Page 4 of Enticing Odds
“Not much further. Only I assume you’ve no wish to be overheard,” she said breezily over her shoulder.
“No, that I do not.” His voice was strained.
“I’m glad to see you show some sense,” she said, gesturing playfully with her fan. “Who knows what people might say?”
She heard him clear his throat behind her.
“What… what would they say?”
“Why, what they always do.”
She halted in the middle of a long hallway, far from the festivities, but did not turn around. This was as good as any place to dash whatever hopes he might harbor. There would be no entanglement between them, enjoyable though one might be.
“Go on then,” she said. “What was it you wished to speak with me about?”
He rounded her, an apologetic look on his face.
“Ah, yes… the thing is, I’m sure you couldn’t possibly recall, but when I arrived, that is to say…”
Here it comes, Cressida thought, more than a bit disappointed. She’d had higher expectations for this one. She’d hoped to drag out the excitement, the back and forth, the longgazes full of desire. Not to receive a bald-faced proposition straight away. Where was the finesse, thesavoir faire?
“Well, I arrived with a friend, Mr. Rickard. Thomas Rickard. And I’d all but promised to keep watch, keep an eye out, you see. There’s this chap… an earl, I believe.” The doctor furrowed his brow. “And the thing is, I really ought to find him. Rickard, that is. Not the earl. Though maybe the earl, if Rickard is with him.” He blew out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it boyishly.
Cressida’s mouth suddenly felt dry.
“Mr. Rickard? You seek a Mr. Rickard?”
“Yes, exactly!” He seized upon her question as an indication of total comprehension, relief plain on his face.
“I see,” Cressida said slowly. She felt flooded with embarrassment, heat washing down her face, through to her neck and shoulders. Wonderful. Not only was she undesired, but now her complexion would look dreadful.Especially in this gown, she silently lamented.
She lifted one elegant, gloved hand to her forehead and laughed, a short, sharp sound.
“Lady Caplin.” The doctor suddenly closed the distance between them. “Are you quite alright?”
She could feel his presence, smell whatever soap he used. His fingers skated across the exposed skin of her upper arm before he apparently thought better of it and pulled back. It had the appalling effect of sending her reeling, her body rigid and tight.
She drew in a breath and gathered herself.
“Of course I am,” she said curtly, her lashes fluttering.
Unfortunately, he was still pleasing to look upon. And now he’d gone and revealed himself to be a seemingly decent fellow.
More’s the pity, Cressida thought, fighting the urge to sigh deeply.
“Are you married, Dr. Collier?”
Funny, she hadn’t cared one whit about a potential Mrs. Collier before, while assuming he’d been after the same straightforward arrangement as she. After all, plenty of married men in her circle dallied with widows and wives alike. Such was the way of the world when one was wealthy. Amusements were plentiful, and rarely off-limits.
For a moment the doctor stared at her, seemingly confused by her change of tack. Finally he looked down. “Not at present, yet I fully intend…” He paused to clear his throat, then settled instead on a simple and flat “No.”
“I see. But you’d like to be, am I correct in assuming?”
A flush came over his face.
“Is there a certain young lady?” she probed.
His flush deepened, but he did not speak.
