Page 18 of Enticing Odds
The sudden clearing of a throat behind her brought her back to herself. Her heart skipped. Somehow, she knew who finally stood there.
“Dr. Matthew Collier,” Wardle announced.
Cressida drew in a breath, becoming once again the controlled, charming hostess. No one fancied a doting mother.
With a gentle smile, she turned.
“And there he is.” Lady Caplin’s voice was low, conspiratorial even, as she slowly approached him. “The wee lamb of a card sharp. So lovely to see you, Doctor.”
Matthew frowned. “I don’t consider myself much of—”
“A lamb?” she interrupted.
“Er, no,” he stuttered. Oddly enough, that hadn’t bothered him in the slightest. In fact, he preferred it to what he was usually called—an oaf, a colossus, a hulking brute, and so on.
“A card sharp, then?” She paused before him, resting her fan against her chin as she considered him with wide, intelligent brown eyes.
“I’m not a…” Matthew frowned, the back of his neck feeling suddenly hot.
Why did he find himself struck dumb by this woman? True, she was a lovely, elegant lady—a viscountess, and a respected one at that. But there was something else about her. A shrewdness. A look about her that suggested she was not one to be trifled with… but that she’d quite enjoy trifling with him.
He straightened up. “I don’t consider myself deceitful, my lady.”
“And neither do I.”
She snapped her fan open so suddenly that he started. He prayed she hadn’t noticed.
“I only meant to express my admiration for your skill. Would you not accept a compliment from me, honestly given?” She simpered, looking up at him from under dark lashes. “You see, I rarely offer them without the expectation of receiving one in turn.”
Matthew glanced nervously to the marble staircase behind her. The two servants who’d been posted there had made themselves scarce; there was no one close enough to hear their conversation. Did she toy with him? Surely she knew he was nothing more than a bumbling,appallinglymiddle-class city doctor, his life as unremarkable and messy as his study. The invitation to her ball—which he’d come by honestly this time—had given him a glimmer of hope. The hope that perhaps he might shed his awkward anonymity and make himself known amongst the highest rungs of society, the men who counted themselves members of those exclusive, sanctified clubs. Not the hope that this regal, terrifying lady might have some sort of designs upon him.
He squinted, wondering if there was something he was still missing. Her lips were slightly parted, her gaze intense. By Jove, did she expecthimto payhera compliment? He hadn’t the slightest notion of where to begin. He didn’t wish to be thought of as too forward, and he certainly didn’t wish to suggest that he thought anything between the two of them was even remotely within the realm of possibility, and besides, he—
Suddenly Lady Caplin sighed and snapped her fan shut.
“Well. I hope that, at the very least, you’ll entertain yourself at my tables. These gentlemen have gotten awfully cocky, youknow; all that money and not one clever lamb to relieve them of it.” She dipped her head, dismissing him.
Matthew felt a flush of embarrassment. He nodded in reply, then walked past her, hesitating at the top step of the staircase, fingers lingering upon the balustrade. Damn it, she had expected a compliment, hadn’t she?
His ears heated. He wouldn’t have her think him ungrateful after all of this. Mild-mannered though he may be, he was not a coward. He racked his brain for something appropriate to say.
“Your voice, it’s…” He hesitated for a moment, before turning around and rushing the second bit. “It’s rather nice and steady. Solid, with a pleasing timbre. I’d suppose your lungs to be in excellent health, with a more than adequate capacity.”
“Oh?” she said, her thick, dark brows raising ever so slightly.
They stood awkwardly like that for a moment. Matthew felt hot all over. He hadn’t considered it until the words had tumbled out, but she did have quite a nice voice. Rich. Velvety.
“Although…” Lady Caplin raised her brows even further. “Merely ‘more than adequate?’” As if to reinforce his thoughts, she made her voice low, sultry. “I wish to prove myself beyond that. What do you suggest, then, to improve one’s lung capacity?”
“Exertion,” he answered without thinking.
“Ah, of course.” She grinned, her two dimples reappearing. “Thankfully there’s at least one form of exercise I’m fond of.”
“Walking?”
“Mmm, no. A little moreintense, I should say.”
“Riding?”
