Kathryn Caskie (7 page)

With naught else to occupy his time, as Eliza studied every nuance of his face and body for the portrait, Magnus afforded himself a gratifying study of his own.

Softly-curled sable locks fell loose about Eliza’s shoulders, seductively cascading down her back in thick, silky waves. Magnus imagined those glossy tresses sliding over his bare skin and bit back a pleasurable sigh. By God, she was a beauty, in face as well as form—from her long pale throat, high breasts and slim graspable waist, down to the delicate turn of her ankles.

He could well understand how any man could be distracted by Eliza, despite her less than perfect reputation. “They call her the hellion of Hanover Square,” one well-meaning patroness had whispered to him at the Greymont’s ball. But that only made Eliza more interesting to Magnus.

He, himself, had never managed to adhere to Society’s rigid rules and mannerisms. Not when his father carted him off to Eton, where his instructors thought it their sacred duty to the Realm to beat his wild Scottish nature and brogue from him. Nor in the military, where his impulsiveness regularly rippled his regiment’s crisp lines.

Pity Eliza did not suit his pocket. Otherwise, she fit him so well. Magnus’s gaze rose warily to Eliza’s eyes. It would not do for his guilty indulgence to be detected.

At the moment, however, Eliza was thoroughly engrossed with her work.

Magnus watched her face, entranced, as her pink tongue moistened her lips and her skin took on a slight sheen as she concentrated her attention on the page at hand.

As her focus grew, she drew faster, blended and smudged with the tips of her fingers and the side of her thumb. Three pieces of charcoal, of varying sizes, now poked out between the fingers of her left fist as her right hand moved ceaselessly over the paper.

At length, Eliza lifted her eyes from the page. “Lord Somerton, if you did not expect me to begin this morn, might I ask why you are here?”

“Merely to discover if ye were serious about our arrangement. I see now that ye are.”

“I am quite serious, I assure you,” Eliza confessed. She lowered her wedge of charcoal and frowned. “Now you’ve moved.” Setting her board aside, she walked toward Magnus. Framing his face with her hands, she leaned close and tilted his head upward. “Oh, I’ve smudged you.”

Magnus breathed in her fragrance as he plucked a linen from his waistcoat and handed it to her. “Lavender.”

“Yes. Fine nose you have, Lord Somerton.” Eliza looked at him and gave a little smile. “Our lady’s maid, Jenny, bottles its essence in the stillroom for my aunts. Do you like it?”

“I do,” he said, breathing deeply of her.

Eliza leaned in to the remove the mark from his cheek, and suddenly Magnus felt the tip of her breast lightly rub against his chest. He looked up, and their gazes locked.

Magnus’s breath seized in his throat and for the briefest of moments, he had the oddest notion that he should kiss her. He straightened his back and blinked, surprised at the power and suddenness of the urge.

He knew he mustn’t. She was a lady, an innocent. Not some camp follower vying to share the warmth of his cot. He should remain the gentleman. He definitely should.

Eliza likely read his base intentions for she backed away, retreating behind the relative safety of her drawing board. When she looked at him again, he noticed her cheeks were flushed.

He wasn’t the only one who’d felt the intimacy of the moment.

Nervously, she shifted her gaze to the upper window. She gave a relieved sigh. “Thankfully, my aunts are no longer watching, Lord Somerton.”

“Magnus,” he said, glancing up at the window. “Call me Magnus. After all, we are going to be spending quite a lot of time together during the next weeks.”

Eliza nodded as she looked back down at her page. Finally after several moments, she started drawing again, but there was a tenseness to her stance now. A string of silent words seemed to form on her moving lips as though she were auditioning them, phrase by phrase, on her tongue until she found the right combination.

“We might as well make the most of this time, do you not agree, Lord—Magnus?” she said at last.

He grinned. “What have ye in mind?”

“If I am to carry out my half of our arrangement, I believe we should discuss the qualities you find desirable in a woman.”

“Verra well.”

“Wealth is a given,” she said matter-of-factly, not lifting her eyes from her work.

“Sadly, aye.”

Eliza swallowed hard. “So, let us begin with her …
body.”

Magnus suddenly coughed, surprised by her frankness.

