Page 8 of If the Slipper Fits
Seemingly satisfied, she flagged a servant, procuring a lemonade, and thanking him with a good deal more courtesy than she’d shown Caden thus far.
How perplexing. He could not recall a time a woman openly disdained his attentions. Perplexing and intriguing. Game on.
Chapter Three
Anna pressed the ice-cold, crystal glass into Caden's hands.
Eyes on her task, she still somehow felt his blue stare locked on her face. Drawing a full breath seemed nigh on impossible.
“Thank you, again, Mrs. Jones. It seems I am once again in your debt.”
His silken-toned voice flowed over her like a soft breeze, heightening her awareness and threatening to bring on a Caden-induced stupor. Out of nowhere, her mother’s oft repeated litany from long ago slammed into her consciousness.
Don't be fooled by his easy smile and charming ways, Gloriana. Never trust the blue-bloods.
“Nonsense. It’s a simple matter of taking a glass from a tray. It’s not as if I squeezed the lemons.”
She almost regretted her waspish tone. Almost. Better he find her abrasive than guess the rich timber of his voice, the sky-blue of his eyes, the flash of his smile stole her ability to think.
She braced for his retort. The Caden of her youth would have sniped back—or stormed off. Apparently not Caden the man, however.
He grinned, apparently unfazed. “Didn’t you?” he asked, a smile evident in his voice.
“Didn’t I?” she repeated.
“Squeeze the lemons.”
Helpless laughter spilled from her lips, that fast. Damn the man and his innate charm.
“Lady Claudine andBernadetteare making the rounds with her intended and his family,” the Dowager Duchess announced, stressing the bride’s Christian name. “I may as well join them and get the introductions over-with. It may lessen tonight’s onslaught.”
Anna watched, bewildered, as Lady Wentworth marched into the lion’s den for a second time in less than an hour.
“I agreed to sit only because I assumed you would follow suit,” Caden murmured.
Face blooming with heat for no good reason, Anna lowered herself into the lawn chair opposite his. She took a moment to right her skirts, inwardly schooling herself to stop letting Caden’s…Caden-nessaddle her brain. She felt his eyes on her all the while, which helped not one iota.
Bracing herself, she lifted her chin intending to fight fire with fire. Let him squirm under the weight of her stare.
He appeared wholly unfazed by her appraisal. Meanwhile, the sight of him, sprawled in his lounger, somehow looking both decadent and elegant was doing funny things to her insides.
His focus shifted to the lawn behind her. “Funny. I heard your employer described as decidedly anti-social. Perhaps the upcoming nuptials tapped a hidden wellspring of sentimentality in her. Ithappened in my family. The merepossibilityof a betrothal turned the earl into one of cupid’s most avid assistants.”
Her stomach sunk. Somehow she hadn't considered the possibility Caden might be betrothed. Or worse. “Have you recently married, then?” She could bite out her own tongue for asking such a personal question—except she did want an answer.
Caden shuddered in mock horror. “Me? No. I refer to my brother. The earl’s finally achieved his fondest wish—the heir has settled down, in England of all places.” A tight smile curved his lips. “I’ve never seen Zeke happier. Not that his wedded bliss did anything to improve his attitude.”
Relieved beyond measure, and unsure how to respond to his latter statement, she commented on the former.“Lady Wentworth mentioned his recent nuptials.”
He studied her, his stare direct to the point of rude.
Had a bug landed on her bonnet? Heat blooming over her body, she craned her neck, searching the thinning crowd for Lady Wentworth.
“Mrs. Jones, have we met?”
Her gaze shot to his face. “No. We’ve never had occasion to meet, Mr. Thurgood.”
"You're certain?"
