Page 10 of A Rogue's Rules for Seduction
But not enough. Not nearly enough to make him stay.
She turned away from the mirror. “None of this.”
“None of what, my lady?”
“None of waiting on dinner,” Willa answered. “I’m famished.”
After thanking Isla, she strode from her room. She cast one quick glance toward the room Dom wassupposedto occupy—he couldn’t have fled from her fast enough—before sweeping down the corridor. As she walked, she passed Mr. Gilbert Cransley as he emerged from his chamber.
She knew him from London, of course, because he was a viscount’s second son and moved in the same circles as she did. He was a handsome bachelor with a fairly substantial allowance, and she frequently observed him surrounded by ladies.
She’d also heard from Kieran and Finn that Mr. Cransley was a frequenter of wild parties—precisely the sort that Mr. Longbridge threw but she could never go to—so it was no surprise to find him at this manor.
Willa herself was only permitted by her parents to attend the house party because Celeste was to theoretically serve as chaperone, saving Willa the trouble of dragging along a companion.
“Lady Willa,” Mr. Cransley said, bowing at her approach. He’d brushed his light brown hair backfrom his high forehead, which had the effect of bringing attention to his vividly blue eyes. Those selfsame blue eyes sparkled as he looked at her—with far more boldness than would be acceptable at a more sedate gathering. “How delightful you appear this evening in that stunning gown.”
“Implying that I do not appear delightful at other times?” She exhaled. “Forgive me, Mr. Cransley. Though my dress is of decent quality, at present, my humor is somewhat threadbare.”
“Nothing to forgive,” he said smoothly. “Do call me Gilbert.”
He offered her his arm and she took it. In the unfettered spirit of the house party, she wore no gloves, and so she felt the excellent material of his coat, as well as the well-developed muscles of his forearm. He was known as a sportsman, and his physical condition attested to this.
And yet her heart did not pound faster to learn how robust he was, and she had no desire to speculate on the rest of his physique. Whereas whenever she’d taken Dom’s arm, the feel of his brawn had always made her giddy, and she had hoarded memories of the few times she’d seen him in his shirtsleeves, the fine fabric pulled taut over his shoulders.
As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, Mr. Cransley—Gilbert—said gently as they walked down the hallway, “The advent of your poor disposition seems timed to Mr. Kilburn’s arrival.”
“A pennant flying at the top of a mountain takes no notice of a slug slithering at the bottom.” She lifted her chin.
Her escort chuckled as they reached the top of the stairs.
“And yet,” he continued while they descended the steps, “no one would blame you were you to be aggrieved by his appearance here. After all, youdidcall off your wedding on account of his uncouth and intoxicated behavior. Though some tongues wagged at the timing, it was still the wisest decision you could’ve made, rather than tether yourself to a lifetime of boorish conduct.”
She gave a noncommittal noise. Difficult to say that Dom had beengraciouswhen he’d permitted her family to tell Society thatshehad been the one to stop the wedding owing to the groom’s drunken loutishness. But it had saved her reputation, to an extent, since it would have been entirely unsalvageable if it was known that Dom had jiltedher.She would have been seen as damaged, used goods, ensuring that she’d never be able to find a husband.
As it was, in the wake of the aborted wedding, she’d retreated to the Continent, for a change of scenery as well as to let the aforementioned wagging tongues find some other scandal to flap about.
“You’ve nothing to fear,” her escort said. “I will serve as your champion here, and protect you from Kilburn.”
She was about to snap that she didn’t need anyone to protect her from anything. But Gilbert was merely being courteous and fulfilling the role that gentlemen were to theoretically take, which was to shelter women from anything remotely troubling or—God forbid—requiring thought.
And she was more than a little tired of trying to school men. Let them figure life out for themselves and take the blows that hopefully would come.
They followed the sounds of many voices to the spacious drawing room, which, Mr. Longbridge had explained earlier, had been recently remodeled to fit the current fashion for lighter walls and furniture. The other guests were standing in groups, and, after parting company with Gilbert, Willa took a turn around the room.
In addition to their host, herself, and her family, there was also Baron Hunsdon, whose appearance, grooming, and manner seemed patterned after a poet of the Romantic school.
“‘Spirit of Beauty,’”the baron recited,“‘that dost consecrate / With thine own hues all thou dost shine upon / Of human thought or form,—where art thou gone?’”
Kieran looked on the verge of throwing a vase at the baron.
Speaking effervescently with Mr. Longbridge was Charlotte, the Marchioness of Shipton, a very handsome woman of middle years. She lived apart from her husband, the marquess, who openly kepthouse with his mistress in London. From all accounts, it was an amiable separation, and Lady Shipton took full advantage of her unusual circumstances by taking as many lovers as she pleased. It seemed an ideal sort of marriage, come to think of it.
Although, Viscount and Viscountess Marwood were also in attendance at the party, forming a very different picture of what constituted marital joy.
“To be the ideal houseguest is a continual dance between being constantly amusing and remaining excruciatingly polite,” the viscountess said to Mr. Longbridge. She had a pleasing East London accent, which she didn’t bother to hide. “Both are exceptionally wearying to the host.”
Mr. Longbridge threw back his head and laughed, while the viscount regarded his wife with a look that could only be called worshipful.