Eliza bit her pink lips every so slightly, then slowly lifted her eyes to him. “You needn’t worry. I shall not judge your choices. You may speak plainly with me, as if I were a gentleman friend.”

Not bloody likely,
Magnus mused.

Eliza held him firm in her sight, stubbornly awaiting an answer.

“Her body …” Magnus’s gaze centered on Eliza’s own lithe shape as he thought about what to say.

She squirmed under his gaze and shrank farther behind the drawing board.

Magnus straightened in his chair. “I—I do apologize,” he said. “I didna mean to make ye uncomfortable. I only sought to frame my reply using yer form as reference.”

“Oh, I see.” Eliza lifted a suspicious brow, but set the board on the table and rose. With a wry smile, she raised her arms from her sides, allowing Magnus a delightfully unhindered view of her.

A rush of heat swept Eliza as she felt him study every curve and crease of her body.

Beneath her shift, her skin tingled, dampened. She pressed her thighs together, willing away the unexpected, yet all too potent, new feelings building deep within her.

Then he spoke. “I have no preferences.” His gaze continued to devour her as he rose and came to her.

Eliza’s heart pounded in her ears as he closed the gap between them. Slowly, she turned her eyes upward to meet his.

“Were my bride to resemble ye, Eliza, I would be most content.” He slipped his fingers beneath her chin and ran his thumb over her bottom lip, tilting her mouth upward to his.

Eliza gasped a broken breath, scarcely able to believe what was happening, but she rode her instincts onward. Without thinking, she opened her mouth to him.

But then, Magnus abruptly drew back his head. Confusion knit his brows as he stared at her mouth, then at his own hand cradling her chin.

“Damn it all,” he muttered. He lowered his hand and abruptly stepped back. “I shouldna do this.”

Eliza didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to do.

“I should leave now.” Magnus’s gaze focused on the pavers beneath his feet.

She nodded her head dumbly.

Without looking at her again, he turned and walked away, leaving Eliza standing in the courtyard. Confused. Embarrassed.

Alone.

She dropped into a chair and stared at the courtyard door.

After only one day, her brilliant “arrangement” was fast becoming a huge mistake.

Rule Five

Pretend inferiority and encourage his arrogance.

The night mist, thick and ghostly white, swirled about the coach as it skidded across the slick cobbles. While her aunts excitedly exchanged Society gossip with Grace, Eliza gazed out the small window, her shoulder thumping rhythmically against the door as the coach clattered through the wet streets.

The town carriage drew to a rough halt just as a bell in a distant clock tower struck ten, heralding their arrival at Lord and Lady Hogart’s fashionable home.

Despite Grace’s claim that their invitation to tonight’s supper was much coveted by elevated society, Eliza was not at all eager to attend yet another tiresome Society event— especially at the home of the famously ill-tempered Lord Hogart.

Already this week, she’d suffered through three horrid routs and to her dismay
and
her aunts’ keen notice, Lord Somerton had not attended any of them. Nor had he returned to sit for his portrait! Eliza feared her aunts’ belief in his romantic interest in her was growing woefully thin.

Thankfully, her matchmaking aunts had not pitchforked her any new suitors, but Eliza had no doubt they would soon if Lord Somerton could not be counted upon as her match.

Eliza drew her mantle close to ward off the dampness of the evening and peered through the open door as the footman let down the stairs and helped her aunts and sister alight from the carriage.

Through the tall candlelit windows of the manse, she saw a sizeable crowd of elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen. She focused on a tall dark-haired man standing with his back to the window. Her heart began to pound.

Was it Lord Somerton?

He had to be here this eve. Just
had
to be. Didn’t he realize what a predicament his inattention had put her in? He was her partner, after all. Despite what happened in the courtyard, he was to be her … well, her salvation.

Eliza took the footman’s hand and reluctantly stepped out into the night. “We’re dreadfully late,” she said, her gaze drifting through the window once more.

Aunt Letitia snickered. “Why yes, I do believe we are.” She glanced at her sister.

“Pity that,” Aunt Viola added. “Now all eyes will be upon us when we enter.” She raised her gloved hand to her lips and tried, without success, to conceal her delight.

With mouth agape in awe, Grace stared up at the massive brick house, then made for the door.

