Page 13 of A Gentleman's Kiss
After completing his morning regimen, he went in search of her. He whistled unconsciously from hall to hall as he sought to find her.
“Have you seen Miss Lillian Whitmore?” he asked a maid who was dusting in the drawing room.
“She just left for Hyde Park about five minutes ago with Sir Trenton,” the maid said, not bothering to turn toward him.
“Sir Trenton?” Dominick asked, his eyes widening.
“Aye, my lord.”
That scoundrel! He came here and swept her out from under my nose!
Dominick could feel his blood boiling. His heart beat faster, and his palms became moist as he clenched his fists together.
Why am I so angry? No…I’m jealous!
But it was more than being angry and jealous, this was something else entirely. He was concerned. However popular Sir Trenton was amongst the gentry for his musical talents and personable attributes, Sir Trenton was one of London’s most notorious rakes. His attempt to kiss her at the musicale was evidence of his intent to seduce Lillian. Dominick knew if she went on a ride with anyone in the park, Sir Trenton should be the last upon the list, if ever to grace its presence.
*****
Although the morning began as a bright sunny day with nary a breeze, it was now becoming overcast and a brisk wind could be seen as it swayed the tree branches to and fro. Lillian was glad Sir Trenton insisted they take his covered carriage.
“I see clouds beginning ahead, should we have the driver return to Whitmore House, or would you like to continue on?” Sir Trenton’s voice cut into her thoughts.
For a brief moment, Lillian panicked. The last time she’d ridden in the rain, disaster had struck. She glanced out the window again. The clouds didn’t look as formidable as they had on the day that changed her life. She refused to let fear rule her every move. She had to take charge of her life—she’d made that vow to herself and couldn’t break it.
“Thank you, but I think since we have the covered carriage we could continue on. I am thoroughly enjoying my time with you and your apt knowledge of London and its people,” Lillian said flashing an excited smile, trying not to sound too desperate for companionship.
He’d been telling her all about the town merchants, the ladies at Almack’s and how she would most certainly be approved to attend an exclusive ball. Out of everyone that she’d met since arriving in London, Sir Trenton was the only one to truly teach her some of the things she needed to know about society and how she should be behaving.
“Yes, of course. I am so glad you are enjoying our outing. I hope to be able to take you on another.”
Lillian caught his sideways glance, as if he was trying to see her reaction but not show his own emotions. She nodded, her heart soaring at his obvious need for her approval. She couldn’t pinpoint what she liked about this man. He was attractive and well built, but there was more to her attraction than physical attributes.
I think I am falling for him. Could he be the one?
“I would like that very much, Sir Trenton.”
“Please, I think we are far past the formalities. Call me, George.”
She nodded again and turned toward him. He was looking at her in that familiar way of his. A seductive, ardent stare she found herself engulfed in.
“George.” The name left her lips, scarcely audible, sounding foreign.
“I like the way my name sounds upon your lips, Miss Whitmore.” His eyes looked expectant, as if he hoped she would give him leave to call her by her given name as well.
Should she? It wouldn’t be at all appropriate would it? Then again, he had given her leave to call him by his name, and he seemed to know much about society. But things couldn’t be all that different in New York as they were here. Even when she was expecting a proposal she had still referred to Aaron as Mr. MacCain—and he had called her Miss Whitmore.
She glanced down at her gloved hands, and felt a chill pass through her. She really had no idea what to do. She’d been deprived of a confidante and mentor. No one had sought to assist her in what was proper, if anything, her aunt and cousins took delight in her mishaps.
“I suppose it would be all right if you called me Lillian,” she said, then hastily added, “but only when we are alone.”
George smiled at her, beaming his straight white teeth in her direction. “That pleases me, Lillian.”
In slow motion, as in a dream, he leaned toward her. What was happening was wrong, but the look in his eyes sent chills up her spine. She was eager to finish where they had started off yesterday before Wessex’s interruption. Oh, Wessex! Even in her mind he was interrupting her pleasant surroundings!
Do not think of Wessex!
She blinked open her eyes to gaze at Sir Trenton who stared at her with a wicked curve to his lips as he moved his face inches from hers. Her stomach swirled, and she became light headed. His long fingers brushed up and down her arm, in a way that could only be discerned as intimate. His touch seared her skin through the light fabric of her shawl, and she bit her lip. Her emotions switched back and forth from anticipation, to wanting to bolt. Her eyes closed without her choosing and her body moved in toward his. Her mind was finally clear of everything but this handsome and charismatic man who held her captive.
