Page 16 of Making of a Scandal
Fucking.
Her ears had burned when that coarse word had fallen from his lips, rough and clipped. It had sounded completely improper, and frightening. It was, perhaps, the naughtiest word she’d ever heard anyone utter. She was ashamed to realize that even thinking the word created the oddest effect within her. It made heat erupt in her middle, and sent her pulse galloping.
“Callie!”
She snapped back to attention at Diana’s sharp tone, embarrassed at having been caught woolgathering. “I’m sorry?”
“I said, you ought to give him a chance. After all, he likely walked into that room expecting to seduce a willing client. I daresay he was caught off guard by the discovery of your true motives.”
Calliope recalled the man’s shocked expression as she had declared her need for a husband. Mortification washed over her yet again. She had done a horrible job explaining herself, but it had been entirely his fault. He’d muddled her senses with his nearness and lewd speech.
“That’s what Mr. Sterling said. Apparently, he had no idea what he was walking into.”
“There you have it,” Diana declared, taking up her needle and hoop once more. “Mr. Burke is wildly popular, which makes him an ideal candidate for our plan. Mr. Lewes won’t be able to ignore the attention he pays you, which is all we need to coax him into offering for you. I should think it would take no more than a few weeks, if that.”
“I certainly hope so. Mr. Burke is a drunkard and a lecher. I don’t want to spend any more time with him than necessary.”
Diana gave her a knowing look. “A lecher, yes … but a devilishly handsome one. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Calliope could offer no protest. Even inebriated and irreverent, he had been a feast for the eyes. His mahogany-brown hair had been disheveled and a bit too long, but it suited his angular features all the same. Even in the dim lighting of the office, she had been struck by the startling hue of his eyes—a vibrant emerald shadowed by rich, dark eyebrows. She squirmed in her chair at the memory of having him take her into his arms, a hard, sinewy body pressing against her.
She had to admit—even if grudgingly— that it was easy to see how such a man could have women falling at his feet. However, Calliope knew herself to be beyond such shallow attraction. Yes, the man was alluring in his own way, but she wanted none of what he had so crassly offered. She didn’t want meaningless encounters with a man who seemed likely to forget all about her when it was over. If Calliope wanted that, she could have accepted the offer of Rufus Gordon.
No, what she wanted required a different sort of man—a man of character and honor. A man like Martin Lewes.
“I suppose, if one likes that sort of man,” she hedged.
Diana issued a rough snort. “Tall, dark, and virile? Darling,everyonelikes that sort of man.”
Calliope was saved from having to retort when a scratch at the door preceded a footman. He presented Diana with a calling card, and her sister grinned as she read the named etched onto the thick paper.
“Well … it seems Mr. Burke doesn’t intend to waste any time. He has just arrived. I suppose I’d better get the courtesies out of the way so you can meet with him. Give me ten minutes and then come downstairs.”
Calliope’s heartbeat accelerated, her palms beginning to sweat as she clung to her book. Odd, she hadn’t been this nervous when going to meet Mr. Burke this morning. There was an added awareness that had her on edge, and she hated that it had anything to do with the way he had accosted her. Thinking of the man conjured the image of those heavy-lidded green eyes, the clench of his arms around her waist, the hard press of his masculine organ digging into her belly.
Heavens! What an odd reaction to have toward a man. She was thoroughly agitated, and she hadn’t even laid eyes on him yet.
The minutes seemed to creep by, the ticking of the clock on the mantel resounding through the room like the crash of a gong with every second. She barely got through a paragraph, her gaze flitting to the clock too often for her to concentrate. When nine minutes had gone by, she stood and made her way downstairs.
She entered the drawing room to find Diana seated in her favorite armchair, a cup of tea in her hands. Of Mr. Burke she saw only his head and broad shoulders over the back of the sofa.
“Ah, Calliope, there you are,” Diana said, with a bright smile. “Please, do come and join us.”
Mr. Burke’s shoulders tensed beneath his navy-blue coat, then he surged to his feet and turned to greet her. He was a far cry from the man she’d met this morning—so much so that Calliope had a hard time reconciling this version of him with the one who had said such filthy things.
He was the very image of a gentleman. His dark brown hair gleamed in the light of the sun streaming through the open drapes, his face scraped free of stubble.
But then, their gazes clashed, and a subtle shift revealed the man hidden beneath the polite mask. Therehewas … the man whose eyes turned into molten pools of green fire as he trailed his gaze from her face and down her body. She flushed hot, and annoyance prickled her spine.
“Miss Barrington,” he said with a boyish, lopsided smile. “It is lovely to see you. I thank you for agreeing to meet with me again.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Burke. I trust you are rested and ready to continue our previous conversation.”
A slight tick at the corner of his mouth hinted at amusement, but he did an adequate job of keeping a straight face. “Quite.”
“Well,” Diana said, coming to her feet and setting her teacup aside. “Now that the proprieties have been observed, I will make myself scarce. You needn’t worry about the intrusion or gossip of servants. Our staff is very discreet.”
This she said for the benefit of Mr. Burke, for Calliope already knew this to be true. The servants were unfailingly loyal to Hastings, and that allegiance extended to the countess and her sister. Ekta would bluster and protest at her being left alone with a man who was not a relative, but the maid was having her afternoon nap and would never know. If she asked, Calliope would simply insist that Diana had never left the room.
