Page 21 of Her Notorious Rake
“Cousin,” a young woman’s voice caused him to turn, and there stood Celeste, a glass in her hand, a strange smile curving her mouth.
He bowed. “How do you fare this evening?”
“Most excellently,” Celeste murmured, advancing closer until she was rather too close for Dalton’s taste. He could smell the wine on her breath.
“How do you find the marriage mart this season?” he asked, in an effort to break the strange silence between them.
Celeste tilted her head, lowering her eyes as if to feignshyness. “Oh, it is tolerable. There are a great many fine men in London this year.”
For the last day or two, Celeste had taken great care to linger in his presence, to engage in coy banter that he prayed stemmed from mere familial attachment. Although, before this they had spoken but a handful of times despite living in the same home. He pretended not to mind, but it rather alarmed him, that Celeste should endeavor to flirt with him. He did not see her in any light other than familial, and he did not care to rebuff her severely. Instead, he hoped she would receive the message that he did not wish to form any sort of romantic inclination betwixt the two of them.
“Tolerable,” he echoed, taking a sip of his drink. “Only tolerable?”
Celeste let out an airy laugh that was nothing but artificial. The sound plucked at Dalton’s nerves. “Is that unjust of me to say?”
“Perhaps you merely have yet to meet the ideal suitor?” he inquired politely.
“Perhaps. Or, perhaps, by chance, I have.” Celeste’s blue eyes flashed into his, almost challenging. Dalton decided that he had best take leave of this conversation before it went further. This had gone in a decidedly discomfiting direction, and he needed to consider the meaning behind Celeste’s words. Though he wasn’t sure if he truly wanted to. What had provoked her coquettish demeanor? Surely he had not done something to mislead her?
As he turned to walk away, his eyes landed on Uncle Ernest skulking in the corner with several gentlemen, some of them members of parliament. Uncle Ernest’s mouth tilted in a smile that brought Dalton to a halt.What does he have up his sleeve?
He found the terrace, just off the concert hall where the performance had been held. It overlooked a small garden, butin Dalton’s estimation, any refuge from the machinations of his uncle or his flirtatious cousin was welcome. Tonight, however, he did not withdraw his pipe from his coat pocket.
He merely sipped at his drink, recalling how his walk the other night had refreshed him more than a wanton night at a gentleman’s club ever could. And he kept his gaze trained on the constellation Orion, just barely visible through the clouds overhead. They glistened like tiny jewels in the sky.What is Gemma’s favorite constellation?He wandered over to one of the windows in a dark portion of the terrace, and paused their, peering inside for a glimpse of Gemma. Something about her calmed him, drew him like gravity rooted him to the earth. But a glance gave him no sign of Gemma within. Had she already departed with her aunt?
The creak of a door opening alerted him, and he retreated to the shadowy corner of the terrace, watching from there as Gemma Hayesworth, the object of his fascination, hurried out onto the terrace as well, tightening the scarf around her shoulders with gloved fingers, the evening breeze tossing tendrils of her hair about her face.
He should alert her to his presence, but something brought him up short. Perhaps it was the way she tilted her head back to observe the sky, just as he had done moments before. Or the soft sigh that escaped her lips as she looked.
Return inside, Blakemore. For she is unchaperoned.
But he could not compel himself to move.
***
Gemma let out a gasp when she heard a scraping sound behind her, that of boots scraping the ground. Turning, she caught her breath at the sight of a tall, angular figure, immediately recognizable. Lord Blakemore. Gemma’s heart lurched, and perhaps she should be worried about findingherself alone, without a chaperone, in his presence. Though of course, this wouldn’t be the first time.
“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to impose upon--”
But Lord Blakemore lifted his hand, brushing away her apology as he joined her at the balcony, though he maintained a polite distance from her. “Are you too seeking refuge?” he inquired, a sardonic smile tilting his mouth.
Gemma bit her lip, planting her hands on the balustrade in front of her, more as a means of grounding herself. “I confess I am. Sometimes I think the best way to listen to such music is to do so while observing the stars above us.” She hesitated for a moment before asking, “Who taughtyouthe stars, Lord Blakemore?”
Lord Blakemore’s chest rose and fell as with a sharp intake of breath, and he turned his gaze from hers, as if attempting to conceal his expression. “My father passed onto me his penchant for stargazing.”
He didn’t look at her still, his jaw tightening.
“It would seem that both of our fathers bestowed us with their astronomical inclinations,” she murmured.
Lord Blakemore did not reply, but his eyes widened as her words seemed to sink in, his lips parting as if he meant to speak. Gemma caught her breath, wondering if she had been presumptuous to align herself with him in such a way, despite their shared love of the stars.Fine work, Gemma,she told herself severely.
And then, Lord Blakemore’s lips curved into a smile, with this wry edge that Gemma recognized. He employed that smile often, she'd noticed. “I ought to take leave. It would be most untoward of us to linger out here. Unchaperoned,” and he glanced about meaningfully, causing a flush to rise up Gemma’s neck. Yes, she had misspoken, grievously. And it was a pity, as she had come to fancy his company—she enjoyed hisconversation.
There was no denying that he was different from every other man she had met thus far in London. Within him lay a sea of complexities, ones which at times seemed to contradict the other. She truly did not know how to reconcile the whispers of his caddish ways with the somber, pensive man standing beside her.
She dipped her head in a nod. “Lord Blakemore, if I spoke too boldly--”
He wagged his head, and her heart lurched when his eyes wandered down, ever so fleeting to her lips, before darting away. “Not in the least, Miss Hayesworth. I beg you not to trouble yourself over it. Now, if you will excuse me...”
