Page 74 of The Truth About Lord Stoneville
“Hell if I know. At the very least, I have to keep it out of the papers. I owe Maria that much.”
Fortunately, Maria agreed to leave with the other females in his family, which made his task easier. He spent the next hour hunting down everyone at the ball who had any connection to the press, and explaining that he didn’t want the engagement announced until he and Maria could inform her family in America.
By the time he and his brothers and Freddy headed for home, he was too weary to do more than grunt in answer to their questions. Fortunately, Freddy filled in the conversation with an endless stream of inanities about the ball and the gentlemen’s fine coats and what a grand supper he’d had.
As soon as they reached Halstead Hall, Oliver bade the others good night and headed to his study to fire off letters to those of the press he’d missed at the ball. It was nearly twoa.m.when he decided to retire.
Yet he was restless. He hadn’t spoken a word to Maria privately since the fiasco. How had she taken it? He wouldn’t blame her for hating him.
He had to talk to her. Though it was late, perhaps she was still awake. If he let it wait until morning, he’d have to battle his damned family to get near her. Besides, he couldn’t rest easy until he’d reassured her that it wouldn’t go beyond local gossip—even if he wasn’t entirely certain of that.
Seconds later, he was at her room. Relief swamped him when he saw the glow of candlelight beneath the door. She must still be up. Yet when he knocked, there was no answer. He hesitated. He shouldn’t go in. He had no business entering her room uninvited at this hour, but it wasn’t safe for her to leave candles burning, was it?
He would just make sure she was all right. He opened the door to glance inside. On her bedside table, the candle cast a golden light over her sleeping form. Her amber hair was spread out across the pillow, and she clutched a book to her breast like a little girl holding a favorite doll. Except that the body outlined by the coverlet wasn’t that of a girl, but of a full-grown woman—one he desperately desired.
But that had no bearing on this. He wasn’t here for that. He would just snuff out her candle to keep her safe.
He went in and closed the door behind him. When he neared the bed, he saw the title of the book—The Strangerof the Lake—and sucked in a harsh breath. Did it bode well for him that she’d chosen the book they’d discussed in his study yesterday? Or ill, that she’d chosen the one where Rockton committed some of his worst villainies?
No doubt she was reminding herself of his faults. He still wasn’t even sure if she’d forgiven him for going off to the brothel. That had been left in the air.
You couldmakeher forgive you,said an insidious voice inside him.You could climb into that bed and bring her halfway to seduction before she realized what was happening.
He stared at her a long moment, then shook his head. No, he couldn’t.
A mad laugh bubbled up in his throat. Apparently he had scruples. Who would have guessed it?
Perhaps I’m not so much like Father, after all.
The thought came from out of nowhere, stunning him. Was it possible? Ever since Maria had shown up, he’d been at sixes and sevens, utterly unlike himself. Was it her? Or was it them both? Was it possible that with her, he could be . . . better? Different, somehow?
The idea was insane.
Yet he did no more than watch her, memorizing the curve of her cheek, the tangled glory of her hair. As if in a trance, he reached out to smooth away a tendril that was ensnared by her long, delicate lashes.
Her eyes opened, and he caught his breath. She gazed up at him, and as the spell of sleep faded from her eyes, she broke into a smile. A smile! For him.
It was his undoing.
With his blood thundering in his ears, he bent down and kissed her perfect lips, unable to stop himself. Realizing what he was about, he quickly pulled back, but she caught him by the neck and drew his head down to hers once more.
He allowed himself to be seduced by her mouth, feeding on her lips as a starving man who’d been handed a feast. After a moment of bliss, he sat on the bed and she lifted herself onto her elbows. That was all the invitation he needed to pull her close and kiss her even more deeply. She buried her fingers in his hair, and he groaned low in his throat as he drove his tongue over and over inside her warm, soft mouth.
She smelled of roses and spice, and he wondered if he’d ever get enough of her scent . . . her taste . . . the touch of her breast beneath his hand—
Deuce take it!
Breaking free of her, he stood. “Forgive me, Maria. I didn’t mean—”
“Why are you here, Oliver?”
Eyes alight with curiosity, she sat up fully. The covers fell, leaving her half exposed in a night rail so thin he could see the dark tips of her breasts through it. With her hair tumbling in gold-red strands over her shoulders and her eyes heavy-lidded from sleep, she looked like every man’s erotic dream.
Desire arrowed through him, piercing his self control. Muttering a curse, he turned away from the bed to pace. “I’m here to apologize for what happened tonight at the ball.”
The long silence that followed made him uneasy. She finally said in a soft voice, “It’s all right. I know you didn’t mean to misspeak.”
He looked sharply at her. “You’re not angry?”
