Mastering the Marquess (20 page)

Lord Samson was much too clearly only after her purse. She accepted that it was one of her finer features in most men’s eyes, but she did wish they would at least occasionally glance at the rest of her. She did not like the feeling that once the bills were paid she might be left on her own.

Lord Walton left her feeling like she had dirt on her face and crumbs on her dress. He seemed to be too busy thinking about his own superiority to notice anything interesting about her—and when he did notice her, it was to correct her.

Had she missed anyone? Aah, there was Mr. Jacks. There was nothing she could think of wrong with him. He had a steady income, was tall and attractive, and frequently mentioned playing with his nephews. He would be a good choice—only he didn’t interest her.

She held in another sigh. No, this was definitely not easy.

“Would you care to dance?” Swanston’s voice echoed over her shoulder.

She turned with a smile. The man was so easy to be with. She didn’t have to think about every response when she was with him; he wanted nothing but her company. “I would enjoy that very much.” She held out her hand and allowed him to sweep her onto the dance floor.

It was a country dance and there was little possibility of conversation, but that was fine. Each gentle touch of hands conveyed thought and care. She wasn’t sure why she felt so comfortable with him, but she did—and she wasn’t going to waste time worrying about it.

Not when she had a husband to find.

The dance ended and Swanston gestured to the balcony. “Would you care for some air?”

She nodded. That was another nice thing about the man: She didn’t have to worry about whether each invitation for a turn outside would become a game of avoiding hands and kisses. If
anything, she wished that he’d show a little more interest in those matters. It didn’t do much for her sense of attractiveness to be invited out to look at the stars—and then to actually look at the stars.

The gardens were cooler than the heated ballroom, and Louisa drew in a deep breath of the clean air. “I do love the scent of a garden.”

“Of flowers?” Swanston moved to stand behind her, and she was immediately aware of his size and strength.

“No, just of plants—of life. Even when nothing is blooming I think you can smell the potential, sense what will grow with care and time. Do I sound ridiculous?”

“No.” He reached out and brushed a curl from her cheek. “I’ve always liked looking for potential and then nurturing it.”

She shivered.

“You are cold?”

“No.” She looked up and met his gaze—and for a moment, thought she saw something, felt something. His gaze swept from her eyes down to her lips and settled there. Was he going to kiss her? Her heart skipped a beat at the thought, and her thighs tightened in anticipation.

Abruptly, he turned away, then stepped away. “We should go back in. I hear the orchestra starting to play again. I am sure you have many eager suitors waiting for your hand.”

She wanted to stay, to linger a moment more, to enjoy the garden, the quiet, to enjoy him.

No, that last was not right—or was it? She held out her hand and let him lead her back into the ball.

Blast. He should have known better than to take her out into the garden. Walking in the garden at an affair such as this had one purpose—and it was not one he was free to indulge in with Lady Brookingston, no matter what his trousers and his fantasies might tell him. She was a lady, and one did not shove ladies against the wall and hike their skirts to their waists; one did not sink one’s cock into them with no preliminaries beyond a swat on the behind; one did not …

It was useless to think about what one did not do. The only thing that accomplished was
to change the drape of his trousers to a considerable degree. He was going to have to excuse himself to smoke a cheroot as soon as he’d escorted Louisa back in. There was no way that he’d be dancing while his cock was fighting its way above his flap.

Louisa stopped and turned, looking up at him, a question in her eyes. “Did I displease you somehow, Lord Swanston? I feel that you are hurrying to be rid of me.”

Was he? Yes. And no.

He stilled, and taking both her hands raised them to his lips. “I am sorry. I suppose I’ve had enough of doing my duty and am eager for the card room.”

He watched her face fall. That was not what he had meant to say—although for the life of him he didn’t know what to say.
I am sorry, my dear, you’ve made me most uncomfortable. If you don’t mind dropping to your knees and sucking me off I’d be pleased to continue this conversation
. No, he didn’t think that would work.

“I do understand.” She attempted a smile. “A man can take only so much of a woman’s chatter. My father always said that.”

“No, that’s not—”

But Louisa had spun away and slipped back into the dancing crowd.

He stood a moment, staring after her, then turned and walked back to the gardens.

His cock was no longer bursting the seams of his trousers, but he definitely needed a moment to decide what he wanted.

