Page 15 of If the Slipper Fits
Her overzealous egress, that's how.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. First, she blurted out one of her father’s sayings, next she gave in to female hysteria. What had she been thinking? She hadn’t, that’s what. Caden and that blasted, mind-melting smile had switched off her survival instincts, and the rote words from long ago had slipped off her tongue like water sluicing off a duck's back.
Once upon a time she had used every tool at her disposal to poke at Caden--including employing her father's litany of well-meaning advice.
Poor Caden. If he showed up one minute late, if he left more than a morsel on his plate, if he hurried, if he tarried, she had a trunk full of wise advice prepped and ready to hurl at him.
Her relentless teasing eventually led him to interrupt her and fill in the salient words himself.
Like tonight.
A tiny smile replaced her scowl. After all this time, they’d slipped into their old routine.
Her smile faded in an instant. She paused in the empty corridor and covered her face with her hands. She’d brought disaster down on herself .
Probably.
Maybe she'd simply over-reacted?
Her hands lowered to just beneath her eyes. She replayed the incident in her mind. She’d started the quip. He’d finished it, stopped dead in his tracks, and turned to stare at her, mouth agape.
Scratch that.
He remained as elegant looking as ever. Still. He hadgiven her an odd look.
She fisted her hands at her sides and resumed her brisk stride.
Had he remembered her or hadn’t he? No way to know now that she'd run off half-cocked.
Never make a stab in the dark. Examine facts, then make a calculated guess.Her father’s words. She drew a deep breath and went over what happened once more.
He stopped in his tracks, turning to look at her. She reacted, pushing away from him. He hadseemed concerned—all right, baffled—by her sudden illness. But he had not thrown a finger in the air with a resounding, “Ah ha!”
Assuming he had not remembered her, her panicked flight would lead him to one unavoidable conclusion: She was a candidate for bedlam. Likely he’d already made up his mind to avoid her. Which was good. The best possible outcome. She ought to congratulate herself.
She reached the door leading to Lady Wentworth’s suite and leaned her head against the cool wood panel. Misery settled over her. She’d wanted one night with him. One night where she could enjoy his company like any other party guest might. If only she hadn’t opened her big mouth.
Her stomach emitted a long, low growl. She snorted. Perfect. Certifiable and famished to boot.
She twisted the brass lever, yanked open the door, and kicked her lone slipper off with all her might. It landed somewhere in the dark chamber with an unsatisfying whisper.
“Now, what did that poor slipper ever do to you?”
She spun around, an undignified squeal bursting from her lungs.
Caden, the blackguard, stood not a stone’s throw away, a crooked smile playing at his full mouth.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” Mortification and elation, dread and anticipation tangled within her.
He sauntered forward, waistcoat hooked over one thumb, his polished boots making nary a sound on the thick carpet runners.
The confidence he exuded both maddened and enthralled her.Corinthian, people called men like him, men of the upper crust, bestowed with an almost palpable vitality. Physically, perfect. Tall, powerfully built, immaculate. Except—his rich golden hair appeared mussed, as if he’d dragged a hand through it multiple times.
The thought cheered her.
“What sort of gentleman wouldn’t ascertain a lady’s wellbeing after she bolted from him like someone escaping the gallows?”
“The…gallows, sir?” An alarming choice of words, considering.
