The Kiss of a Viscount (The Daughters of the Aristocracy) (24 page)

Elizabeth stared at him for a moment, suddenly sober. “
Allowing
you to dance with me? Whatever are you saying, George?” she asked as she helped herself to some of the cheese. She made a sound of appreciation as her lips captured the golden cube.

George had to close his eyes for a moment. The desire to kiss those lips didn’t pass, but at least he could dampen it by not looking at them. “I asked him to ... share ... some of his waltz with me,” he said very carefully. “He was most accommodating and, I thought, a good sport about appearing as if he’d broken his shoe heel in the process.” Holding his breath as he waited for her response, he finally looked up to see her staring at him, her mouth forming that beautiful, perfect ‘o’.

She swallowed the cheese. “You ...
planned
that? He ... he tossed me to you ... deliberately?” she questioned, her brows furrowing as she remembered how she ended up in George’s arms, how easily he’d taken up where the duke had left off, how powerful a dancer he’d been to be able to keep them twirling in the circle of waltzing couples and yet carry on a conversation as if nothing untoward had happened.

She doesn’t look happy
, George realized.
Damn
! He reached out to place his hand over the one she’d left on the table. Her eyes locked with his as if his touch had shocked her. “
Toss
is probably a poor description of what had to be a very coordinated effort on both our parts,” George started to explain in his own defense. “The placement had to be perfect, the execution very precise. I had to be sure no harm would come to you – that no one would think you had caused the duke’s stumble. If anyone noticed what had happened, His Grace had to appear to be the one at fault.”

Elizabeth sat very still for a moment, her expression not indicating if she was shocked or amused or angry or ambivalent. “But ... but
why
?” was her only response.

George blinked. Once. Twice. He sat back and considered her query. “I wanted a dance with you, Elizabeth.”

Slumping against the back of her own chair, Elizabeth regarded her host in disbelief. “George!” she said as she suppressed a smile.
I am flattered. I should be incensed. I am dumbfounded.
The champagne was obviously having an affect on her ability to think straight.

I rather like how he says my name. As if it’s a prayer.

“Why didn’t you just ask me for the dance?”
There
. That seemed like a reasonable response.

Stunned by her simple question, George took a deep breath. “Well, I was sure your card was full. And I knew His Grace planned a dance with you,” he said lamely. “I ... I do apologize ...”

“Oh, nonsense,” Elizabeth interrupted with a wave of her hand. She reached for another piece of cheese. “It was rather an exhilarating experience. And it’s certainly a unique way of introducing yourself to a lady,” she said, giving George the impression she was impressed by the stunt. “I don’t recommend you do it to meet others, though, George. I do not think that most ladies would find it as ... flattering as I do at the moment,” she admitted with a prim smile. She closed her lips around the piece of cheese and savored the flavor, making the small sound of appreciation.

George felt a great deal of satisfaction at that moment.
She is flattered
. Felt his loins stir at the sight of her lips.
Maintain control
. Wished he were that piece of cheese. “I promise I shall not ever attempt such a feat again,” he murmured, helping himself to a strawberry and pretending it was a part of her as he slowly chewed it.

Elizabeth smiled then, a brilliant smile that displayed her perfect white teeth.
How easy conversation is with this man!
she thought as she realized they were talking in a manner her father would never allow in their dining room at Carlington House.

Needing to get his attention onto other less arousing thoughts, George changed the topic of conversation. “It would seem you have many friends who have already married,” he said as he poured a bit more wine into their glasses.

Elizabeth regarded a cube of fruit, the honey and lemon glaze making it sparkle in the candlelight. “I suppose so,” she returned as she gave his comment consideration. “And a few who are not. I have not been in a hurry to get to the altar.” She popped the fruit into her mouth and nearly closed her eyes as she savored the flavor and texture.

An eyebrow cocking, George picked up his wine glass. Was she waiting for Butter Blond? Or did she have someone else in mind? “Any particular reason why not?” he wondered lightly. “I  admit, I ... have not exactly been in a hurry myself,” he decided to share, hoping she wouldn’t ask why.

Of course, she asked why.

“And why not, George?” Elizabeth straightened, her posture suddenly making her appear as if she ruled a country. And making the tops of her breasts mound a bit above the edge of her bodice.

