am the fortunate one.”
She blushed, not misunderstanding his meaning. Alone in the informal parlor and devoid of distractions, Frost took a moment to study her. Emily Cavell was not a beauty in the classical sense. He had encountered and bedded ladies who were lovelier. Nevertheless, the lady was unique, and an educated eye would have described the combination of her features as striking. Her flawless ivory skin on closer inspection did not possess a single freckle. She looked him directly in the eyes, and the lack of coyness was both annoying and refreshing.
Had no one taught the chit how to flirt?
She was tall for a female, but he was taller than most
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