Page 8 of A Gentleman's Kiss
When she realized that she became all the more incensed. Did he not realize what he’d just done?
“Impossible man,” she muttered as she pulled herself out of bed. “Arrogant too. To think he could come in here, while I slept.” Lillian threw the sheet she still clutched onto the bed.
How long had he been in there? Did he watch her sleep?
Heat rose in her cheeks, just thinking about him watching her.
He certainly was handsome, and his body exuded strength. His movements were smooth and calculated. He obviously had great control of his limbs, but his mind? It seemed an impulsive move to come into her bedchamber. Was his interest in her just as impulsive? She found her own curiosity of Lord Wessex sneaking its way beneath her skin, and she refused to allow it to happen. He was exactly the opposite type of man she wanted to marry. Besides, he was probably in a different young lady’s room every week! He would only break her heart—not that she had much of a heart left after the tragedy in New York.
She took a deep breath, and decided not to think about it another moment. She just needed to remember to lock her door at night.
*****
The bright blue sky lay out above them as Lillian took a peek through the carriage window. She always heard London was dreary, and judging from the black cloud she’d breathed upon first arriving she was amazed to see such a brilliant hue. Perhaps this meant today would be a wonderful day.
Then she remembered how her day had started, and scowled. Lord Wessex was impossible. She had yet to speak with him after his little intrusion on her privacy. What nerve! Of all the —
“Is everything all right, cousin? Our little town of London doesn’t suit your tastes?” Tamara snarled from across the carriage. Tamara truly was a beautiful girl, but the way she distorted her face so often with disgust stole all vestiges of beauty from her.
Susannah, who sat next to Lillian, let out an unladylike snort. It was becoming more and more obvious by hour that Susannah was lacking in manners. For being the daughter of a duke—and a mother who was the very image of propriety—her cousins’ behavior was atrocious.
Lillian checked herself, willing her mouth not to utter the rebuff she felt much inclined to offer. Her cousins were trying to bait her, and she need not play into it. She smiled sweetly as she turned her attention to them. Her aunt, who sat next to Tamara, stared out of the window, pretending she hadn’t heard a word. If that was her reaction every time, then it was no wonder her cousins were so ill-mannered.
She wondered if her uncle, who at the moment was riding his horse along side the carriage with Lord Wessex, would have stuck up for the snubbing she endured from her female relations. She decided even if he did, she would have to be the one to protect herself. He’d said little the night before at dinner. She would give him the benefit of the doubt the grief clouded his mind, as well as his new responsibility for her well-being. But how long could she make excuses for her uncle?
“I was frankly astonished to see a blue sky. I heard London’s skies are dull gray, with most of its time being spent overcast and raining,” Lillian said in her most cheerful voice. She couldn’t help adding, “I must say the color of the sky greatly affects a woman’s complexion, and you certainly wouldn’t want to come out when you have no sun to compliment you. The dreary day yesterday must have accounted for your coloring, Tamara.”
Lillian inwardly snickered when she saw the two girls’ mouths drop open at her rebut.
Aunt Georgiana, turned her head slowly toward Lillian, and raised an eyebrow. Lillian couldn’t make out whether her aunt was impressed with her, or whether she was appalled. Lillian smiled meekly and shrugged her shoulders, hoping not to have angered her. Her aunt did not return her smile, only turned back to the window.
Lillian took her aunt’s reaction as points won. Perhaps Aunt Georgiana was aware of how atrocious her children were treating her, but she was conflicted on taking sides. Lillian dearly wanted a woman she could seek out as a companion, since she lost her own mother. She hoped her aunt could be that woman, especially since she was soon to be married off. Although, if she had her way, she would prolong marrying anyone as long as she could.
She would try to curb her tongue, and gain the respect of the duchess. It would be hard, considering her cousins were constantly baiting her, but in the end having her aunt to confide in would make it well worth it.
The carriage pulled to a stop outside a magnificent home—not quite as opulent as her family’s home, but all the same, she was impressed. They alighted from the carriage and stepped inside. The butler showed them to a music room that opened into the gardens.
The musicale was in full swing as the duchess had insisted on arriving fashionably late. Guests milled about, and young women played on the pianoforte, while others sang. The doors were open to the gardens and people walked arm in arm amongst the flowers, sipping on punch.
Lord Wessex walked toward her. Both Tamara and Susannah rushed to flank her. They certainly were jealous…
“Might I have the honor of escorting you to the gardens?”
Lillian averted her gaze, pretending her slipper had caught on the bottom of her new yellow gown. She wanted to walk with Lord Wessex, but she was nervous after not having spoken to him since that morning. Not the mention her cousins’ reaction whenever he dared speak to her.
Tamara took the opportunity to seize the moment, and linked her arm with his.
Lillian took a deep breath, glad she wouldn’t have to worry about Lord Wessex for a while. The man truly was unnerving. She didn’t understand his need to talk with her, be with her. Even more disconcerting was how she felt whenever he was near. She feared her cheeks would be permanently flame colored and the swirling in her belly would never cease.
She walked with her new family into the gardens, and went through the introductions to the people of the Ton as best she could.
“May I present my niece, new to London,” the duke said. “Miss Lillian Whitmore.”
“Miss Whitmore, a pleasure,” their host, Sir Trenton, said as he bent over her hand kissing the air above her wrist softly as his lips caressed her wrist, lingering a little too long.
She yanked her hand away, feeling slightly violated.
He was a dark, handsome man. Dangerous. A rake she suspected. He was taller than Lord Wessex by a few inches, and his skin was lighter, as if he stayed inside too much—which he most likely did being a musician. He was fit, but his muscles did not look as defined as Lord Wessex’s. His clothes were cut to fit his fine figure. His hair was nearly black, and clipped short. His features were chiseled, Romanesque. He smiled at her, his eyes locking on hers. “London is fortunate to have an American beauty with us.”
