Page 7 of Awakening a Lord's Desires
“Oh, Caroline!” Matilda cried, reaching out her hands to take both of hers. “You startled me. We were in deep conversation and did not see you.”
“Deep debate, you mean,” Alexander corrected.
“Debate.” Matilda rolled her brown eyes. “And we did not notice you approach. You are looking well this evening.”
“Yes, my friend. Very well, indeed.” Alexander smiled at her as he bowed over her hand.
She had known the two of them since she was a child, and she especially enjoyed the countryside when the two of them were about. Although it was time for them to reveal their love to one another, and she wondered if it would ever happen.
Even though she had no interest in the young and handsome Alexander, with his dark curls and bright green eyes, she’d still felt a pang of jealousy when she’d first noticed his interest in Matilda. She would catch him with secret, longing looks, looks filled with something more than affection, and Caroline had craved it for herself.
The way Lord Spencer looked at me yesterday.
She began to feel warm again, and she nodded at the dancers. “Will the two of you dance?” she asked, hating just how breathless she sounded at her own foolish, feverish thoughts.
One meeting with a strange man, and she felt as if she’d lost her equilibrium.
“Yes, of course,” Alexander said, lifting a brow towards Matilda, who smiled up at him, her soft brown eyes sparkling. “But we are not yet finished our debate, Matilda. Surely you would not allow us to dance when there is much to discuss.”
“I do not want to debate any longer this evening, Alexander.” She turned, her brown curls brushing against her shoulders. “But I would agree to dance with you, if you asked me.”
Alexander opened his mouth when his eye was caught by a movement at the door. Many others looked at the door, and a sort of hush fell over the crowd even as the music filled the air. Caroline turned to see for herself, and that same warm, buttery feeling filled her belly once again as she saw who it was.
Lord Charles Spencer had arrived, with another gentleman at his side, and Caroline held her hands together to keep them from shaking.
Will he even remember me? And if he does, do I wish him to?
Chapter 7
“Well, it seems that we have caused a minor stir, Charles,” Oliver said, grinning at the crowd in the Fentons’ ballroom, many of whom had now turned their way.
“It seems we have.” Charles grinned, as well, and pulled on the bottom of his waistcoat to smooth it as he and Oliver slowly strode in through the small crowd.
It was a bigger party than expected, but there were only about fifteen couples or so scattered about in varied, now-hushed conversation. His heart thudded in his ears. Ballrooms had always given him a sort of discomfort, for he knew well the fact that so many eyes were upon him—even in the country, he could not get away from it.
“Perhaps they are surprised that a member of the marquess’s family is here in the country at last?” Oliver suggested.
“Perhaps.” But even though he had a genuine distaste for balls, he was more nervous to see Miss Turner again.
Will she ignore me? Pretend that we are not acquainted? Or perhaps she will have remained home due to her head injury.
He shook off the annoying guilt that clung to him. He prayed that was not the case.
“I think you will perhaps find a young lady to marry during your time in the country. Every eye is upon you,” Oliver teased, and Charles clenched his jaw, eager to be away, unless he could set his eyes upon Miss Turner.
He was just about to give his friend a hasty rebuke when he spied her. The sight was not unlike spying a rose amongst thorns. Or perhaps, in fact, she was more like a pearl, luminescent under the light from the chandelier. She wore pearls around her neck, and her gown was a pearl colour, as well as her gloves. Her lovely eyes met his.
Over the past day, he had wondered if he had made up just how beautiful Miss Turner was, whenever he tried to remember her face and the image of a goddess appeared. He had laughed at himself each time.
Surely, she cannot be as beautiful as that. That is more like a faerie or a nymph that I have come across and couldn’t possibly be a real woman.
But now that he saw her there in the midst of the ballroom, looking at him, her cheeks slightly flushed, he knew his imagination had not lied. In fact, it had slightly dimmed the extent of her beauty. She was even more breathtaking than before. The same rush of desire barreled through him and he had to look away, turning to Oliver, who apparently had been calling his name.
“What is it?” he asked, feeling rather flushed himself.
Get a hold of yourself. You are not the type of man to become overwrought by your feelings.
“This is Mr Merryweather,” Oliver said, motioning to an older gentleman before them whom Charles had not noticed until that moment. “He wishes to make our acquaintance.”