Aunt Letitia lunged forward and managed to catch Grace’s arm. “Calm yourself, Grace,” her aunt scolded. “It would not do to appear overeager.”

Grace nodded her head. “You are right, of course. But how can I douse my excitement when my future husband may be standing just inside?”

Eliza groaned at her sister’s ridiculous enthusiasm, catching Aunt Letitia’s notice.

"We shall not have any of
that
this evening, Eliza,” her aunt warned.

“Yes, Auntie,” she murmured.

Aunt Letitia waved off their footman before he could lift the doorknocker, then drew Eliza and Grace aside. “Now remember, Grace, tonight we are employing Rule Five.
Pretend inferiority and encourage his arrogance.”

Eliza wrinkled her nose. “What good will that do? I should think a man would prefer an intelligent woman as his match.”

“It is my impression that Rule Five means that men enjoy talking about themselves,” Aunt Viola said softly. “They will think you most amiable if you simply listen or ask questions that allow them to expound upon their own virtues and strengths.”

“Oh, of course,” Grace replied, bobbing her head like a pigeon.

The grand door opened before them at last and Eliza affixed a smile to her lips. What a simply glorious evening lay ahead.

After their party was announced, they were greeted by their hosts and led into an expansive drawing room. But for a few murmurs from the farthest reaches of the room, conversation stopped as the other guests turned to observe the band of latecomers.

Eliza barely cared. She was taken immediately with the elaborate decorations. Shimmering swathes of crimson and gold radiated from every wall to a central sparkling chandelier. It was as though she had stepped inside a sultan’s tent. She marveled at Lady Hogart’s creativity.

In place of chairs, large jewel-toned silk pillows were tossed in mountainous piles on the floor. Several men and women lounged upon them, chatting casually.

Grace was awestruck. “You see, Eliza, this is what life has in store for us. We have only to find suitable husbands.”

Eliza stared pointedly at her sister. “Grace, you are so naïve.” She was about to explain herself when, through the crowd, she caught sight of Lord Somerton and his uncle, William Pender, standing before the hearth. An unexpected thrill cut through her middle.

“Somerton.”

Grace followed Eliza’s gaze. “So it is,” she said in a rather bored tone. “And his uncle, Pender, too.”

Eliza’s cheeks drew up with her smile. Thank God, she was saved. At once, she started through the swarm of exquisitely dressed bodies on her way to Magnus.

But Grace’s arm slid around her waist and held her in place. “Eliza, you cannot race across the drawing room to a bachelor. It simply isn’t done.”

Eliza blinked back at her sister. “Then how, pray, am I to speak with him? Shall I shout from here?”

Her sister glowered at her. “Of course not. We’ll walk
together,
mingling as we go. No one can fault you then.”

Eliza fired a breath through her nostrils. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to jeopardize your chances for a good match.”

Grace, who was already scanning the field for her own prospects, paid Eliza’s comment no mind, and the two set off through the vibrant room together.

As they strolled casually between the pillow mounds, Eliza held Magnus firm in her gaze, wishing she could see with whom he and Pender were conversing. But it was just too crowded. Still, she could make out Magnus’s dark blue cutaway coat, crisp white waistcoat and fawn breeches. By Jupiter, he looked dashing.

A gentle warmth crept into her cheeks as her gaze drank him in, greedily swallowing every detail.

While they continued their walk through Society’s finest, Eliza began to notice more than one lady frown at her as she passed. Criminy, they were looking at her as if she had stepped in … wait a minute. Had she? Pausing, Eliza surreptitiously peered down at the sole of one slipper, then the other. They were clean. She glanced down at her gown next, but there was not so much as a wrinkle to mar her appearance. Why were they looking at her that way?

Then, she heard a snippet of conversation that made everything clear as Austrian crystal.

“No, ‘tis true, I tell you. They were together at the Greymont’s ball,” a stout woman said to her escort. “I own, as unseemly as we may all think it, Misfit Merriweather
is
the apple of the earl’s eye.”

How Eliza wanted to laugh. If they only knew the truth.

Then as a clutch of ladies moved aside, Eliza saw something that stilled her step.

“Is something wrong?” Grace huddled against her as a horde of party guests surged by them.