Page 13 of Sinful Persuasion of a Lady in the Making
“I heard it all.” He looked up at her, trying to coax her out of her self-pity and her sadness. “He was quite the scoundrel.”
Jenny scoffed. “And more,” she said, a chuckle trying to force its way past her tears. “Although I think they all are here.”
She looked up, startled at what she had just said to one of those gentlemen himself.
“I… not… oh,” she cried, burying her face in her hands.
He laughed. “It’s all right, Miss Jones,” he said. “I quite understand.”
Jenny smiled up at him, her cheeks moist and her chin still threatening to crease with further upset. When she looked into his eyes, shewantedto stop crying, she wanted to show him her best self. Such a peculiar drive, one she had never felt before.
Is it… attraction?
“You know my name,” she said. She almost smiled, but then she realized just what that meant and her tears began anew. “Just as everyone else does.”
“Now, now,” he said, pulling the handkerchief from his pocket and handing it to her. “We’re not all as bad as that.”
She took it gratefully, dabbing gently at her eyes. All she wanted to do was rinse her face with cold water, to rub away at her too-emotional state, but she knew she could not. She had to be polite.
I want to be polite.
He was intriguing, after all. And there was indeed something that made him seem different, somehow, and not in the least because he was not making inappropriate insinuations.
“How do you know my name, then?”
“I asked,” he said, smiling at her. “When I saw you enter the room and noticed just how lovely you look. I just had to know your name. There are cruel people in the world,” he said. “Too many by far. I am sorry you had to meet one of them this evening.”
“One?” Jenny asked, her sobs subsiding as she looked up at him. “There is more than just one at this ball. Why, there have been gentlemen enough who have—”
“Who have what?” he urged.
His hands gripped tightly to the stonework, his shoulders high. He seemed so innocent in that pose, but Jenny still felt the bolt of worry that ran through her, that never left her.
He is a noble, after all, is he not?
Her whole body felt tense; her breath was shallow.
“Please,” he said, somehow softer still, “you can talk to me. I am not like the others.”
“And I am supposed to know that how?” she snapped, spinning around on the balls of her feet until she directly faced him.
He moved backward, his lower half forced still by the stonework, but his top half disappearing into the blackness.
“You could try talking to me,” he said with a mischievous grin, although he was clearly uncertain and obviously startled by her reaction. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”
Does he think I will strike him as I did Lord Frederick?
“No,” she said, shaking her head and taking the tiniest of steps backward. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be harsh.”
He moved back into the light, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him.
“I understand,” he said, running a hand through his brown hair. And although it sounded like he did, she couldn’t believe it. She scoffed again. “Pained by it, for you are the only lady here tonight I wish to talk to, but I do understand.”
“How could you possibly understand? Unless you were once…” she trailed off, uncertain as to how much she should reveal about herself, “how could you understand?” she repeated eventually.
“I understand more than you know,” he said, sighing.
She wanted to ask more, to inquire about his understanding, to learn about his life and his loves and his hates. But instead she remained silent, her breath shallow when her body allowed her to breathe at all. She couldn’t bombard him with questions, not when he had so kindly stopped to help her.
