Page 34 of Nothing But a Rakehell
“Subjectingme to more? Is your regard so dire a thing?”
“It often is,” he said wearily. “But I cannot say more.”
“Because you cannot add another constant to your life?”
Damnation, but she was quick and clever and she actually listened. He must tread carefully. “That is it, exactly.”
She waited, a brow raised in expectation, but he’d be damned if he explained further. And he was done—had had more than enough in this lifetime—of wanting something he couldn’t have.
“Fine, then.” She stood and made her way to her mare. “I thank you for indulging me. And for stretching the boundaries of our pact. I won’t ask again, as you’ve made my position clear—and I understand that it leaves me somewhere below the level of your boots.”
He scowled, knowing he should protest, but she sent the horse over the lip of the bank and used the height of it to mount up herself. With a nod, and without another word, she rode back towards the bridge and the road back to the house.
Cursing, but knowing it was better, safer, to bow to inevitability, he watched her go.
* * *
Hope’s salonhad been opened up by means of a retracting wall. It looked lovely in the evening, with the walls aglow in the candlelight and the whole long room adorned with the swirling colors and sparkle of the entire contingent of guests gathered in their finest.
Tonight the young ladies were going to provide the entertainment. Except for Glory, who acted as assistant to her sister, moving slowly from group to group, gauging tempers and the temperature of thehors d’oeuvresand levels of drinks. Everyone seemed sated and happy and content to show off his or her fine clothes and jewels. Even she felt pretty in her favorite gown of blue-green and a short string of pearls. The crowd allowed her to keep her steps short and her limp less pronounced.
After the first performance—Miss Ruddock was something of a prodigy on the violin—Glory felt her duty discharged and took a seat in an empty grouping in the corner. A seat far from the edge of the performance area, where Lord Keswick stood speaking with a group of guests.
After a moment, Hope sank down beside her with a sigh. “Thank you for your help, Glory, dear. I am glad the ladies are carrying the heavy load this evening. I feel like I have barely seen you the last few days.” She followed the line of Glory’s gaze. “Why are you staring daggers at the back of Lord Keswick’s head?”
“I am not! I am merely waiting for Miss Munroe to begin.” She shrugged. “If his head is in the way then it is likely because it’s been permanently swollen due to the fawning of all the young ladies.”
“Well, I daresay he is the most fawn-worthy of all our gentleman guests.”
“Hmmph,” was all the response Glory felt safe to offer.
“What is it? I thought the pair of you were getting along?”
She lifted a shoulder.
“Well, I did see him make a point of introducing you to Mr. Sommers earlier. I thought he was being quite considerate of your interests, especially as the gentleman stands to inherit his father’s stud farm one day.”
So very considerate of Lord Keswick, she thought sourly. One kiss and he was trying to fob her off on someone else. And ring the bell for a bonus—because he found one who likes horses!
One kiss. One stunning kiss that began with light landings, here and there, like the flutterings of a butterfly, and ended with tongues tangled and her breast pressing into his hand and her hair and nipples raised and waiting . . . waiting . . . for what would come next.
She longed to know what came next. She’d been floating around on a cloud of all-consuming lust, recalling that kiss and wishing for more. Dreaming, wondering, imagining what might come next.
Only to find that, in Keswick’s mind, Mr. Sommers came next.
“Glory?”
She started. “Oh, yes. So considerate,” she said flatly. “But did you notice that Mr. Sommers was quite willing to discuss pedigrees and bloodstock with me, but it was Miss Munroe whose comfort he inquired after? And it was she, he invited to stroll to the punch bowl?”
“Yes,” Hope sighed. “I noticed.” She reached over and squeezed Glory’s arm.
“In any case, I believe it is Lord Keswick you should be concerned for.” Glory indicated the viscount with a nod of her head. He’d left his group and Lady Tresham had stepped into his path.
“She does have a predatory gleam in her eye,” Hope conceded. “But I’m certain Keswick knows how to handle her sort.”
“I’m certain he’s had plenty of practice. Handling her sort.”
And now the baroness stepped closer still. And Keswick didn’t seem to mind subjectingherto more of him. He leaned in and said something low that had the lady’s eyes widening.