“No, Lord Peter. I am afraid I cannot accept your proposal.” Louisa looked down at her hands as she spoke. Although the words had burst from her lips before she’d even had a chance to think, refusing a marriage proposal was far harder than she had imagined. Knowing she was going to marry John had saved her from this when she’d been a young girl. Now, it was only the thought that it was her entire life that was at stake that allowed the words past her lips.

“Well, that’s that then,” Lord Peter replied. He did not seem particularly put out. “Do you think I could have a brandy? This proposing is tiring stuff.”

No, he was definitely not heartbroken.

He pinched his lips. “Would you have said yes if I’d waited longer? I admit that two
weeks is not long, but I didn’t want to let any of the other fellows get the run on me.”

“No, I don’t think time would have made a difference. I am just not sure we would be happy together. I have a kitten, and I know you like hounds.”

“Oh, yes, definitely wouldn’t work then. You are a most sensible woman.” Lord Peter looked more than relieved—both, she thought, by her refusal and by his being presented with a quite reasonable explanation.

“Can I have the maid fetch some sweets? My cook does make the best ginger biscuits, and I am sure that I smelled some baking this morning.”

Lord Peter smiled. “That would be quite delightful.”

Louisa smiled in return. She’d learned far more from Madame Rouge than only what to do in the bedroom. In the future she just might keep a pastry tray and a decanter of brandy at her side when gentlemen came calling.

“Lady Brookingston, would you do me the great honor of accepting my hand,” Lord Walton exclaimed with a flourish.

Why did she feel that he thought he was doing her the honor? And why did he possibly think that she’d accept? He’d only called on her twice. Did that make a courtship?

She certainly didn’t think so. And he’d spent most of both visits pricing the silver and the furniture. He’d even had the effrontery to ask if her house was rented or if it had come to her as part of her settlements.

“No, Lord Walton, I cannot accept your proposal.”

“Well, why ever not? You do know I am quite eligible don’t you?” Lord Walton was looking up at her, his mouth an O of surprise.

“I am quite sure you are, but I do not believe we would suit,” she answered, not sure what one should say under such circumstances.

“Well, I think we’d suit very well. You’re quite attractive and I am handsome myself. I can assure you that you would have nothing to worry about in the bedroom—I’ve been told I am rather accomplished in the matter. If that’s what deters you I’d be pleased to demonstrate.”

What?

Before she could react, he reached out and clamped a hand on each of her breasts and squeezed, rather as if trying to determine if a peach was ripe.

Taking a hurried step back, she freed herself. “I am quite sure that you are most … most distinguished in the bedroom, but—”

“Oh, you like to play shy.” He took a step forward, hands still raised, eyes locked on her breasts. Was that drool in the corner of his mouth?

“No. I do not play anything.” Louisa marched hurriedly to the door and out into the hall. “I truly do not think we’d suit. And I find that I have forgotten an appointment.” She turned and hurried up the stairs. “My porter will see you out.”

Louisa leaned forward and let her head fall forward upon her desk. Charlie jumped up, meowed, and swished his tail across her face. She buried her nose in his thick black-and-white fur. It was not a lady’s posture, but she did not feel like a lady. She might have turned down only two proposals in this month of seeking a husband, but it felt like a dozen, and she knew that if she showed the slightest interest she could probably make it more.

Only, she didn’t want to, felt no interest.

She’d not found one man she wanted to marry, to spend the rest of her life with.

“Would you want to live with any of them?” she asked.

Charlie did not answer.

There was a tap on the library door and Charlie jumped to the floor. Louisa raised her head as her porter stepped in. “Forgive me, my lady, but Lord Swanston is here. He says you were going to accompany him for a ride about the park.”

“Oh, dear. He is correct. Can you tell him I will join him in just a moment?”

“Certainly, my lady.”

Louisa hurried to her feet, brushing wrinkles and cat hair from her dress, straightening her hair. She did hope she didn’t have a red mark on her cheek from laying it upon the desk. It would not do to look like she had been sleeping.

How had she managed to forget? She never forgot her outings with Swanston. They were one of the few things she’d looked forward to in this endless month.

She’d worried at first, after the strangeness in the gardens at the Sweets’ ball, that things would be awkward between them, but Swanston had appeared to take her walking the very next day and had acted like nothing had happened. She had followed suit, and so their easy friendship had developed—and if she sometimes imagined his lips upon hers, imagined what those long, lean fingers could do, that was only in her mind, and surely that did not count.