Page 48 of The Truth About Lord Stoneville
Not literally. He hadn’t ruined her, but she’d still fallen. Because he’d been right. Now that she’d tasted passion, she didn’t know how she’d bear never tasting it again.
The coach abruptly halted, and the coachman above called out, “Mrs. Tweedy’s Fine Dresses, milord.”
Maria froze, then jerked upright in a panic. Heavens alive! Her bodice was undone, she was sprawled across his lap like some doxy, and the footman would be opening the door any moment!
“It’s all right,” he said soothingly as he helped her scramble from his lap. “There’s no need to rush. The footmen know not to open my carriage door if the curtains are closed.”
It took a second for the words to sink in, then her blood ran cold. He did this all the time—she was just one of many. The words he’d said about showing her passion, the offer to make her his mistress—they were calculated to soften her for his seduction. If not for their arrival at the dress shop, what might have happened?
He reached to help her with her bodice, and she pushed his hand away. “Don’t you dare! I can do it myself.”
A stricken look crossed his face, making her briefly doubt her conclusions. Then she saw the closed curtains, and any doubts fled.
“Maria,” he said in a low, aching voice, “what’s wrong?”
Tears sprang to her eyes and she ruthlessly squelched them. She might have behaved like a fool, but she wasn’t about to let him see her cry. Not here, not now . . . notever. “Nothing’s wrong,” she lied.
Thank heavens her hair had stayed pinned. As she tied on her bonnet and looped the pelerine about her shoulders, she gave a silent thanks to Betty, who’d stuck enough pins in her hair to keep it in place for an eternity.
But when she tried to struggle into her redingote alone, Oliver cursed and grabbed it from her, insisting on helping her into it.
As she fumbled with the ties, he laid his hand over her fingers. “Come now, my angel, tell me what’s wrong.”
“Don’t call me that.” She shrugged off his hand so she could finish fastening her ties. “I’m not an angel. I’m certainly notyourangel. Though I thank you for thelesson in passion, it isn’t something we should repeat.”
Turning the handle, she pushed open the door before he could stop her.
“Deuce take it, Maria—” he growled, but caught himself as the footman came running to put down the step.
Only then did she venture a glance at him. He was watching her with something dangerously feral in his eyes.
She forced herself to ignore the tiny swell of regret that rose in her. “I think it’s best if you go to fetch Freddy. By the time you’ve returned, I should be done shopping. It won’t take me long to select a few dresses, and you’ll find it boring.”
“I doubt that very much,” he bit out.
She had to get him out of here! She wouldn’t survive another tête-à-tête ride in the carriage with him. She forced an imploring note into her voice. “Please, my lord? If you stay, you’ll make me nervous.”
That seemed to give him pause. “It’s dangerous for a woman alone.”
“I’ll stay,” the footman surprised her by saying. When Oliver turned a scowl on him, he squeaked, “But only if you wish it, milord.”
Oliver shifted his gaze back to Maria, then sighed. “Very well, John,” he told the footman. “If that’s what she wants. Tell the shopkeeper I’ll pay for the gowns on my return.”
She stiffened. The closed curtains . . . gowns he bought for her . . . That might be acceptable for a fiancé in Englishgood society, but he wouldn’t be her fiancé for long. If she kept letting him do these things, she’d be ruined in the eyes of the world by the time she could break off their engagement.
But she said nothing; right now, she just wanted him away.
“You’re sure you’ll be all right,” he said, concern in his voice.
“Yes.” She pasted a smile to her lips. “Really, my lord, there’s no reason for you to stay.”
The words “my lord” made him stiffen. “As you wish.” He called up to the coachman, “Return me to the Blue Swan posthaste.”
The coach drove off, and she released a breath. At least she’d escaped another ride alone with him, where he would tempt her into doing what she ought not.
She paused outside the shop to face the footman. “If you please, John, I’d rather you not mention the issue of payment to the shopkeeper. I want to deal with it myself.”
“But his lordship said—”
