Page 72 of The Truth About Lord Stoneville
“I like her, too—when she’s not plaguing the hell out of me.”
Maria eyed him curiously. “Why do you curse so much around me? Other men don’t. And you don’t curse around other women, as far as I can tell. So why around me?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I can be myself around you, I suppose. And since I’m a foulmouthed son of a bitch in general—”
She pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t say that. You’re not as bad as you’re always making out.” Then realizing that people were noticing her intimate gesture, she returned her hand to his shoulder.
“That’s not what you thought earlier,” he said in a rough rasp. His hand swept her waist surreptitiously, as if he couldn’t keep from caressing her.
“Let’s just say I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.”
They finished the waltz in a silence that only increased her agitation. His eyes couldn’t seem to leave her face, nor hers his. Every step together seemed to bring them closer, until she was sure they were dancing far too close for propriety. Yet she didn’t care. It was pure bliss.
And it didn’t change a thing—there was nothing between them but this inconvenient attraction. But she still found herself memorizing his features, trying to save the sensation of his hand riding her waist, his body moving in time with hers.
His other hand gripped hers tightly, and his gloved thumb began to stroke along the curve between her thumb and forefinger in a carnal caress that stoked her already inflamed senses. When the music stopped, he squeezed her hand before settling it on his arm to lead her in to supper.
With awareness crackling between them, she asked, “Is there anything I should know about supper customs in England? I don’t want to embarrass you or your family.”
“You could never embarrass me,” he said in a deep voice that sent a wanton shiver along her spine. As if realizing how much he’d admitted, he added, “To be embarrassed, I’d have to care what people think of me, and I don’t.”
She began to believe that wasn’t entirely true.
The rest of the guests were surging toward the dining room across the hall, but she felt entirely alone with him, as if they were wrapped in their own little cocoon. Did he feel that way, too, or was she just inventing a deeper connection between them?
When they reached the supper room, Oliver guided them expertly toward a table with two empty chairs. A beautiful woman cut into their path in what seemed like a deliberate attempt to gain the chairs.
“I beg your pardon, Kitty,” he said in a cool voice as he grabbed the back of the nearest chair before she could. “But we spotted them first.”
“How astonishing to see you here, Stoneville,” the woman remarked with condescension, then scanned Maria with a critical eye. “And who is your new ‘friend’?”
She said it with such contempt that Maria flushed, fairly sure of what the woman was implying.
Oliver must have been, too, for a muscle ticked in his jaw. “Lady Tarley, Miss Maria Butterfield. Miss Butterfield has lately come from America, and is a guest of my sister’s.”
Lady Tarley lifted one eyebrow. “What a pleasure to meet you, Miss Butterfield,” she said in a tone that belied her words. “And what a lovely gown you’re wearing. I enjoyed wearing it myself, before I cast it off. I see you kept the tulle bodice exactly as I had it when it was specially made for me. It looks very well on you.”
Heat rose up to flame in Maria’s cheeks. Mercy, she should have known something like this might happen.
Oliver’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You must be mistaken, Kitty. I was sitting right there when the dressmaker showed Miss Butterfield the design. I’m sure the woman adapted one she’d used before.” He offered a thin smile. “Never trust a dressmaker who says she’s making something especially for you. Particularly when you’re not willing to pay them what they’re worth.”
Lady Tarley’s eyes flashed. “I recognize the ornament. I daresay it has a scratch on the back of it, just as mine did.”
When she reached for the ornament on Maria’s gown, Oliver caught her hand in an iron grip. “You’ll keep your hands off my fiancée’s gown, if you know what’s good for you.”
As Lady Tarley snatched her hand free, her eyes lit up like a tigress’s scenting prey. “Your fiancée? Well, now, isn’t that interesting news?”
Maria groaned. She couldn’t believe Oliver had said that.
Apparently he couldn’t, either—his arm had tensed beneath her hand. “We haven’t announced it yet, so we’d appreciate it if you keep it quiet.”
“Certainly, Stoneville.” She pressed a finger to her lips. “Mum’s the word.”
As she hurried off in a swish of skirts to collar the first female she saw, Maria said, “She’s not going to keep it secret, is she?”
“No,” Oliver ground out. “Damn it all to hell. I’m sorry, Maria. I don’t know what came over me. I can’t believe I forgot it wasn’t—” He caught himself and pulled out the chair for her. “Stay here, and I’ll do my best to nip it in the bud.”
As he strode across the room after Lady Tarley, Maria found herself smiling. She ought to be furious with him, knowing that the gossip might make it into the London papers and get back to Nathan. So why wasn’t she?
