Page 22 of The Viscount's Promise
He expected her to maintain her silence through the whole of their journey as well. After all, she wasn’t exactly the most voluble person he knew. She surprised him, however, by asking, “Your country seat is Fairfax Hall?”
He glanced down at her. She was staring straight ahead. Her scarred cheek was facing him this time, and he studied it a moment, remembering the feel of it under his finger two nights ago. The scar had been raised though smooth. He had the urge to reach out again, to touch her cheek, but stopped himself. “Er, yes. Fairfax Hall. In Oxfordshire.” He tilted his head, curious, trying to understand how her mind worked that she would bring that up. “You have heard of it?”
“You mentioned it when you met Lord Randall,” she said, almost distractedly. “Do you go there often?”
Ah, yes, the infamous meeting with Lord Randall. The pompous bastard. He had seen him in the chapel and made a mental note to make sure the man didn’t corner Lady Emily again. “I return there as much as I can manage,” he said in reply to her question.
“So you spend most of your time in London.”
“Yes.” He frowned slightly. “Forgive me, my lady, but I get the feeling you’re working up to something. I think it best for both of us if you simply get to the point.”
She looked up at him, her gaze direct, an undercurrent of disquiet in her eyes. “I am to go to London next Season for Daphne’s debut. I’ve heard a bit of what it may be like, but I would have it of you, if you’ve a mind to inform me. Since you are so familiar with it, that is.”
Instantly he understood. She feared the trip. Wasn’t that one of the reasons he had been asked by her brother to help her through this house party, to prepare her for her coming trip to London? After witnessing her level of shyness, however, he secretly thought that Willbridge had set them up for a nearly impossible task. Even after all the headway he’d managed in provoking her to stand up for herself, she was still far from being ready for London.
“I do believe you already know what to expect,” he said, almost gently. “I’m not at all certain that anything I might tell you would ease your mind on the subject.” It was quite possibly the kindest tone he had ever taken with her. But now was not the time, he expected, to push her.
She gave a soft sigh. At that small, forlorn sound, he felt a tug on his heart. It was not due to any affection for the girl, he told himself. He would feel compassion for anyone in such a situation. Even so, the unfamiliar drag on his emotions made him uneasy.
“I admit I had hoped it wasn’t as bad as I have come to expect.”
“I suppose ‘bad’ is a matter for interpretation,” he drawled.
She peered up at him, seemed to study him. He had the distinct and uncomfortable feeling that he was no better than an insect under glass to her.
“You enjoy London, do you not?”
The way she said it, with the slight curl of her upper lip and delicate flaring of her nostrils, sounded more like an accusation than a query.
He had the insane urge to defend his choice to live in the city. Instead he said neutrally, “I like it well enough.”
“Why?”
He blinked. “Why?”
She nodded, her gaze on his face growing intent. “Yes, why? Why do you like it?”
He certainly hadn’t expected to explain it to her. “I don’t know. I’ve never thought of it before.”
“Well, you must have a reason. People do not like things simply for the sake of liking them.”
“Don’t they?”
“Not if they are at all intelligent.”
He chuckled and looked back toward the path. “You have much to learn about theton,then.”
“And you, sir, are skirting around the question.”
“There really is no fooling you, is there?”
“No, there isn’t.”
Was that humor in her voice? The sound of it, so unexpected when their entire relationship thus far had been based on his aggravating her, caused a particularly lighthearted feeling to go stealing through his chest. He grinned. “Very well, you stubborn baggage. Give me a moment to consider it though, will you?”
Her light chuckle surprised him even more than the almost playful tone of her voice had. His brain went momentarily blank at the sound of it. It was no simpering giggle, but warm and a bit raspy. It did the strangest things to him, made him feel alive in places he had no business being alive in. Not with her, at any rate. Shaking his head, he forced his mind to the subject at hand.
Why did he like London? Truthfully, he had never thought on it before. It was the place he had settled after the whole debacle with Lydia. He had needed the noise and distraction and stimulation that the capital could provide. And Willbridge and Tristan had been there as well. He supposed he had enjoyed it at first. There was always something to do. He was never without companionship, never without a ball or soirée or dinner party to attend. He was popular among the young bucks, even more so among the bored wives and widows that littered each event like ripe fallen apples, ready for the taking.