George did his best not to glance directly at her bosom. He shrugged. “Until very recently, I ... I haven’t needed to, and to be honest, I did not wish to.”

Elizabeth held very still as she replayed his words in her head. Why would he
need
to marry?
Perhaps he is about to lose an inheritance. Or, maybe he has to meet some family obligation.
“And yet, earlier today, you said you would ask for my hand if the earl did not. Were you sincere in your comment?” She could hardly believe her ears! She was actually voicing a question she wouldn’t dare ask of anyone else. What kind of power did this man have over her that she would dare behave so?

Taking a sip of wine to consider his reply, George regarded her over the rim of the glass. Perhaps it was just the champagne that emboldened her, but he rather liked how forthright she could be. When he set down the glass, he nodded. “I was. I still intend to, in fact.”

Elizabeth nodded, not giving any indication if she was startled or otherwise affected by his answer; she allowed only an air of ambivalence. “What, pray tell, has happened to make you change your mind about marriage?” she wondered.
I cannot believe I am being this bold!
She half-expected he would not answer her query, half-expected he would insist on hearing her answer before providing more of his own. So Elizabeth was surprised when George reached over the table and took one of her hands in his. Shocked by the impropriety, she was tempted to pull her hand away. But she was mesmerized by his long tapered fingers as they gently lifted hers.

You helped my friend get his job back at the bank
, George almost said. Teddy Streater had known that night at Angelo’s.
You’d like her
, he’d said, in that way Teddy had of knowing things he shouldn’t, or meddling in affairs about which he shouldn’t know anything.

Instead, George shrugged and said, “I saw you dancing. I heard you laugh. I met you. We danced. We ate supper. I kissed you. We rode in the park. You kissed me.” He sighed heavily and gave a another shrug with one shoulder, hoping she wouldn’t require further explanation.

Stunned at his comments, delivered as if they were a checklist of his requirements to find a suitable wife, Elizabeth set her fork on her plate and straightened in her chair. He was not teasing her, she realized immediately.
He is quite serious!
“But, you know nothing about me!” she countered, a bit perturbed at herself for sounding ungrateful at his kind words. She pulled her hand away in the process of crossing her arms, the movement enhancing her décolletage even more.

It was suddenly apparent to George that she was
not
wearing a corset.

“My father will tell you I am a spoiled brat,” she challenged, as if that should be reason enough for him not to consider her for matrimony.
Oh, why in damnation would I tell him that?
she wondered suddenly. But she wasn’t there to encourage the man. She was there for her own purposes. To satisfy her own curiosity. Why was she even leading this line of discussion?

George leaned forward, resting his elbows against the edge of the table as he clasped his hands together. “Actually, he already did,” he acknowledged with a nod.

Elizabeth gasped, her face a mix of surprise and anger and disappointment. One hand formed a fist where it rested on the table, but George placed his hand over it as quickly as it formed. “Perhaps I find your desire to get your own way merely a sign of a woman who knows what she wants,” he countered, that eyebrow cocking into an arch that suggested he was willing to argue any point she made.

Elizabeth’s mouth formed that perfect ‘o’ he found so fetching. “Is that ... is that what you believe?” she wondered, momentarily at a loss. She was stunned by his insight. Of course, she wasn’t completely spoiled; her father had been quite firm about limiting her allowance and those with whom she could socialize.

How could George know so much about her already? And when had he spoken to her father?

Perhaps there was more to George Bennett-Jones than she’d first thought.

George allowed a smile, the expression creating crinkles on either side of his eyes and laugh lines on either side of his mouth.
He is handsome
, she realized. Something deep in her belly flipped, forcing her to slide a hand down the front of her dress to be sure she still had a belly.

“Yes, that is what I believe,” George answered with a nod. He regarded her for a moment. “And now, in the interest of fairness, you must answer the same question,” he urged, his voice not the least bit demanding. In fact, his lip curved a bit, suggesting he was amused by their exchange.

Sighing, Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment.
What harm would it do to tell him I am not married because no one has offered for my hand?
Everyone believed she was the recipient of multiple offers every Season. How she had managed to avoid the offers she’d heard were coming was beyond her. It was why she secretly hoped her father might be interfering at just the right moment to steer unsuitable gentlemen away from her and her dowry. She secretly prayed that was the reason, for if it was due to something else, that something else would be
her
, and she could not bear to think that men somehow found her wanting. Or undesirable. Or spoiled. Or possessing some other trait that was somehow
wrong
for a gently bred female of the
ton
.

Unbidden tears pricking the edges of her eyes, Elizabeth looked up to find George staring at her. Concern was evident in his eyes. And before she quite knew what was happening, George was out of his chair and pulling her up from hers, his arms wrapping about her shoulders and pulling her body against his. Arms like steel bands held her against his solidity. She knew she should rebuff his attempt to ... to do whatever it was he was doing in holding her so tightly, so that the entire front of her body was pressed against his, so that she could practically feel his heartbeats beneath her head, so that she was left not feeling the least bit inclined to want to rebuff anything he did. Instead, her hands automatically pressed against his chest, her head leaning into his shoulder.

“I did not mean to pry,” he said in a very quiet voice, one hand moving to the back of her head as if to provide support.

Elizabeth relaxed into his arms, melted against his body, and luxuriated in the scents of sandalwood and amber and in the warmth of his arms around her.
Would a married couple hold one another like this?
she wondered. A flash of seeing herself doing it while lying down, on a bed, shot through her mind, and her belly seemed to flip again. Was that George she was holding? Or was it Gabriel?

“I have never been made an offer of marriage,” she murmured, a sob carrying the last of her comment so that it came out in a bit of a stutter. She felt George stiffen, felt his arms lessen their hold just a tad.

“Indeed?” he replied, his voice indicating his surprise at the comment. “Had you made it known you weren’t entertaining offers?” He stepped back a bit, concern still evident on his face as he helped her to sit down again.

“No,” she replied, fighting to keep a tear from escaping her eye.

“I suppose
you
didn’t need to,” he countered, his eyebrow cocked to indicate he knew exactly why she hadn’t been made an offer.

“And just what does
that
mean?” she asked, suddenly a bit indignant. Her spine had reinserted itself and she found she could sit up on her own just fine.

The problem was, she wore no corset, and her suddenly erect posture only enhanced her barely contained bosom so that George couldn’t help but notice. He kept his eyes locked on hers, swallowing hard. Once dinner was done, he would be working to free that bosom from its bodice, and after that, he would be fondling and kissing and ... He shook himself and remembered that Elizabeth was waiting for a reply. “Your father will ensure you marry well,” he said simply. “And to a man meeting his approval.”

Elizabeth gasped, stunned that George seemed to voice exactly what she’d hoped was the case. She was certain David Carlington had run off one of her would-be suitors, but she hadn’t been so sure about the other two. “Do
you
meet his approval?” she asked then, her voice so quiet George almost didn’t hear her.

George looked down at his plate, wondering how much he should tell her. He had asked for permission to court Lady Elizabeth, and the marquess had been almost flippant in the manner in which he gave his permission. The man had been far more concerned about Lady E’s charity and the money to fund it. But then, after yesterday morning’s parliamentary session that included a rather uncomfortable exchange between Butter Blond and the marquess, Morganfield approached George and stated, without preamble, “You have my permission, and you have my blessing.” That last comment had surprised him. It implied that he already had the marquess’s permission to court Lady Elizabeth
and
to marry her should she agree to his proposal.

Had Josephine provided assistance he wasn’t aware of in helping obtain Morganfield’s permission? If she had, he found he didn’t mind so very much. He knew the marquess and his mistress had spent countless hours discussing politics. Those discussions would have no doubt included talk of logical marriages, strategic alliances, profitable mergers. “I believe so, yes,” George finally answered, his eyes finally coming up to meet hers.

A bit surprised by this bit of news, Elizabeth decided she would ask her father when next she spoke with him. She wondered what her father would admit to having done on her behalf.

Or his.

In the meantime, a quick glance at the empty dishes in front of her told her dinner was over. And that meant that if she allowed it, George would begin the ministrations he promised would bring her pleasure. She could back out, of course. Ask forgiveness for his having to dismiss the entire household staff for the evening. Beg his pardon for having to arrange a coach and chaperone to see her here and home again. And George had promised he would not think any less of her if she changed her mind.